how we'll be spending our saturday

This is where we spent last weekend ...

And this is where we'll be again, all day today.

If you live in San Diego, please come see us at the La Jolla Cove where we'll be hosting our Fourth Pink Lemonade Project. Charlie baked 300 cookies yesterday and we'll have at least 25 gallons of lemonade, balloons and bracelets.

If the beautiful sights and fresh air blowing off of the Pacific Ocean aren't enough to bring you joy, homemade chocolate chip cookies and pink lemonade served up by preschoolers in a cup size of your choice, will surely put a smile on your face. And if it doesn't ... you might want to check your pulse.

the most important meeting i've ever attended

Yesterday, our amazing trips turned five years old. The very same day, my company had a corporate meeting on the east coast, where my attendance was requested. Since this was a global meeting that only happens once every three years, the decision as to whether or not I should go was a very difficult choice.

Life is all about making choices and quite often, those choices come with a sacrifice. But once you know what your BIG priorities are in life, you can very quickly identify a genuine sacrifice. Those are the ones that might haunt or nag at you, for years to come.

Ultimately, I took advice from the Great Counselor and let my conscience be my guide.

So yesterday, while my co-workers were rubbing shoulders with corporate managers in the Nation's Capital, I was rubbing shoulders with a bunch of cartoon characters and three birthday celebrating five-year-olds who have never been so excited in their entire lives.

And quite frankly - neither have I.

the earth goes around the sun

Tonight as I was tucking the children in to bed, I told them that tomorrow would be the last day that they would ever be four years old. When they wake up on Wednesday, they will be five.

One full hand.

There were mixed emotions about this upcoming birthday. William told me that he was excited to grow up and be a man so he could grow a beard and drink beer. Both girls cried. Carolyn doesn't want to be a giant and Elizabeth wants to be my baby forever. While I held my daughters in my arms, I whispered that they wouldn't ever be giants. But if by some freak chance they were, they would still always be my babies.

But how did it happen that my babies are five years old?

This blog was started when they were 17-months old and they were just entering toddlerhood.

Does it really seem like that much time has passed?

I never realized little people could grow so quickly in five short years.

I'm absolutely certain that I went through these same reflective feelings last year just before their birthday. I'm sure I'll go through this every year.

But aside from their first birthday, this fifth year milestone is hitting me the hardest. Yes, I know the earth goes around the sun and a year passes. But how do they go from newborns to toddlers to preschoolers to ... FIVE ... so darn fast?

Five years from now they'll be TEN. And ten years from now they'll be FIFTEEN. And fifteen years from now, they'll be TWENTY. I'm a whiz at addition. It's the philosophy of all this that brings me to my knees. With each passing year, I see so clearly that the whole adage, "The days are long but the years are short" is painfully true.

These kids are growing up so fast.

Too fast.

Time has never before seemed so short.

Which is why tonight, I prepared dinner with one hand because Henry wanted to be held and I happily obliged, until my left arm went completely numb. And when I put him down and he buried his head in my legs, I rubbed his hair and then scooped him up in my right arm, to hold him some more.

It's the reason that all day today, I intensely cuddled my children by flipping them up and in to my arms and smothering them in kisses until they begged me to stop. It's the reason I snapped off almost 100 pictures while they sat around the table doing something as mundane as eat spaghetti. It's the reason I gave every one two (and the boys three) small helpings of ice cream.

Unlike most nights, tonight I didn't get frustrated that Elizabeth got up from the table ten times to get a napkin. And a spoon. And a fork. And a spoon for her sister. And a spoon for her brother. And look at birds out the window. And climb under the table to pick up the bread that Henry dropped. And the spoons that her siblings dropped. And go potty. Twice.

Tonight, I just reveled in their littleness. Because they are little. They have little arms and little legs and little hands and little feet. And little voices that quite often drive me bat crazy throughout the day, but tonight, those little voices were music. Even when they were screaming that someone touched something about who the heck knows what. Where am I?

Tonight, I kept thinking that five years ago at this very moment, they were still completely dependent upon my body - and now - they are fully capable of getting dressed, putting on their shoes and flushing the toilet. Sure, most days they don't do ANY of those things, but I know that they could if they wanted. And soon enough, I'm sure they will want to do all of those things without any prompting from me. And when that happens, I doubt I'll be able to fling them over my shoulder and smother them in kisses.

How much longer will it be, that I can carry them at all?

Tonight, I didn't care that the house was flipped upside down from their riotous playing. I didn't care that I would have at least an hour of cleaning up before I could go to bed. I didn't even care about the multiple piles of laundry that were generated this afternoon.

Tonight I just sat and reflected over the past five years and I sent up the most heartfelt prayer I have in a long time. It went something like this, "Dear God, I know that you can't slow down time, but in lieu of that, could you please slow me down so that I can enjoy all of these awesome moments that much more?"

Tomorrow, I'll be heading out of town for a few days. I had been really torn about what to do, because my career obligations were pulling me in one direction, while what I perceived to be my family obligations were pulling me in the exact opposite direction. After a lot of genuine reflection, I finally made a decision. While it seemed like a very difficult decision to make at the time, I now see that it was the only decision I could have made.

And well. Now that my introspection has come to an end and I'm looking around at the absolute disaster our children have created and which I am responsible for cleaning up, because otherwise it will grow ten times worse overnight, I'm going to send up another heartfelt prayer for one of these Dr. Seuss contraptions to appear out of thin air.


Mercy these children can make a mess.

Perhaps I need two.

Amen.

extraordinary dads

A few weeks ago, I was contacted by the producers of a popular television show.

It seems the producers were looking for a family with triplets. Or more specifically, they were looking for a father of triplets. And not just any father, an extraordinary father.


A father that can handle the day to day life with high order multiples.


A father that doesn't crack under pressure.


A father that keeps his cool and makes the whole thing look ... easy.

And well, the producers found me through my blog and asked if my husband (and any other extraordinary triplet dads that I might know) would be available to sit down and talk with a father of triplets who lives in the area and who desperately needs support from other triplet dads. Because I had just registered our triplet mom team for the 3-Day Breast Cancer Walk, I wrote the producers back and said,

"Your timing is great re: interaction with triplet dads since I'm currently training with four of my fellow triplet moms for the 3-Day breast cancer walk in San Diego. It's a course that will take us 60 miles over three days and have us camping in tents at night. While we are out walking - all of our husbands have committed to staying home with the children. Maybe we can get the triplet mom to join our 3-Day walk team - and the father, who desperately needs help from other dads, can join rank with our extraordinary husbands? Provided the idea of being home alone with his children for three days doesn't send him in to cardiac arrest..."

They didn't bite.

Instead, last weekend while I was home in South Carolina, Charlie met up with two other triplet dads, whose wives I know (Jessica is actually on my walk team), and the three of these guys sat down and chatted for over an hour with one of the most popular television stars around. Since I wouldn't be at the filming, I asked Charlie what kind of advice he was going to give this father.

My husband, totally straight faced said, "I'm going to tell him that he needs to step up to the plate and be a man. I'm going to tell him that he has the ball and he needs to run with it. I'm going to tell him that he needs to completely share the parenting responsibilities with his wife - and the first time she ever asks him to do something, he needs to totally blow it, so she never asks him to do anything, ever again."

He was just kidding. Of course. Although, that does kind of explain why he put the triplets to bed without their diapers once when they were four months old.

Anyway. Last weekend, Charlie (Derrick & David) met with a celebrity.

Do you recognize her?


How about now?


Or now?

The triplet dad that Charlie, Derrick and David (and Jo Jo) sat down with is named Mark. He and his wife just moved to San Diego along with their three year old triplets and five year old. From what I understand, they are really struggling. The five year old came first (obviously) and life with one child was a bowl of cherries. But then came along triplets and all hell broke loose.

(I don't know what their problem is. Life around here is always peaches and cream. Oh. Wait a minute. HENRY! HENRY!! GET OUT OF THE TOILET!! ELIZABETH, DOLLY'S HAIR WILL NOT GROW BACK IF YOU CUT IT OFF - PUT DOWN THE SCISSORS!! GRACIE GOOD GOD WHY IS THERE LIQUID SOAP ON MY CAMERA?! WILLIAM! WILLIAM?! WHO ARE YOU CALLING?! GET OFF THE PHONE!!)

Ahem.

Charlie said that Mark's biggest concern is that once he became a father, he began to lose his identity as a husband. It seems his whole life now revolves around the children. And whenever he has quiet time with his wife, all that they talk about are the children, children, children.

Who is he?

Who is she?

What happened to them?

My husband, along with the other triplet dads, spoke about the importance of taking time away for yourself - and for your marriage. You must make it a priority to have that one - on - one time with each of your children, and especially with your spouse.

When Mark further stressed that he feels like he and his wife have nothing to talk about outside of the kids - my husband suggested ON CAMERA that they drink more wine.

See, my advice would have been make sure you laugh with your spouse, every day. If you can can find humor together, you can handle just about anything. And also, eat a bowl of ice cream while sitting side by side at the end of a long day. It really helps and seeing my hubby drizzle hot fudge makes me love him that much more. (The key is moderation. Everything in moderation.)

(I'm so glad Charlie didn't grab the camera and take a photo of me licking every last molecule of hot fudge out of that bowl. Oh Mercy. Not a drop can ever go to waste.)

The show is scheduled to air on ABC Friday, January 15, 2010.

But something tells me, my husband's pearl of wisdom about throwing back another glass of vino to help facilitate better communication, isn't going to make it on the air. Regardless, I hope it comes across that my Charlie is not only a rockstar dad, he is a rockstar husband.

I definitely hit the jackpot in the spouse department.

our new morning soundtrack

Our house is always filled with music. In the morning, as soon as we wake up, we'll turn on the stereo and throughout the day, we'll listen to an assortment of music. Classical. Rock. Blues.

A couple years ago, I posted a video of the girls dancing to what was then, our favorite music to start the day. While I don't have a video to accompany these photos, here are a few pictures that William (my budding photographer) snapped off as Elizabeth and I got up and got ready to start our day, today.


Can you guess what song we were listening to?


It's no wonder our children have such awesome dance moves.

They are learning from a master.

My singing isn't so bad, either.

Although from the expression on Elizabeth's face (and Carolyn who is belting from the other side of the camera, "MOMMY! STOP SINGING!!") my children might tend to disagree.

My Uncle Bill

Two weeks ago, my mother asked if I could please help her write down a few thoughts about my Uncle Bill. When I arrived in South Carolina last week, mom asked if I could please finish writing down those thoughts and deliver the Eulogy at his funeral mass this past Saturday.

As it turns out, Eulogies typically don't happen at funeral masses. But because my family has attended this church for a long time, and because my Aunt Ann was a part of the service (and made connections with the organist who then talked with the Priest), an exception was made.

Below is the Eulogy that I delivered after the Homily. This is the Eulogy that took me almost 10 hours to write and when I collapsed in to bed at three in the morning - seven hours before the Funeral Mass was scheduled to take place - clear as day, I could hear my Uncle Bill say to me, "Thank you, Dear."

I love that man so much and it was my great honor to have the opportunity to tell everyone how much he meant to me. Or rather, how much he means to me. Because even now, I can feel his strong spirit surrounding me.

*******

Writing this Eulogy for my beloved Uncle Bill has probably been one of the most difficult things I have ever done. Because there are so many things to say. And yet, none of the things that I say could ever capture the greatness of the man that we are gathered here to honor, today.

Uncle Bill.

You were a terrible driver.

My mother told me when I was a child that I should never drive with you and if I must, I should always sit in the back and never forget to wear my seat belt.

Albeit a danger on the road, you were a lucky man. To not only walk away from your countless car accidents unscathed, but to have lived such a full and rich life. I do not know of anyone who has given so much love - and received so much love - within their lifetime. I do not know of any man that is so adored by his children and grandchildren that they would consider building their own homes in their father's front yard.

(For those that don't know - my cousin Margaret's house is a few hundred feet off her parent's house. Smack dab in the right field of their front yard.)

To me, you were a constant source of entertainment. My favorite story that you ever told was the one where your mother, who on one particular day, was so angry at you and your brother, Joe - that she tried to throw a pot at the two of you as you ran up a flight of stairs. But instead of hitting you, the pot ricocheted off the wall struck her in the head and knocked her out cold. And rather than stick around to see if your mother was OK, you opted to hide because you knew that if she was angry before she gave herself a black eye, she’d be even more cross when she resumed consciousness.

To your children you were their mentor, coach and confidant. May I ask: How many fathers bring flowers to their daughters in high school on Valentine‘s Day? How many fathers would get excited over baking a rhubarb pie with their teenager? How many fathers have the privilege of working shoulder to shoulder with their grown sons? And how many fathers have such respect and decency, that they will tell their sons, when they are on a job working hard - talking hard - and getting dirty, that all of their work is to stay on the job, because as soon as they get home, they are in the company of women?

There was never any question that your family was the most important part of your life and because of that, you were committed to the success and well being of your children’s children.

You were not only “Father” to this family. You were a GRAND father. You have helped to shape and nurture your grandchildren’s lives, solely because you were a critical part of them. Like a dandelion’s seeds will blow in the breeze and spout new life in far reaching places - so the positive impact that you have had on your grandchildren has taken root to bloom and grow.

But the love and dedication for your children and grandchildren was eclipsed by the adoration and devotion that you had for your wife. Your Amazing Grace.


You were her dashingly handsome teenage sweetheart. She was your beautiful girlfriend. Your relationship was unlike any other, a match truly made in heaven. Your marriage of 56 years is what every marriage should be.

The way that you would put your arm around her, the way that you would gently hold her hand, and to see your face light up like the Fourth of July whenever she walked in to a room or spoke, was magic for everyone to see. When I once asked your advice on where you would live if you could live anywhere, you told me, “Your Aunt Grace sometimes gets a little irritated with me. But I‘d be happy wherever I was. So long as she’d allow me to be by her side.”

Uncle Bill, it was just the way that you lived your life. You were a beacon of eternal optimism, hope and strength. You harnessed the power of mind over body. Last year, when your dog Ruffo knocked you down and broke your hip, you didn’t cry out for help. Instead, when the first person called, you answered your cell phone, “Hello, Bill Finnell” as if nothing had ever happened. And when you heard that it was your daughter on the other end, you very casually asked if she had a pair of crutches you could borrow?

Lest anyone forget you were given a three-month life expectancy almost five years ago. You told the doctors that they had their work cut out for them and boy did they ever. You absolutely loved your life and because of that, you never gave up. When you were told that you would be growing weaker, you began getting up at three in the morning and working out so that your body would be as strong as your mind, for as long as possible.

But how is it possible that you were able to travel to California, just four short months ago?

I believe it was because there was nothing more important than for you to be present and support your daughter as she completed her first marathon. So you climbed aboard a plane, and flew 3,000 miles across the country (and back again) - took a cab - a train - and a bus so you could be there, waiting for us, as we hobbled across the finish line. Make no mistake: if you hadn’t been there, I would still be on the course. But I told myself, “If Uncle Bill can get himself to the finish line, by golly, I can too.” And that is where I found the strength to continue.

Then again, you have always given me the strength to continue.

Consider, it was 30 years ago last month that I moved in to your home. I was only eight-years-old at the time and I thought I was just visiting South Carolina on vacation before the new school year resumed. But when I didn't fly home and my mother and brother joined us from Massachusetts a few days later, I knew that my life was about to change, forever.

Those were some very tumultuous times. But you, Uncle Bill, were solid ground. You took all of us in, under your wing, and you made us feel safe and secure and welcome. You helped us to start over again. You showered us with your love and hospitality. You encouraged us. And you showed us, through your example, how a husband should cherish his wife and family, unconditionally.

Children and adults adore you. You were humble, gracious, patient, compassionate and kind. But if you saw something wrong, you were not afraid to speak up. Like the young man that you watched a judge try to sentence to jail because he could not afford to pay his fine. You not only spoke up, but you paid his fine and then told that young man, an absolute stranger to you, that the best way he could ever pay you back, would be to go forth and do something positive with his life. You believed in people and in doing so, you helped people to believe in themselves.

You had what can only be considered a God-given talent of making everyone feel special, like they were the most important person in the world. And whenever you would talk with someone, you were never distracted. You were always present in the moment. You nurtured relationships and created strong bonds and in doing so, you were an absolute gift to those who you cared about.

Uncle Bill, you are who I strive to be more like, every day.

You were a man with a dream and you lived that dream. There is no question you are the most successful man I have ever met. But what really defines success? Is it money or possessions or fame? In truth, it is none of the above.

Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote,

"To laugh often and much; To win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; To earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; To appreciate beauty, to find the best in others; To leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition; To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded."

Uncle Bill, you have done all of those things and more.

So you have not only succeeded in life, you have thrived.

Your daughter Margaret called me at sunrise on Wednesday to tell me that you had left us. But Uncle Bill, you haven't really left us. You will never leave us. You will always be a part of any one's life that you have touched. When I hugged you tightly just last month and told you that I loved you, you smiled and warmly said, "I know, Dear. I know you, do. Thank you for that."

Uncle Bill, if I had been emotionally able, I would have said, "No. Thank You."

Thank you for the goodness that you always showed to me and especially, the kindness that you always showed to my mother. Thank you for taking us in and making us a part of your family. Thank you for looking out for me, and my siblings, as we grew up. Thank you for taking me pony shopping when I was nine-years-old in your yellow MGB. Thank you for being a shining example of what I should look for in a husband. Thank you for being my advocate and my friend and my motivation. Thank you for being at the finish line.

No one lives forever. But Uncle Bill, you will forever live in my heart.

Finally. I know that Uncle Bill would want for me to tell you: Thank you, to each and every one that is gathered here today. Thank you so very much for coming to remember him, for being here to support his family, for sharing in his life and for being his friend.

Now go forth and enjoy your day.

Go forth and enjoy your life.

Put the ones you love, before all else.

And if anyone ever tries to hit you in the head with a pot, run like the wind.

i am SO glad that i went

It wasn't until late Wednesday night that I made the decision to fly back to South Carolina for my Uncle Bill's funeral. Even though my cousin Margaret had called (twice) and told me that she (really) wanted for me to come back, I was sitting on the fence until I talked to my mother.

My mother is Aunt Grace's sister and they are only a couple years apart in age. They have an extremely close relationship and as such, my mother has always been close with Uncle Bill.

Mom was the maid-of-honor in their wedding, 56 years ago. She visited them when they moved away from Massachusetts and lived in Georgia. And then Florida. And then South Carolina. And when my parents divorced - Uncle Bill was a pillar of strength for my mother.

When I talked to Mom on Wednesday night, I could just hear it in her voice. While I knew that my cousins and Aunt Grace would be surrounded with friends and family and have the support that they needed, I really worried about my mother.

My mom never wants to put any one out, so I expected no less when she told me during our conversation, "I'm just fine. Please don't come. I hope you're not planning on leaving Charlie and all those babies." But something told me I needed to go. So I got the nod of endorsement from my husband and booked the ticket that would have me departing less than 10 hours later.

Uncle Bill and Aunt Grace have a beautiful home in the country and they have always derived inspiration for decoration from the Biltmore House, in North Carolina.

Growing up, I remember that they decorated their house so beautifully for all the holidays, but especially at Christmas. When December would roll around, Auntie would place live trees in various rooms and each window along the front of the house was adorned with an evergreen wreath. While the adults would bake, the kids would be sent hunting in the woods for holly, mistletoe and pine cones. When finished, their house would look like something from a magazine and smell like something from a gingerbread dream. Uncle Bill would walk around - the King of his Castle - beaming at the beauty of it all. He was always so proud of his home.

That's my memory.

Because having their house look beautiful was always so important to Aunt Grace and Uncle Bill, my mother picked up four pots of mums that she wanted to use in decorating the front step.

When I drove over to drop the plants off on Friday morning, I decided that we needed just a few plants more. So I asked my cousin Lisa to come with me for a major dose of retail therapy.

First we went to Home Depot where we bought 18 more pots of mums. (Did I mention I have a problem with moderation?) Then we carefully selected 21 pumpkins. Five big ones to represent the five children of Aunt Grace and Uncle Bill and 16 little ones to represent their 16 grandchildren. Because I'm all about symbolism.

From there, we headed over to Pier I Imports where we bought candles and centerpieces and garland and a vibrant wreath for the front door. And then, we went to McDonald's where we ate our weight in french fries and chocolate milkshakes. And for the first time in two days, the grief that had clutched us, lessened. Just a little bit.

The funeral mass was on Saturday and this was the first time I had been in to a Catholic Church in ... 10 (15?) years. My cousin Lisa's children, Matthew, Stephen and Kathryn were the altar boys and altar girl and it was so special to see them up there helping with the service.

Several more of Uncle Bill's grandchildren served as pallbearers and as they proceeded in to the church, while my mother's other sister, Aunt Ann, sang an absolutely beautiful rendition of "Amazing Grace", I dissolved in to tears. The whole experience was surreal.

Fortunately, it was just a matter of time before I was distracted with the formality of the Catholic Church. Kneeling. Sitting. Standing. Kneeling. It didn't seem like anyone was doing anything in synchronicity. Some would be sitting. Others would be standing. While a handful were on their knees, looking around confused.

My mother tried to kneel at one point and then yelped over the pain from her new knee. During all this, there were recitations the congregation was making. The priest would say something, the congregation would respond. I kind of remember this from my days in Catholic school, but not enough to preclude me from stealing a glance at my mother to see what I should be doing.

At one point, my cousin, Sue, who was in the pew directly behind me, leaned forward and said, "So, Jenny! I can't wait to see what happens with you and Marylou!" When I turned around and gave her a curious look, she continued, "I READ THE BLOG, YOU KNOW!"

Unbeknown to me, it seems a lot of my family does and I should probably watch what I write a bit more. (Hi There! Why haven't you donated yet to my 3-Day Walk?!)

(Or better yet, donate to my friend, Debbie. She still needs to reach her minimum. It all goes to the same place and it is all very much needed.)

(Except you - Uncle Bernie. And you - Peggy. Please send me your e-mail and mailing address so I can forward you a tax receipt.)

Here I am collecting a donation from my Uncle Bernie. Not only was he the youngest Sergeant Major in the history of the United States Marines, he ejected from a plane just before it crashed off the coast of Coronado Island in 1945.

Who says REAL MEN don't wear bracelets?

(You tell Uncle Bernie that and he'll kick your ass to Guadalcanal.)

While I'm on the topic of real men ... here are two more.

This is my new stepfather Jim and my Uncle Paul watching a baseball game.

Of course the Red Sox were playing.

The service was as beautiful as it could be and I felt incredibly honored to read my Uncle Bill's Eulogy. Because several people have asked me for a copy of it and because I don't have everyone's e-mail (or mailing address), I plan to post it here in the next day or so.

If not for my mother's distraction of telling me I needed to genuflect at the tabernacle before I stepped on to the altar (WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?!) and my cousin Anne Marie's promise to make me fudge with nuts (I'm still waiting, Anne), I never would have made it through my reading. So thank you for helping to keep my mind occupied with doing things correctly and savoring homemade chocolate.

Later that night, as a gorgeous full moon raised above the country fields, I convinced my cousin Margaret to go on a midnight flower run.

See, my theory is that although fresh cut flowers are beautiful, once those flowers start to wilt and die, it triggers a whole different type of depression. And because my Uncle Bill is so adored by so many - his home was filled to the brink with fresh cut flowers.

So once the family had enjoyed the flowers for a full day, we loaded up several baskets in to the back of Margaret's husband's truck and we drove around, dropping them off on the doorsteps of the people who had done so much to help the family over the past few weeks.

It felt great and we laughed like crazy, depositing these gorgeous arrangements and RUNNING as fast as we could before the unsuspecting recipients opened their doors.

The weather forecast had predicted rain all weekend, but that didn't happen. Instead, we had the most spectacular Fall weather I have ever seen.

Which was quite fitting, since we were there to honor one of the most spectacular men I've ever had the privilege of knowing.

too many choices

Today, I met with one of my co-workers for lunch and among other things, we discussed what seems to be my very uncertain future. As I was replaying to my co-worker the choices that I currently have before me - and the stress that they are causing - he told me that he once read a book about choices. The premise was that people are happier when they have choices. But in reality, people are usually paralyzed by indecision when too many choices are before them.

For instance, my co-worker recently planned a trip to the Caribbean. To get there, he needed to fly from San Diego to Miami for his connecting flight. And while he was filled with such excitement about planning this exotic vacation, once he went on line and started to book his tickets, he was overcome with dread.

Options upon options were available for flight times; connecting cities; arrivals, departures and ground transportation. There were hotel options. Did he want an efficiency or a suite? Did he want a room facing the lagoon or ocean? Would he like an upgrade or a package deal? And then, once he finally made his choices, he agonized over whether his decisions were good enough.

Here's a little known fact about me: When I go out to a new restaurant, I frequently wait until everyone has ordered because I want to see what they select and why. And maybe what they ordered will be better than what I was thinking of ordering. If I've eaten there before, I will order the same exact thing. Because I am a fierce creature of habit.

Along that same vein, at all costs, I will avoid eating at The Cheesecake Factory because I cannot stand the menu. From what I recall, there is at least one full page dedicated to various salads. Several pages to pasta and the dessert menu is the volume of a telephone book for a small town.

The BEST restaurant I ever ate at, was a small Italian number in the North End of Boston. You just walk in and sit down and they serve you whatever it was that they cooked that day. There were NO choices except whether you wanted to eat there, or not.

Even the most simple things can be complicated by choices. What kind of ice cream would you like? Do you want hot fudge? Whipped cream or marshmallow? Nuts? Peanuts, Walnuts or Pecans? One cherry or two?

Will that be for here or to go?

For as long as we have been a couple, Charlie and I have said that we would like to live closer to family. But seeing as we live in Southern California and we have family in Northern California, Massachusetts and South Carolina - where do we go? Effectively, our choice is any corner of the continental United States. Awesome!!

Add to all that, this year, I am more aware of the passage of time than I ever have been in my entire life. Which means, I feel this invisible pressure to make a choice.

In two months time, I have watched two people that I care about lose their battles to cancer. My babies turn five-years-old in less than a week. Kindergarten is looming on the horizon. Do I send them? Do I keep them home? If I send them, what school will they attend? If we move what school will they attend? Is it as nice as the school just down the street from our house?

I returned to work full time. My husband has been laid off and started his own company. I have been presented with several opportunities to move. To sell our house. To start a new life in a new area - none of which are closer to family. Of course my immediate family is the most important family in my life, but it certainly would be nice to be closer to our extended family.

Currently, the choice is stay in San Diego and continue working and Charlie can establish his company. But the most immediate problem, in my opinion, is that the kids suffer if we are both distracted with work. So while I want to be supportive of my husband in his new endeavor, sometimes when I reach for the words, "I'm proud and support you!" the words that I find are, "What the $%*@ were you thinking? Are you out of your $%*@ing mind starting a COMPANY when we have small children at home?!"

I could quit and Charlie could go full force. But seeing as he doesn't have the revenue stream to support our family - nor any benefits - I believe that would be a bad choice. And if he were to start over with a new company, the income would be less than what I am making now.

We could take the job that was just offered to me and move our family to Los Angeles. But I'd be in an office five days a week. And considering the next home that we buy is hopefully, the home where we will raise our children, I can't rightly say that I'm too pumped about living in LA for the next 20 years. (Sincere apologies to my peeps north on the 5.)

We could sell off everything and move, without jobs, to be closer to family. Or, we could liquidate our 401Ks and travel around the county in an RV while live blogging the whole way. At the moment, we're seriously considering both of these scenarios because we are out of our noggins and on our second glasses of wine.

If I didn't have an amazing education. If I didn't have an amazing career. If I didn't have an amazing husband (who also has an amazing education). If I didn't have amazing children. If I didn't have an amazing family that lives too far away. If I didn't live in an amazing neighborhood with an amazing church and an amazing network of friends. If I didn't have an amazing little house that has lost an even more amazing amount of equity. If I didn't have this incredibly amazing life, the choices that I make - or don't make - would be SO much easier.

In reality, I don't have any problems at all whatsoever.

I'm the luckiest person alive.

I just have absolutely no idea which side is up.

the king has spoken

And what he has said is, "Quit your complaining!"

Because I tend to be obsessive about certain things, I've been checking the comments on my previous post every 10 minutes for the past four hours for some nugget of wisdom and based on the overwhelming input ... crickets ... I guess most people would have to agree.

GROW UP.

I'm healthy. Charlie is healthy. The children are healthy. We have a steady income. A lot of people are a lot worse off. Our 'house' isn't the problem. (At least I don't think it is.)

Heck, I'll stay in a small house forever. It's the working full time and feeling like I am missing out on my children's life, that keeps me up at night. It's the desire that I have to be closer to my family on the east coast. It's the huge job opportunity I received yesterday that would require us to move in the next four to six weeks and have me reporting to an office every day from 8 to 5. It's the feeling like I have very limited options about what to do and if I don't go down this one certain path, I'll crash and burn and take my family with me.

Why am I so afraid?

And how do single parents, or women that work full time handle it all? My God. The kids. The house. The meals. And then I start thinking about school and the homework and the activities and the ....

My head is ready to fall off my shoulders and roll right out the front door.

I'm working. My kids are growing up lightening fast. Suddenly, I feel like I'm missing it all.

All I want to do is sit back and make paper rings with our children.

And then write about it, thereby preserving every memory.

Because wow - that seems so up my alley at this point in life.

Charlie can have the high powered conference calls about petroleum hydrocarbon migration in fractured bedrock. That's what he wants to do, anyway. He is a man. He wants to work. He needs to work. He couldn't be home for two weeks without starting up his own company. Then there's me. I am a woman, I want to stay home and ... MAKE PAPER RINGS WITH MY KIDS.

So what if I have a bachelors and a masters and a highly coveted professional registration and a job that most people in my profession would give their right arm for?

Boo hoo that I absolutely stink at sucking it up and taking one for my family.

(And how dumb am I that I actually tell my boss these very things?!)

Today, when I was working out at the YMCA, I happened to see a woman who had Down's Syndrome. She was flipping through the pages of a magazine and laughing, deliriously. There was something about the Oil of Olay ad that had her in stitches. And then, when she flipped the page and was looking at an advertisement for Gatorade, I thought she'd fall out of the chair. I called Charlie and told him about what I had seen. Here is this woman, laughing about ads in a magazine. From my perspective, she didn't have a care in the world.

When my husband asked what my point was, I told him, "It's the first time in my entire life I'm feeling a little jealous that I don't have an extra chromosome. Seriously. I've never seen Trisomy 21 look like so much fun."

Alright. I'm off to breathe in a paper bag. No more whining. This issue will not be discussed again. Until it is.

what's in you wednesday

In my mind, I wake up at dawn and exercise until my body burns. In reality, I wake up at dawn and lay in bed for an hour, watching the ceiling fan, while thinking, "I should get up. I should really get up."

In my mind, once I've worked out, I come home and have a light lunch of grilled chicken and organic arugula, before doing an hour of yoga. In reality, once I've worked out, I come home and eat a plate of chocolate chip cookies, chocolate covered peanuts, a handful of inorganic grapes, and participate in a conference call about the fate and transport of petroleum hydrocarbons in fractured bedrock.

In my mind, I have such inner strength and peace, I float down the river of life like a delicate leaf, going where ever the current takes me and possessing absolute confidence in my place in the Universe and in the energy that surrounds and propels me. In reality, I flail down the river of life like a wet mangy dog that fights every bend and current, with it's head barely above water, howling as if it is going to drown.

Yesterday, my company offered me a new job. But unlike previous offers, this is the first time I haven't turned them down. I'm currently mulling it over with Charlie. At this very moment, we're actually considering selling the little house that we've lived in for the past 12 years and moving to some place new, outside of San Diego. And while we do complain about things from time to time and say that we would WELCOME change, suddenly, I love our neighborhood more than I ever have and the thought of moving makes me nauseous.

We are both fearful about what the future holds.

Or rather, I am fearful.

It seems "Jen of little faith" is also "Jen of great fear." Charlie is the beautiful leaf serenely floating down the river of life - ready to welcome anything that comes his way - and open to whatever it is that I want to do. Meanwhile, I am the wet stinky dog that is thrashing against the water and barking at it's own shadow. What I really need is for someone to take me by the hand and confidently say, "THIS WAY."

Because what I want to do is severely offset by what is responsible to do.

What I want to do is stay home with our children, teach them, nurture them as they grow and write about it all. The responsible thing to do is work and provide a steady income, benefits and security for my family.

The drawback of one is that there is no income which is important for such things as ... oh I don't know ... food and shelter. The drawback of the other is that I will miss out on a substantial portion of my children's lives because I'm gone all the bloody time.

Of course there is a third option. I could quit and Charlie could work. But everything is so unstable right now, I don't think I could handle the uncertainty.

Does this blog read like a broken record?

Broken record?

Broken eh, you get the point.

Despite so many things that have been happening in and around my life, I'm happy to report that I managed to work out a few times this week. In addition to going to my own YMCA, I went to the YMCA twice with my mother while I was in South Carolina and on one of those days, I participated in a water aerobics class and was put to shame by a group of seniors.

While water aerobics are difficult, they aren't nearly as difficult as trying to decide what I'll do with the rest of my life. Stay or go. Flourish or flounder. Is it possible to give yourself an aneurysm? Because I've got a head ache that just won't quit.

Life is short. Too short. And I can see - so clearly at the moment - that things can change at any moment. Which is why I want to live my life, as much as possible, with no regrets.

So while I try to grapple with my own future, I'll ask you: If you could do anything with your life, what would you do? Would you keep things status quo because you're happy as a clam in mud? Would you sell everything and travel around the world? Would you become a professional photographer - writer - astronaut - or homemaker?

For instance: This is my sister Janet's life dream. She has wanted this ALL OF HER LIFE and now, she has it. Her own little shop with a wood burning stove where she sells wool from her sheep, apple cider and crafts made by local artisans. If I could, I'd move next door and make soap and candles that I'd sell in her shop. Because it sounds fun. Doesn't it?

Leave your comment anonymously, if need be. But please, spill it.

What is your passion?

And how do you plan to accomplish that in your lifetime?

how to be an amazing blockhead

With less than an hour remaining before my plane was scheduled to depart, I grabbed my suitcase and ran from the curb - where George had dropped me off - and took my place at the back of the security line.

Fortunately, the line wasn't too long, but unfortunately, they confiscated my brand new bottle of Aveeno Clearly Radiant Facial Wash. Because it exceeded four ounces.

Once I made it through security, six point seven ounces lighter, I wound myself through the Terminal and directly in to the restroom. From there, I dropped in to the airport convenience store where I purchased a bottle of water and a small bag of trail mix that I planned to enjoy during my flight. All along, I kept thinking to myself how convenient it was that I was traveling so light. Unlike my most recent travels when I was responsible for managing four children - and twelve pieces of carry on luggage (and a stroller and a carseat) - this time, it was just me, my one suitcase and my backpack.

I felt so light, I could fly.

After I paid for my purchases, I walked up to my gate and while waiting to board my plane, I sat down and cracked open a book. "Eat, Pray, Love." I've been trying to get through this book for at least two years and never had the motivation to finish it. But now, with a full day of traveling before me, there were no excuses.

Fifteen minutes later, it was time to board and as I walked up to the gate attendant, I suddenly felt like something was wrong. Yes, I was traveling light. But it felt like I was traveling a little too light. Scanning around me, my stomach dropped to my shoes when it dawned on me that my suitcase was gone.

Yes. GONE.

My mind started racing. The plane was leaving in a matter of minutes, but I couldn't leave without my suitcase. I did bring it, right?

Yes. Yes, I must have because I gave George a bracelet and my facial soap was confiscated. Spinning around on my heels, I yelled to the gate attendant who had her hand outstretched to receive my boarding pass, "I'll be right back! Please don't leave without me!!"

I dodged around the people standing in line behind me and ran through the terminal. Just then, Charlie called and I answered my cell phone while panting, "Oh my heavens, I lost my suitcase!" My husband was alarmed. "What do you mean you lost your suitcase? How could you LOSE your suitcase?" I yelled back, "I don't know! I DON'T KNOW! Apparently, I am unable to travel successfully unless I'm managing a MASSIVE quantity of luggage and several little people!"

As I was sprinting through the terminal, I spotted a small cluster of TSA agents, standing directly across from the Women's Restroom and small airport store. They had their back to the main passage, but I could see that they had lifted something small and black on to the chairs, had zipped it open, and were carefully inspecting the contents.

Once I ran up to them, I could clearly see that they had my suitcase, and hanging out of that suitcase in all of it's glory were clothes and a toiletry bag that was vibrating. To Charlie on the phone I said, "There it is, Hurray I found it!" and to the TSA agents, I declared, "Hi how are you doing? Yup. That looks like my bag!"

Right away, one of the TSA agents, with "Supervisor" on his jacket stepped forward and very sternly asked, "Ma'am, who is on the phone?" When I told him it was my husband, he ordered me to hang up immediately. Charlie was asking "What's happening? JEN! What's happening?" before I whispered, "I've got to go, I'll call you later!" and disconnected the line.

Then I stood there, with my arms by my side, my hand tightly clutching my phone, and a weak smile on my face. Hoping, no - fervently praying - that nothing within my bag could be misconstrued as a weapon. Or worse yet, concerned that someone had tampered with my bag and planted something deadly in the short time it was out of my possession.

The agent sized me up before saying, "Ma'am, this bag has been unattended for twenty minutes." I took a deep breath and responded, "Sir, I am so sorry - I must have left it when I went to either the restroom or store to buy some water." He then asked me a series of questions. "When are you leaving? What is your airline? Where and why are you traveling?"

I tried to summon calm because I didn't want to come off as totally alarmed or trying to hide something. So I carefully answered his questions. "My plane is leaving now. I'm flying American. I am traveling to South Carolina to attend the funeral of my dear uncle who lost his battle to cancer yesterday."

Then I added, just because I felt compelled to do so, "I travel all the time and this is the first time I have ever lost my suitcase. Why, just last month, I traveled with our four-year-old triplets and two-year-old toddler and husband - and all of their stuff - and we made it to the other side of the country without losing a single thing. Not even our minds!"

The agent wasn't listening to me. Instead, he held up a plastic bag of brightly colored bracelets and asked, "What is 'BE AMAZING!'?" For a moment I completely forgot and I stared at the bag of bracelets as if it was the first time I had ever seen them. But then, once my brain recovered, I stuttered that the bracelets were for a fundraiser I was doing, with all proceeds benefiting the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation. I had packed several of the bracelets so that I could hand them out to my friends and family as a reminder that we still have a lot of work to do before we find a cure and to help inspire them to do something amazing with their lives.

For the first time, his expression softened and he said, "I don't suppose wearing one of these is a reminder that you should NEVER leave your suitcase unattended in the middle of the airport. Huh?" I cringed before responding, "No, Sir. It sure isn't."

He seemed to accept my explanation, so he turned around and told the other agents that they could close up my luggage. Even though they had probably identified my toothbrush during their inspection, I didn't feel comfortable reaching over the TSA agents and opening up my toiletry bag to turn off my Sonicare. Still, I felt it was necessary to explain to this group of uniformed men that the vibrating device in my toiletry bag was indeed my battery operated toothbrush.

When I highlighted what I thought would be incredibly obvious to them, the supervisor just smiled at me and said, "Yes Ma'am. That's what they all say."

******

Sorry for the delay in posting a winner on the most awesome block set ever.

The winner - as selected by the generator on Random Org is Samantha Cleys. Samantha, are you out there? CONGRATULATIONS! Please let me know if you'd like the blocks delivered to the address that you provided with your donation, or an alternate.

Thanks so very much to every one who ordered a bracelet and in doing so, were entered in to this totally legal contest. As always, that was great fun. We must do it again sometime.

Also, for anyone who ordered a bracelet since last Wednesday (9/30), I haven't yet had an opportunity to mail those out. I hope to send them within the next few days.

(If few means 10.)

a funny thing happened on the way to south carolina

I'm still in South Carolina and I will be flying home, tomorrow.

This trip has been an amazing adventure for me and I want to record some of the things that have happened so I don't ever forget.

**********

The shuttle driver was supposed to be at the door to pick me up at 5:35 on Thursday morning. When they had not arrived by 5:45, I could feel the back of my neck break out in to a light sweat. To distract myself, while I waited, I did a mental inventory of everything I had packed. For some reason, I remembered that I wanted to bring some of my "BE AMAZING!" bracelets back home, so I could hand them out to friends and relatives.

So I grabbed a bag of 100 and shoved them in to the outer compartment of my bag. Then, I resumed my panic attack. Because my flight was due to leave at 7:30 and I knew we had two other passengers to pick up and it takes at least 30 minutes to get in to the airport without traffic, and security at the airport early in the morning on a work week is nothing short of brutal.

We were going to be late. I was going to miss my plane. I would have to catch another flight. I would never make it back in time for the funeral services that were scheduled to begin Friday.

Commence knots in stomach.

I moved myself outside, to the sidewalk, and tried calling the shuttle company. "I knew I should have taken an earlier shuttle," I said aloud. "Or at least, driven myself." But just then, the shuttle van pulled in to sight. The driver climbed out and he was a large man, with a long beard, thick glasses and tattoos covering every inch of skin from his sleeveless elbows to his wrists. He briskly greeted me and told me to take the passenger seat, while he loaded my suitcase in to the back.

Once he climbed in to the van, panting heavily, he slowly dialed his location in to a hand held device and then, pulling up a tiny screen on his computer, determined that the next pick up was just three houses away. The second passenger was also standing outside their home, gripping their cell phone, clearly poised to call the shuttle company.

When the second passenger climbed aboard, I said good morning and cheerfully asked how long they had lived in the neighborhood. Because, well - I've lived in this neighborhood since September of 1997 and this was the first time I had ever seen this man, living only three doors away. Surely he must be new. But much to my surprise - or rather, blatantly obvious antisocial dismay - he has lived in his house since November of 1997.

Welcome to suburbia living in San Diego.

You don't know me. I don't know you.

While our driver entered his second pick up in to his hand held device and pulled up the third location, we briefly traded stories about our tract homes. (Better known as the ticky tacky little boxes and they all look just the same.) The dysfunctional shower in the master bedroom (he has the same issues we do), poor quality windows (both agree they are totally crappy), total lack of insulation (yes, brrr), and how it's possible that we don't know each other when we've lived three houses away from one another for the past 12 years?

Pathetic, indeed.

I told him that it was now on my list to make sure I knew everyone on my block, and I'd aim to meet someone new, once per month. The three of us concurred that it so easily happens that we get busy with our own lives and in the process become clueless to the people and world around us.

Our shuttle driver slowed to a stop and was pulling out his map. "Alright, let's see where are we going?" he asked no one in particular.

He scrutinized the page for a few minutes and while I watched the green digital minutes tick by on the dashboard, and could feel my mouth go suddenly dry, I reached over to take the map while trying to helpfully suggest, "Maybe I can figure it out?"

Without protest, he handed over the map and grabbed a flashlight out of the glove compartment which he clicked on and passed to me. With a florescent light in one hand, and a ripped Thomas Guide in the other, within a minute I pinpointed our location and another minute later, identified the street where we were heading. Then, I rolled down the window and shined the light on each passing street sign until I could see where we needed to turn right, left, left and right again.

Once we arrived, our third and fourth passengers were standing outside of the house and the sun was visible in the east. While the driver was loading our passengers, I happened to look around the dashboard and noticed a shuttle license and registration. My drivers named was George. He is 5 feet 10 inches tall and weighs 375 pounds. He was born March 18, 1962.

We loaded our final passengers, George slowly recorded in his device that all of the passengers were secure and our trip to the airport commenced.

As we drove out of the neighborhood, I started to make small talk. I was curious, how early does George have to get up in the morning? How long is his shift? How many miles does he typically drive in a week? As we were talking, he informed me that he typically starts his shift at 2 AM and runs five or six shuttles a day. He's run one shuttle already, but he has an eye appointment later in the morning, so this would be his only shuttle of the day. Then he pointed to his coke bottle glasses.

"So, you're going in for an eye appointment?" I questioned. "Are you considering lasic?"

Turns out, George was recently diagnosed with diabetes and the eye appointment is to make sure that his vision has not been impaired. Once he told me that, he added that he is considering gastric bypass surgery, because he really needs to lose weight.

My interest was piqued. "In addition to the bypass, what are you doing to lose the weight?" I asked. He told me that he is seeing a personal trainer and trying to adjust his eating habits. For 20 years, he was a truck driver and in the process of logging more than 2 million miles on the road, he developed an affinity for fast food drive thrus. Now, he is trying to eat out less and eat more fresh foods. It hasn't been easy, but he really wants to make a concerted effort to begin living a healthy life, because his whole life he has been plagued with one challenge after another.

Then he told me that he is a recovering drug addict. He was addicted to cocaine for at least 10 years. He's been clean for 16 years. Just as I was about to tell him kudos!, he told me that his 20-year old daughter, who had epilepsy, died just last month. She had a grand mal seizure while she was strung out on illegal drugs and she never woke up.

While I sat wondering what to say, he continued that in addition to being diagnosed with diabetes, and losing his daughter, within the past month, he was also diagnosed with bladder cancer. Currently, he 'only' has three tumors which appear to be stable, but he requires annual exams for the next three years, and then once every two years for the rest of his life.

Then he softly whispered that this past month has been so awful for him, he's considered turning back to drugs - or putting an end to it all.

He continued to talk and I tried to listen while doing my best to not pass any judgement on this man or what he has been through. Instead, when there was a break in the conversation and he said, "I cannot believe I just told you all of that", I told him that spilling the beans to an absolute stranger can be wonderfully cathartic.

Then, I told him that everyone has a purpose in life and he needs to figure out what his is. For some odd reason, I had no reservation telling this man, "George, I absolutely do not believe that you were created for the sole intent of cocaine and double cheeseburger consumption. I will bet that if you focused just a fraction of your energy on trying to make something positive come out of the tragedy surrounding your daughter's death, you might be able to reach and effect a host of individuals who are going through a similar situation. Feeling like you are all alone, against the world, can be terribly overwhelming. Take it from me. I have four children born in two and half years."

During all of our banter, the passengers in the back are carrying on their own conversations, oblivious to what we were talking about in the front. And when we arrived at the airport, my airline was the first drop off.

As I climbed in to the back to grab my suitcase, I opened the small zippered compartment on my bag and pulled out a large "BE AMAZING!" bracelet. As I handed George a tip - I also handed him the bracelet and I said, "Listen, I hope that you will wear this little band and remember that YOU are in charge of your life. Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, today is a gift - that is why it is called the present. YOU can do anything you set your mind to TODAY, and the only one that is stopping you, is YOU."

As I stood there, wondering when Studs Terkel and Tony Robbins had taken up residence in my psyche, George put on his bracelet, smiled, wiped a tear away from his eyes, and then threw his huge bear-like arms around me, almost crushing my rib cage.

While he was hugging me tightly, he said, "Thanks for taking the time. You helped reading that map and this little pep talk is just what I needed."

When George let go, I looked in to the shuttle and the other three passengers were staring at us, undoubtedly wondering why the driver was hugging me and what he had in store for them.

My neighbor from three doors down called out to me through the open door, "Look at that! You've just met two new people in one day. Now you're set until Christmas!"

And then he said to George, "Dude, I really hope you're not expecting a hug from me."

i'll be gone for a few days

Thank you for all of the beautiful comments left regarding my Uncle Bill. At the risk of sounding corny, the words that I wrote about the man do not even adequately capture the greatness of the man. He truly was one like no other and he will be deeply missed.

I'll be flying out in just a few hours to rejoin my family in South Carolina. (Yowzer, I'm having a panic attack. Darn that they only have 'commuter' planes in to GSP. What the heck happened to the BIG planes on American?) I won't be back until late Monday night and as such, I will have to push back the announcement of a winner for the block set until at least Tuesday. That gives people two extra days to participate in the contest, if they haven't already. (I should probably mention that my small blue bracelet supply is gone. I do still have some small greens - and a lot of small pinks - but the little blues went fast! I promise to order more of those next time. Oh yes. There will be a next time.)

Charlie, the remarkable man that he is - will be home alone with the children, while I am gone. In spite of that, on Sunday afternoon he will, quite possibly, be making his first television debut. The show that he will be participating in doesn't air until January. And that's all I want to say about that. (Except, think ABC.)

Yesterday was tough for me. Between trying to function at work - and field phone calls from various family members - and summarize some thoughts on my Uncle Bill - and coordinate last minute cross-country travel plans, I was feeling a little overwhelmed.

Early in the morning, soon after I received the news, my sweet children were holding my hands and rubbing my back while I tried to suppress tears. They were so concerned for my well being. "What is wrong, Mommy?" they innocently asked. "Why are you crying?"

I told them that Uncle Bill had gone to live with God and they all stood quietly, thinking about the implications of this. Since they lost their beloved dog, Molly, just last year, they vaguely understand what it means when something goes to live with God.

William told me that he was Uncle Bill's angel - which is entirely true - because Uncle Bill even said so, himself. Elizabeth told me that just like Molly, Uncle Bill will always be in our hearts and if we just close our eyes, we can see him any time we want. She then shut her eyes tightly and said, "Hi Uncle Bill! It's me, Elizabeth. I LOVE YOU!"

This made me smile through my tears and Carolyn - who had been studying my face intently the whole time sensed that the mood had lightened. That's when she placed her hand on my cheek and softly whispered, "Mommy, you've got a BIG boogie in your nose. Can I get it for you?"

Laughter. It truly is the best medicine.

And no one serves it up as well as children.

thank you for being my friend

It was 30 years ago last month that I moved in to your home.

I was only eight-years-old at the time and I thought that my sister and I were just visiting South Carolina for a vacation. But when we didn't fly home and my mother and brother drove down from Massachusetts to join us a few days later, I knew that my life was about to change, forever.

Those were the most tumultuous days of my life. But you were solid ground. You made us feel safe and secure and welcome. You helped us to start over again. You showered us with your love and hospitality. You showed us, through your example, how a husband should cherish his wife and family, unconditionally.

Everyone has a story about you and just about everyone will say that you are the most amazing man that they have ever had the privilege of meeting. Children adored you. Adults did, too. You were kind and gentle and patient. You were humble and soft spoken. You had an incredible gift of making everyone feel important and special. And whatever you had happening in your own life, would be put on hold if someone needed your help.

Whenever you would talk with people, you were never distracted. You were always present in the moment. You are who I strive every day to be more like.

You were honest and respectful. You brought laughter in to all situations. You worked so hard and were motivated. You would stand up for people who couldn't stand up for themselves. You defended my family as if we your very own. You had an innate sense of knowing when to lend advice or support, a gentle ear, or a shoulder to cry on.

You saw the good in everything and in everybody. Even though you were given a terminal diagnosis, you never stopped trying. You lived each day to the fullest and you inspired everyone around you to do the same. And up until the very end, you kept your sense of humor. This past weekend, when my mother was visiting and she asked, "Is there anything I can do for you?" you gently laughed and said, "You could trade places with me."

There is little doubt that you are the most successful man I have ever met. But what defines success? Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote,

"To laugh often and much;

To win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children;

To earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends;

To appreciate beauty, to find the best in others;

To leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition;

To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived.

This is to have succeeded."

Your daughter, Margaret, called me at sunrise to tell me that you left us at 2:45 this morning.

But you haven't really left us. You'll never leave us. You'll always be a part of us. When I hugged you tightly last month and told you, through my tears, that I love you, you smiled and warmly said, "I know, Dear. I know you, do. Thank you for that. " If I'd had more control over my emotions, I would have said, "No. Thank you."

Thank you for taking us in and making us feel like a part of your family.

Thank you for looking out for me, and my siblings, as we grew up.

Thank you for taking me pony shopping when I was nine-years-old in your yellow MGB.

Thank you for being a shining example of what I should look for in a husband.

Thank you for being my advocate and friend.

No one lives forever.

But Uncle Bill ... you will forever live in my heart.

Five years ago, my Uncle Bill was diagnosed with nonsmokers lung cancer and given three months to live. When he heard that I was doing the 3-Day Walk, he told me that if not for clinical trial medications that were developed by the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation, he would not have survived for as long as he had.

In recent months, the highlight of my conversations with Uncle Bill surrounded how much money we have raised to fight this dreaded disease. So to all of you who have generously donated to the various events that I have participated in this year, my most sincere thanks for helping to bring joy to one of my favorite people in the world.

what's in you wednesday

Earlier in the year, I crossed internet paths with Lani.

Lani has toddler triplets and she was questioning whether or not she could complete a marathon through The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society's Team in Training. The cause was so important to her, because several people in her life had been effected with blood cancers and she felt like she wanted to do something to honor them, and raise money to combat this brutal disease.

My advice to Lani was GO FOR IT!

She could definitely run a marathon - or at least walk it - and she could definitely do the fundraising. But I didn't know if she was convinced. So when I recently learned that Lani is registered to run the Walt Disney Marathon in January, with Team In Training, I was so happy and proud of this woman I had never actually met.

At the moment, Lani is in full-on fundraising mode for her run. Because she is involved with a number of different blogs, including the increasingly popular Multiples .... and More!


... and Who Knew Reviews, Lani is gaining a lot of publicity for some of the fun giveaways that she is hosting. She currently has a rocking blog party underway. Here's a link to the action:


For instance, if you are in the market for a new double stroller, you could have the chance to win this sweet ride. Not only would your children look awesome in this stroller - you would look awesome pushing it.


I just love it whenever I see people who have a passion to do something great for a cause near and dear to their heart. Like last month, when I was registering for the 3-Day Walk, I noticed that the top fundraisers are recognized on the main web page. Out of curiosity, I clicked over to see how much money the top fundraiser had managed to raise.

Her name is Barbara Jo Kirshbaum.

In the past 12 years, she has completed 100 long distance walks, which works out to 5,120 miles. That doesn't include any of the training walks that she probably put in, to prepare for the event walks that she has completed. Based on my own training regiment, I would suspect that in training, Barbara Jo has probably walked at least four times further than 5,120 miles. So it is quite possible that this one woman has walked a distance equivalent to one lap around the earth, and in the process, has raised over $1,026,000.00 for a cure to cancer.

Did I mention that Barbara Jo is 70 years old?

This year, she is planning to walk in 14 events, including five of the Breast Cancer 3 Days.

One woman, who didn't even start fundraising walks until she was 58-years old, has raised over one million dollars for cancer research, education and treatment. Barbara Jo walks because she cannot walk away and because she believes that research MUST stay ahead of this disease.

Now that is inspiration.

(Am I the only one with the chills?!)

Sorry Good Witch of the North, but you've got nothing on Barbara Jo Kirshbaum. I just figured out who I really want to be for Halloween.
And lucky for me, that should be a much easier costume to sew.

******

What do YOU hope to accomplish in your lifetime?

And if you haven't bought a silicone bracelet yet, why not?

I've got to catch up to Barbara Jo.

And to do that, I need to sell a mere 204,840 more.

the case for chocolate

We've hit a phase where children who have to go potty, will resist going potty until the last absolute possible second. Even more than the girls, the boy is especially guilty of this action.

It is particularly bad if he is engaged with something. You name it - a toy, a book, a game, a dead fly. He will squirm and cross his legs and bounce. But if I ask him if he needs to use the restroom, he'll say, "NO. NO. I'm fine. I'm just .... dancing."

I try to coax him to just go sit and try, but he won't listen. Until another few minutes have passed and his dancing turns in to a full body convulsion and he screams out in a panic, "I HAVE GOT TO GO POTTY!!!" and then his arms start flailing around in the air and he gets hysterical.

"ARGH! HELP! ME! HELP! ME! I HAVE GOT TO POTTY!"

To help encourage the children to use the restroom - before their bladder explodes - I have initiated this little game of asking the kids if perhaps the food that they eat changes the color of their "output." If they have orange juice for breakfast, as soon as I see them start to do the potty jig, I will tell them, "I'll bet that your pee-pee is going to be orange today. Quick, let's go check!!" Or, if they eat blueberries, I'll suggest that maybe it will turn blue. Watermelon surely will make it pink. This almost always works and the kids will excitedly run in and see if perhaps today they will see a new color.

They never do.

(Except for that day they drank their body weight in carrot juice.)

A few weeks ago, we went to a birthday party. At that birthday party was a cake. And on that cake was some themed character, I can't recall who. But it was lavishly decorated in blue and yellow frosting. The kids loved it and ate at least two pieces, each.

The next day we went out to a restaurant for dinner.

While I brought the girls in the bathroom to wash hands before we sat down to eat, they both informed me that they needed to go potty. So they did. As I'm standing outside of their stall doors, fighting the urge to rush in and lift them up and down off the commode in my expedited fashion, I hear Elizabeth yell out, "Oh my gosh! My poop is GREEN!" Just then Carolyn yells out, "Oh my GOSH! My poop is green, TOO!"

Surely the kids are just kidding around I think. But when I go in to help them flush, I take a quick glance and sure enough, their poop IS green. Think Kelly Green. Saint Patrick's Day Green. BRIGHT green.

My first thought upon seeing my children's BRIGHT GREEN poop was that they must be fighting something. Maybe they had some kind of virus?

The girls wash their hands and we rejoin Charlie and the boys at the table. The situation is forgotten until later, when we are walking out to the car. I catch sight of a bright green car zooming out of the parking lot and I remember.

"Charlie, it was so weird, when I took the girls in to the bathroom they both went poop and it was bright green. Like grass. I don't remember ever seeing anything like that before." My husband looked at me with a surprised expression and said, "Really? That is crazy because William went poop and his was bright green, too."

We continued walking to the car, quietly debating why our children's poop was bright green. They certainly didn't seem sick and their appetites were just fine. When I asked Charlie if they'd eaten anything unusual in the past few days he said, "The only thing that I can think of is the cake that they had at the party." I stopped in my tracks and said, "You mean the birthday cake with the blue and yellow frosting smothered all over it?"

He gave me a puzzled look and said, "Yeah. Why?"

The light bulb went off.

"What happens when you mix blue and yellow?"

The kids, who were listening to all of this, yelled out "YOU GET GREEN!"

And THAT is why our cakes will be frosted with chocolate, forever more.

I've since discovered this website, which included a piece written by a guy working towards a degree in biochemistry. He conducted a study while he was in college and recruited several students that would eat various dye-laden food and then record what color came out the other end. My conclusion that the green poop came from mixing blue and yellow was erroneous. It actually had to do with the metabolism of blue dye.

Suffice to say, you can find anything on the internet and the blue Buzz Lightyear cake we had considered for the children's birthday is downright out.

I dunno. There just seems to be something unhealthy and toxic-like going on in your digestive system when bright green poop is produced.

Wouldn't you agree?