the bad samaritan(s)

I took all four children in to a public restroom today.

Upon our entry, it was evident we were the only ones in there. Which is a good thing because I like having a public restroom all to myself. Or ourselves, as the case may be. But while we were in the stall - someone came in and took up the stall next to us.

And well.

They had gas.

A lot of gas.

If you haven't spent time around a four-year-old lately, you might not know they are extremely observant and they enjoy talking. A lot.

So there I am. With four little children. Three of whom are very loud talkers and they ask me in a startled tone, "What's THAT noise?!" Almost immediately, they realize what THAT noise is and they begin commenting on the person in the stall directly next to us.

"Mommy! Someone is going TOOT TOOT on the TOOT train!!"

Followed by the four-year-old symphony of, "Beans, beans, the magic fruit! The more you eat, the more you TOOT!"

Instead of shushing my children, which really wouldn't have had much effect, I did what any other horrified mother, born of the 70's might do. I burst in to singing some totally random Carpenters song as loudly as I could to try and drown out my offspring.

"SUCH A FEELING'S COMING OVER ME! THERE IS WONDER IN MOST EVERYTHING I SEE! NOT A CLOUD IN THE SKY GOT THE SUN IN MY EYE AND I WON'T BE SURPRISED IF IT'S A DREAM!"

I finish lifting three children on and off the toilet, while trying to keep the toddler from pulling used feminine products out of the small wall-mounted trashcan and we make, what I hope, is a very hasty exit to the sinks.

While I'm standing at the sinks desperately trying to wash my children's hands and thinking that perhaps a squirt of Purell might do the job just as well because I've never been in such a rush to get out of a public bathroom, the occupant of the adjacent stall joins us at the sink.

Now I will go to my grave wondering why this woman couldn't have waited 30 seconds for me and my brood of chatters to leave before she came out. But there she was. Next to us at the sinks. And while I expeditiously tried to get the excessive amount of soap off my children's hands that they had squirted up to their elbows, one of my children looked up at this woman and sweetly inquired if she felt better?

And gosh, what did she eat?

I know that our children will one day soon learn that talking about someone's flatulence in a public restroom is inappropriate. But I didn't feel it would be appropriate for me to give them that lesson - at that very moment in time. Just like I didn't feel like it would be appropriate to give a lecture on anatomy in the public restroom at Costco.

So, I just kept smiling and singing and trying to appear oblivious to the conversation taking place two feet below me. All the while my children looked up at me with confused expressions as I tried to encourage them to stop! talking! and! start! singing!

"I'M ON THE TOP OF THE WORLD LOOKING DOWN ON CREATION AND THE ONLY EXPLANATION I CAN FIND IS THE LOVE THAT I FOUND EVER SINCE YOU'VE BEEN AROUND, YOUR LOVE PUTS ME AT THE TOP OF THE WORLD!"

I'm hopeful that one day, I'll look back on this and think it's hilarious.

Today, I'm just really thankful that I'm so good at remembering song lyrics.

a day in the life (part 4)

3:00: Brush my teeth, put on makeup, change my shirt. Get the kids in the car, drive to the post office to mail a few letters before driving to the dentist. Arrive 5 minutes early.


4:15: All four children's teeth are cleaned, next appointment is scheduled for September. Drive home. See that my husband's car is not in the driveway. He was supposed to be home at 4:00 so we could go for a run together. Call his office - located 30 minutes away. He answers the phone and says he'll be leaving in a few minutes. Small scale conniption fit ensues. "What the ..." followed by a "You said..." ending with a "Well you better..."

4:30: Brainstorming dinner. Plan to take the kids on a quick bike ride around the block while I run. By the time we arrive home, Charlie will hopefully be here and the late afternoon cranks (kids and ME) will have dissipated.

a day in the life (part 3)

1:15: Finish making paper flowers, paper boats, paper fish and turn all of our artistic creations in to greeting cards. Receive a call from my sister that my mother is recovering well from her full knee replacement surgery that occurred earlier today.

1:30: Kids help me clean up from our paper cutting spree while I quickly check work e-mail before making a late lunch. Grilled cheese, Cheez-Its, dried cranberries, yogurt.

1:45: Henry up from his nap. Everyone eats lunch while I read them stories. They eat everything and want more. They actually drink the homemade lemonade I made yesterday and they love it. I'm shocked.

2:30: Lunch is over. Kids are playing with bubbles while I clean up the kitchen and feel like I clean up the kitchen all day long. I notice that there are three new messages on the answering machine. One of them is from our pediatric dentist calling to remind us that we have an appointment for all four of our children, tomorrow at 3:30.

2:46: Glance at the calendar to see what we have on tap for later this week and realize that the message from our dentist was left yesterday and the appointment is TODAY in less than an hour. I scramble to get the kids ready for a dentist appointment that I will be taking them to by myself, since my husband is still at work. I wonder if I've brushed my own teeth yet today. I can't recall.

2:49: All four of the kids are body slamming each other on the ground while I quickly update the blog before herding them out the door to the car.

I miss nap time.

Dear God. I really miss nap time.

a day in the life (part 2)

8:20: I unload the dishwasher and task the kids with making their beds.

8:35: Just as I finish cleaning up the kitchen, I spot a grapefruit I had peeled on the counter, but which I forgot to juice. I pull the juicer back out so I can juice my one sole grapefruit. When I turn to put the now dirty again juicer in the sink, Henry climbs up on a chair and pulls down my cup of grapefruit juice.

8:40: Break up a fight between William and Gracie. Tell them to hug and lay out rules of the day. No Hitting. No screaming. Use only NICE words. Keep our hands to ourselves. Do unto others as we would want them to do unto us. The kids hug and make up.

8:42: Break up a fight between William and Elizabeth.

8:50: Start laundry.

8:52: Take a quick glance around the house for the baby. Don't see him but spot his discarded pajamas and diaper. Walk to the kitchen and notice the back sliding door is open. He has climbed to the top of the play fort and is attempting to come down the slide.

In the nude.

8:55: The rest of the kids are outside playing. For the next 45 minutes they run in to the house at various times to change their clothes. I count at least three outfit changes for William, two for Elizabeth, one for Gracie. I use the time to run around and pick up various toys and play clothes that have been discarded from earlier in the day. I have absolutely no idea what they are wearing or why William has a skirt over his head and around his waist. I just smile and nod.

9:16: I wrestle Henry down and get him dressed.

9:18: Everyone is back in the house and they are in full wrecking crew mode. I am trying desperately to stay focused on one task at hand and completing that task before moving on to something else because there is something to do everywhere I look. I try to channel the kids energy by having them play a game of "trick or treat" and pick up all the blocks that have been dropped at random places throughout the house.

(Elizabeth is now wearing the double skirt get-up.)

Then, I have William and Gracie play "hot or cold" to find all of the books that have migrated far from the bookshelves while I have Elizabeth vacuum.

10:04: The kids inform me that they are hungry and want pizza. I tell them that this is what happens when they wake up and ambush the cabinets before mommy and daddy have a chance to realize the sun is up and make them a proper breakfast. I pour them all bowls of Life cereal, make cinnamon toast and slice up some bananas.


10:12: I eat a bowl of cereal and check my work e-mail to make sure that there is nothing critical I need to respond to. Then we play the name that "shape, color and letter" game. (We just made it up this morning.)

10:35: Everyone is finished and wants to be excused. They run back outside and play while I clean up the kitchen. Again. But whose counting?

(The triplets are now all wearing skirts, sans shirts.)

10:45: I head outside with two baskets full of laundry and set about folding it while the kids are running around and playing. I roll up the pants on Henry's Buzz Lightyear costume no less than 10 times. Carolyn comes in to the house with me and washes the mirrors on our closet doors while I put away all the laundry.

11:15: With their crazy energy stores tapped, Carolyn settles down at the table with her Maze book. William picks up a Magic School Bus book and Elizabeth plays quietly with her dolls.

11:30: I nurse Henry for five minutes and put him down for a nap.

11:37: We pull out paper, scissors, glue, cotton balls and various geometric shapes for tracing. We're going to construct something. What, I don't know.

11:45: Check work e-mail again. Answer a call.

12:14: Finish updating the blog before sitting down with the kids to make flowers out of construction paper.

a day in the life (part 1)

When I first started blogging, I actually selected the blog URL "A Day In The Life" although I ended up changing the title to Amazing Trips before I ever made the blog public.

I've always wanted to record a full day in the life but I've never had the mind to do it. Until today. Today, Charlie will be working the first shift - so I'm home with the kids. And I'm interested to capture a full day so that I can one day look back on this and wonder how I ever kept my sanity intact. I'll come back and insert photos in to the posts later because I've got to be efficient if I'm going to do this any justice.

6:03: Henry wakes up. We are trying to wean so Charlie took him out to the couch to sleep for a few minutes while I stayed in bed.

6:12: Charlie fell asleep on the couch. Henry comes in to the bedroom, climbs in to bed and starts nursing. I'm semi-conscious and think that I'm dreaming.

6:39: William is awake looking for his elephant straw. His screaming wakes up the entire house.

6:41: Everyone is awake. Elizabeth is looking for bunny. Carolyn is telling William to BE QUIET. Henry is nursing. Charlie starts getting ready for his day at work. I am summoning strength for the day alone.

6:48: I get dressed and make my way out to the kitchen. The kids have already dressed themselves and helped themselves to breakfast. Elizabeth is a fairy with wings, Carolyn is a ballerina. They have opened cartons of yogurt and dived in to a loaf of bread. I decide that life was a lot easier when the kids were confined to cribs and I could lift them out and put them in highchairs and feed them in an assembly line. The kids start opening random boxes of cereal and I say, "Wait a minute! Let me get it!" and Elizabeth says, "No mom, it's OK, we'll take care of ourselves."

7:14: After a survey of the refrigerator and realization that a lot of our fruit from last week is going bad (which we didn't eat due to the bug), pull stuff out to juice. First, I have to pour cereal for Henry because otherwise, he'll be climbing on chairs and causing a commotion.

For the next 45 minutes, the kids help me peel fruit, sort through bad strawberries, stuff various fruit in to the juicer and then for a few minutes of blessed peace, sit back and in relative quiet, drink fresh juice.

7:25: Charlie grabs a banana and leaves for the day. He is driving to San Clemente for a business meeting at a fancy restaurant. He looks clean and fresh. And very happy. After being home with the children most of the day yesterday, he skips out the front door waving good bye over his shoulder. Before he leaves, he poses with William who has done his best to match his outfit to his father's.

8:04: I'm cleaning up from breakfast and the kids are giving their plastic dinosaurs a bath in the sink and trying to wash each other's hair.

8:15: I finish updating my first segment of the day and am wracking my brain as to what we are going to do today. Must unload dishwasher, make beds, finish cleaning up from breakfast and start a load of laundry.

And then, I have no idea...

what's in you wednesday thursday

I went running twice this week. And while I was out running on those two occasions, I remembered that running was kind of fun. And the reason that I had lost almost all of my momentum in training for a marathon, is because I am training for a MARATHON and ohmygoshwhattheheckwasithinking?!

I'm a three-mile runner.

Nothing more.

(Sometimes, two miles less.)

Of course I'm still planning to get out there and do the marathon. But I'll be perfectly honest that I am in no way - shape - or form - planning to kill myself in the process. Instead, I'm thinking that I'll run when I feel like running, walk when I feel like walking and wear a pair of Heelys to make up time on the downhill.

I am a little disappointed that I haven't trained more aggressively than I have, especially since Margaret is now running 12 miles at a pop. But I've got a few legitimate reasons that my training has been so lax. Those reasons go by the name of William, Carolyn, Elizabeth and Henry.

And then there's the whole 'enjoyment of sleeping past 6:00 AM whenever possible' thing.

This morning my Aunt Grace (Margaret's mother) called to tell me that she was excited to be coming out to California with my Uncle Bill (Margaret's father), next month. She told me that unfortunately, Margaret hurt her hip training and she hasn't been able to run at all for the past few days. I tried to voice concern but all that came out was, "Gee! Really?! She's hurt and she can't run?! Oh. Wow. That's ... um ... awful. Tee Hee!"

So there you have it.

My cousin who can run more than me gets hurt and I'm giddy.

I'm rotten.

This conclusion is further supported by the day I had, today, with my children.

It happens very infrequently that I will make a concerted effort to spend a day putting away every last thing that litters our counters, sifting through clothes and toys for items to donate, and scrubbing the house 'til it shines.

I am not a perfectionist - not by a long shot.

I know that it is unrealistic to expect that I can live in an immaculately clean house with four children under the age of five.

But.

Today, I wanted to have a little bit of order.

Today, I wanted to enjoy the house clean, even if for 10 minutes.

Today, instead of going to the zoo - or the park - or the beach - or the museum - or the aquarium, which is something I almost always do with our children ... today, I determined that I really needed to stick around the house and get it somewhat organized. Since I'm due to start work full time in less than two weeks, I really want to have a certain "order" in place before my weekly work schedule increases by 30%.

Now, in my four and a half years as a mother, I have learned a fair number of truths. One of those truths is that it is damn near impossible to straighten up a house with children underfoot. Especially when three of those four children are triplets that are like a wrecking crew moving from one thing to the next.

When my sister called to tell me that my brother and his wife seem to be handling things just GREAT with their (almost) four-year-old twin boys and twenty-two-month old singleton, my response was that twins are not as difficult as triplets. There are no two ways about it. You add that third wheel child in to the mix and all hell breaks loose.

Today, I would take one step forward and the kids would set me back by two.

I'd go through their drawers and remove clothes for Goodwill, they'd take off the clothes that they were wearing and throw them in the pile and then pull clothes out of the pile and put those on. And then they'd go roll in the dirt.

Whatever it was that I was trying to do, they would derail my efforts. Or, they would meddle with something I had just completed such that I'd have to do it over again. While I was trying to go through their closet, the kids were playing on the opposite end of the closet and knocked the door off the runners.

For those anonymous commenters of the world that are laying in wait to pounce on this post with their advice, save your energy. I know that my children's behavior today was preventable. I know that I should have distracted the children with positive activities. I know that I should have done this work when Charlie was home and could entertain the kids. I know that I could have called in reinforcements. I know that they are only young once and a clean house isn't all that important. I know it. But sometimes, just because you know something, doesn't stop you from doing something stupid.

I put everyone outside to play and while I set about tackling cabinets in the kitchen, a mere 10 feet away, in less than three minutes, they flipped over all of their toys and completely disassembled the seven piece toddler slide.

What caught my attention is when they grabbed my broom and were smacking it against the wind chimes on the side of the house so hard that they were slamming into the window of the nursery. Where ... you guessed it ... there had been a blissfully napping baby.

The long and short of it is that I went nuts.

I told the children that I was going to send them someplace else to live.

They needed to go PACK THEIR BAGS because I couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't take them not listening and destroying everything in their path and fighting and whining and I WANT I WANT I WANT and HE, SHE, IT IS LOOKING AT ME and the SASSY ATTITUDE that has hit our house, times three, full force.

That's it.

They're leaving.

And then for added measure, I picked up the phone and called my mother and since she wasn't home, I left a message that I needed the bus to come pick up the naughty children. While I was leaving this message, the girls were crying hysterically. William however, didn't say anything. He ran off in to his room and returned a few minutes later carrying a bag. He had packed him pajamas, a few toys and his toothbrush.

He was ready to go.

"Bye, bye Mommy! Thanks for incubating me in your womb. I'm leaving now!"

He then convinced his sisters that they needed to leave with him.

A few minutes later, my three four-year-olds were packed and ready to leave.

Here's a picture of them sitting by the front window waiting for the bus to take them away.

And here's a small segment of the 20-minute video clip I filmed three hours later when William still wanted to go to my mother's house (Noni), despite my apologies and begging that he please stay.

Apparently, I give him a headache. Now, that's novel.



I'm hard pressed to understand why a child that I threatened to drop in another country and then, told that a bus for the naughty children was coming to take away, would ever want to leave?

I think he senses my overwhelming weakness in certain situations and I think he's calling my bluff. Because I can't imagine it had anything to do with looking at a face like this all day.

No silly. Of course that's not me!

That's just some psycho I downloaded from the internet. Which I imagine might have resembled me ... a tiny little bit ... at some point today.

Ahem.

Nice teeth?

next time, it's charlie's turn

Tonight we went to Costco.

One minute we are having fun chattering in the freezer section, the next minute I am informed - very loudly - that one of our children needs to go poop. As in, NOW. THIS VERY SECOND.

Charlie has one cart loaded with groceries, I have the other, partially loaded with children and more groceries. Our eyes briefly connect while our child is dancing around our feet, clutching themselves and yelling, "I NEED TO GO POOP! I NEED TO GO POOP! I NEED TO GO POOP! POOP! POOP! POOP!!"

As our children are rapidly approaching the age of four, their language has become much more articulate than it was just a few short months ago. No longer are we the only ones to understand the words that they use. Now when they speak, anyone who has any grasp of the English language would know exactly what they are saying.

There's no covering this one up, so we do our best to ignore the fellow shoppers who have stopped their shopping and turned to stare. My husband actually attempted to feign oblivion to the situation and looks around, saying aloud to no one in particular, "Oh would you look at that! Raspberries are still in season and they're on SALE!"

Meanwhile, I abandon my cart and taking my child's hand, lead them to the restroom - all the while praying that they don't drop a load somewhere between the absolute back corner of the store and the very, very front. As we are walking away at a brisk clip, I notice that my other two three-year-old children are running behind me yelling, "I need to go POOP too, Mama!! Wait!! WAIT!! I GO POO POO TOO!!"

To all the people who had stopped to stare at us as we trotted along the 1,000-foot corridor from where we had been standing in the freezer section, to where we were going in the latrine section, I smiled and nodding my head to the back of the store declared, "There's a great deal on raspberries! They are on sale and going fast in produce!!"

We make it to the bathroom and there is a long wait. And while we wait my children are chanting in unison, "I need to go POOP. I need to go POOP." Which very soon causes a stir because in the land of three, when you have to go poop, only YOU have to go poop.

No one else dare lay claim to that bodily need.

Yet because more than one of my children purportedly needed to go poop, there was bickering, "You not need to go poop. I NEED TO GO POOP!" Followed by, "NO. YOU NOT POOP. I GO POOP!!"

And on.

And on.

And finally, after what seemed like 15 minutes, after much shushing and mouth covering, a stall opened up. One of the standard small stalls, not the over sized handicapped stall I had been hoping for. I ushered the kids in to the small space and then tried to corral them in the corner while I closed the door. They are trying to kick the trash can which is piled high with who knows what. They are trying to pull seat covers out. They are trying to flush the toilet. They are touching everything and attempting to squeeze in behind me and open the door.

"HOLD STILL!!" I bellow.

"PUT YOUR HANDS ON YOUR ELBOWS AND DO NOT MOVE!!"

I wipe off the seat and put a seat cover on before depositing the child who started the mad dash to the bathroom. Only to see that their request to use the bathroom came about ... uh ... five minutes too late. They finish what remains of their business while their siblings crowd around the back of the toilet and inquire, "You go POOP? Lemme see the poop. Where the poop?!"

I put the next child up. While they are trying to do their business, two other children are crowded around the back of the toilet inquiring "You go POOP? Lemme see, lemme see. Lemme see the POOP. OHHH!!! I SEE POOP!!!!" and then grabbing at their noses, "OH, it's STINKY!!!"

The second child is taken down and the third is put up. They don't have to go poop. They just like all the attention and fanfare, so they sit for a while, soaking up the excitement, reveling in the moment.

The third child comes off the potty and I decide that while I'm there, heck, I may as well go, too. As I'm preparing to sit down, one of my children kneels down in an area where only a three-year-old could fit and demands, "Hey, where's your PEANUT?"

My other two children stop talking long enough to hear me respond, "Girls don't have peanuts." Now although I believe it is important that children know the correct nomenclature for parts of their body, the public restroom at Costco is not necessarily the place I want to give the kids a lesson in anatomy. KWIM?

In that time that I was talking to the children, I noticed that the bathroom was eerily quiet. For a brief moment, I thought that maybe everyone had vacated and we were left alone in the restroom. But when I peeked out underneath the stall door, I could see that there were at least 20 pairs of shoes - standing in line - and the stalls on either side of me - were occupied.

Great.

One of my children saw me look under the stall and dropped to their knees to see what I was looking at. The other two children were attempting to cluster around the back of the toilet. "Mommy, you go poop? Lemme see, lemme see, lemme see. Do you go poo-poo, too MOM? Where's the poop? I don't see any poop? Mom, you go poop or you go pee-pee?"

I pulled the child off the ground who who was now attempting to crawl under the stall, and as they stood up, they exclaimed, "HEY MOM! You have a BIG bum!! Look at your big bum!! Turning around they pointed to themselves and continued, "I have a wittle bum!! See my wittle bum?! It's WITTLE!"

Chuckling I replied, "Yeah, but you know what? You have a BIG mouth!"

I'll be darned if everyone wasn't eavesdropping on us, because the whole restroom erupted in to laughter.

the power of water

Today I had the worst conference call of my entire life.

Charlie was at a meeting two hours away and left at 6 AM. Henry was awake two minutes after he walked out the door so my plans of getting anything done this morning were shot.

The triplets were up by 6:30. I was running around like crazy trying to get kids fed, kids dressed, diapers changed, CAROLYN FOR THE LOVE ALL THAT IS HOLY WHY WON'T YOU POOP IN THE POTTY?! dishes put away, a load of laundry put in to the wash. Because if I don't do a load of laundry every now and again, laundry will never be done and sometimes I just wonder why bother at all.

Who cares if we wear dirty clothes?

Is it really THAT important??

I reminded myself as I was nursing Henry at 9:45 to sleep that we had a conference call at 10 AM. But in that span of time, those 15 short minutes, all hell broke loose.

Elizabeth got a hold of a Sharpie. Carolyn hijacked my wallet and took out all of my credit cards and was slipping them under the fridge. William was trying to "fish" in the toilet.

When I heard my cell phone ringing, I remembered and called in. And I immediately thanked the cell phone God's for equipping those things with mute because the noise level in our house was deafening.

Eventually, I pushed the triplets outside in the backyard and locked the door. They were SCREAMING because I locked them outside. Henry woke up SCREAMING. I had four kids SCREAMING and that's when my boss asked how things were going with the team meeting that I'm supposed to be hosting next month.

In the time I tried to click off the mute, I received a call that went to voicemail and damn my new phone if I didn't disconnect from the call and go straight to my mail box.

Before I called back in to the conference call, I noticed that even with the kids outside, they were screaming so loudly I couldn't even think straight. Instead of tossing them ice cream cones - which now that I think of it would have been a splendid idea - I brought them back in the house, stripped them down and put all four of them in the tub.


Now that I've returned to work, I suspect that our children will be taking at least one bath a day. But on those days I have multiple conference calls, it might be as many as two or three.

i'm going to the funny farm. want to come?

Once, when I was in seventh grade, my mother and I went on vacation to the beach over Spring Break. It was March. I didn't think the sun was so intense that time of year that a full day in the sun with minimal sunscreen coverage, would land me with skin so burned it would literally blister all over my body.

I also didn't think that it was possible to be so sick from over exposure, that a person couldn't step foot in to the sun without long sleeve pants and shirts - and a wide brim hat - for the next two weeks or else they'd suffer from extreme nausea.

Twenty three years ago, I had a bad case of sunstroke.

Today, I had a bad case of kid stroke.

The symptoms of nausea, extreme sensitivity and exhaustion are almost identical.

The children had swimming lessons this morning.

It took me thirty minutes longer than it should have to leave the house because I am dealing with three COMPLETELY irrational human beings. They wanted to wear their pajamas UNDER their bathing suits. They wanted to wear their plastic high heel shoes that they can hardly walk in. They wanted to stand on the PINK step stool in the bathroom, even though it was in the other bathroom, unless I got it, they wouldn't go potty. Or, they would go potty on the floor - and then point and tell me about it.

Not once, but twice.

Once we arrived at the pool, they all LOUDLY protested about getting in to the pool because they didn't want to be cold. They didn't want to get wet. They didn't want, didn't want, didn't want. I, however did want thirty minutes of quiet, so I walked with them in the door, spotted the teacher, told them "Look!! There's something shiny!!" and then ran the opposite way, before they could chase me out.

Taking a blessed 20-minute reprieve from constant whining and bickering, I went to sign the kids up for the next month of swimming lessons. When I went back to the pool to check on them, they SAW me. Their smiles disappeared and they were instantly MISERABLE. They started crying, shivering, and in the two seconds it took me to realize that I needed to RUN AND HIDE their lips turned blue. So, I did what any responsible parent would do upon seeing their desperately cold child. I spun my baby around in his stroller and shoving elderly people out of my path, BOLTED the other way.

Standing behind a pillar where I was out of sight, I watched the 30 senior citizens that were in the same pool as my children, stop their exercises and whip their white heads around to see what all the fuss was about in the shallow end.

Thinking back to my days of teaching swimming lessons, I remembered that it is always better for the teacher if the parent is out of sight. So, I laid low until one of the lifeguards hunted me down, with my three screaming children behind her ... seven minutes before the rest of the class was dismissed.

The doors leading to the outside pool are completely sound proof. But once she opened the door and my children's screams echoed through the building, it was like hearing the cry of the Mandrake. I actually touched my hand to my ears to make sure they weren't bleeding.

Ushering my three screaming and shaking children in to the locker room - I gave them a quick rinse in the handicap shower stall, where they all proceeded to fight over whose turn it was to hold the shower head. When I relinquished our shower space to a woman in a wheelchair with blue legs that was recovering from a stroke and had an oxygen tank, she felt compelled to tell me that she thought she had a rough life until she saw me.

Then she laughed, a bright and gleeful laugh.

I tried to get the children dressed as quickly as possible because we had a meeting with the Montessori school, where I was scheduled to sign over a large sum of money for enrollment. But the kids sensed that we had someplace to be, so they rummaged through the duffel bag I had carefully packed when I was occupied getting their sibling dressed ... and hid various clothing items in various lockers. One shoe here. One shoe there. One sock here. One sock there. Underwear over here. Shorts over there.

We arrive 10 minutes late at the Montessori school. Unloading the car, Carolyn trips and falls and skins her elbow. It is bleeding and gets all over my shirt. William informs me that he has to go pee-pee. Henry is extremely fussy because THE CHILD WILL NOT SLEEP and skipped his morning nap. Elizabeth is doing something annoying but for the life of me, I can't remember what, now. I do remember, however, that she is insistent that she takes her TWO bunnies with her. She must have TWO bunnies at all times.

I herd them in to the school. I try to keep three three-year-olds and a nine-month-old quiet for me to quickly skim through the registration packet, talk to the director about important dates and doctor records, and drop off a check for enrollment that is large enough to cover a round trip vacation for our family to Europe. Then, I question if I am doing the right thing.

Dear God, am I doing the right thing??

I load the kids up and drive home.

Everyone falls asleep in the 20 minutes it takes to get back to our house.

Everyone wakes up crying when I pull in to the driveway.

Walking in the house, Carolyn is still crying over her elbow. Henry is crawling around, crying, hungry, tired, eating something off the floor that we didn't get around to sweeping last night. William is playing with a toy that Elizabeth had claimed as HERS the night before. Elizabeth goes to get the toy back, William does a straight arm shove and knocks her down so hard that she smacks her head on the tile floor and lays stunned for a solid five seconds before erupting in to screams.

Whirlwind of feeding - eat - eat - eat - GO TO BED - pleading that they PLEASE take a nap. Henry falls asleep for five minutes while nursing. I put him in his crib, he is awake five minutes later, crying. The remnants of lunch are still on the counter. The floor is still unswept. There are piles of laundry. Nothing has been accomplished except me, continuing to question if I made the right choice to register them for school in the fall.

Soon, all the kids are up. I take them outside. We go on a treasure hunt. They have great fun finding the treasure rocks that Jody, a blog reader from Florida, sent to them. (Thanks again, Jody!!) Elizabeth is finding more rocks than William and Carolyn. A lot more rocks. She has found almost all of them, William and Carolyn have each found one. While pointing out butterflies, I redistribute the rocks so everyone has the same number in their bucket.

They sit down to open the rocks and I go to hide the gold coins that Jody also sent. I hear a SMACK and Elizabeth crying. I look up to see that William has smacked her, as hard as he could, with his bucket full of rocks.

Fury sets in.

This is the second time in a day that he has really hurt her. I launch over to him, launch him in to the house, scoop up Elizabeth and hold her while pushing Henry on the baby swing. Carolyn is climbing on the fort and goes to come down, but falls face first down the ladder. Even though I've told them fifty times if I've said it once that they need to go down the ladder backwards, I might as well be telling them to calculate the wing speed velocity of an African, no EUROPEAN (!!), swallow.

I put down a crying Elizabeth and pick up a crying Carolyn.

I look down at Henry and he has slipped in his swing so that the lap belt is tight beneath his neck. I put down a crying Carolyn and pick up a gasping Henry. William is still in the house screaming. I later find out that the reason William whacked his sister with a bucket is because a FLY landed on her. A fly. My response to what was intended to be, chivalrous behavior, was completely over the top. Not at all unlike William smacking tomorrow out of his sister with a bucket full of rocks because she had a FLY on her. Elizabeth has now cracked open the treasure rocks and is trying to stuff the gems in to her ears.

The rest of the afternoon is a blur of more crying and fighting. I call Charlie, who is shopping for a magnifying glass so the children can look at bugs up close, and ask that he please come home. When he arrives, I'm holding William who is still sobbing because I launched him in to the house. Henry is crawling around my feet. Elizabeth and Carolyn are yelling "That's MY mommy." "NO! THAT'S MY MOMMY!!!" Followed by the chorus of "NOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
Charlie arrives home. He prepares dinner. We sit down to dinner. The kids will NOT stop touching us. Carolyn knocks over two glasses of milk. Elizabeth is tossing her spaghetti with her hands and then wiping her hands in her hair. William is doing something annoying but for the life of me, I can't remember what, now. Elizabeth leans over and gently touches the blood on my shirt from Carolyn earlier in the day, and Carolyn erupts in to screams of "NO!! That's MY blood!!" This outcry makes Elizabeth want to touch it more. It makes William want to see what Carolyn is hollering about and makes him want to touch it, too.

Best of all, it wakes Henry up from what I had hoped would be a 12-hour sleep.

I tell my husband that if I have to hear ONE MORE CHILD utter ONE MORE SOUND so help me, I am going to stuff them in to rocket launchers and shoot them to the moon.

Usually once I tuck the kids in bed, I can reflect on the day and think "Oh, that really wasn't so bad." But tonight, I've decided it would be more pleasant to stick my head in a toilet and flush it sixty times in an hour, then repeat the kind of day I had, today.

And to think, I have reservations about returning to work on Thursday.

it's sterile, you know

Today, while I took the kids to their first swimming class at the YMCA, Charlie went on a tour of the Montessori school I visited last week.

The kids loved swimming and they did great. Until, William had to use the potty the last five minutes of class and came running out to find me. And, once the cool air hit his skin, he started screaming.

Screaming, I tell you. Screaming.

We rush in to use the potty and since I had been nursing Henry in the Bjorn, he is hanging upside down while I'm trying to help William peel off his wet bathing suit. He's chattering so hard that he can't stand still and standing still is an important thing to do when you are a little boy - using the potty - and you haven't yet perfected your aim.

He finishes up and I'm walking him back to rejoin his class, with my sopping shoes, but class was just dismissed. Carolyn comes running out - doesn't see me - runs past, and when I call to her, she turns around, slips and falls on the floor. Elizabeth, who is less than a step behind, falls on top of her. They are laying on the floor, wet, and crying. William is crying. Everyone is so cold, they are blue.

I get the girls up, wrap them in their towels, usher them in to the locker room and try to get them in to a warm shower. And that's when I realize that it's impossible to give 3-three year olds a shower at the YMCA without getting the front half of yourself completely drenched.

They are all in the shower screaming, "I COLD!! I COLD!!" and just as the water warms up and I get all three situated under the spray, Carolyn starts crying "Mommy, I have to go PEE-PEE!" and so I tell her, as quietly as I can "Just go, Gracie. It'll wash right down the drain."

But she is insistent and hollers, "I NOT GO PEE-PEE IN SHOWER, MOMMY!!"

But I am also insistent, because I'm not going to haul three soaking and chattering kids out of the shower and in to the restroom - with a big bulky stroller behind me - and I'm also not going to leave all of them unsupervised, so I can take one to the toilet.

Something tells me she won't be bathing her children in the kitchen sink.

As discreetly as I can muster, I urge her again, "JUST GO." More of her screaming ensues before she finally lets loose. William starts yelling "Gracie go PEE PEE in shower, Mommy!!" and Elizabeth is sticking her foot in to the stream and yelling "Oh, it's so nice and WARM!!"

I notice that all the people that had been talking in the shower area, are now quiet, and instead of trying to hush the kids, I ask them to sing their alphabet. Or, count to ten. Or, goodness, do anything but talk about pee-pee as it is running under the shower stall and in to the communal drain.

Once I finally get them dressed and am trying to herd them out of the locker room, I avoid eye contact with anyone that is staring at me and undoubtedly heard me coercing my child to urinate in the shower, by feigning extreme interest that with each step I take, water (or maybe pee?) is oozing out of my shoes and my pants and shirt were so wet I could actually wring water out of them.

I just walk in the door at home, when the phone rings with Charlie calling to tell me about his Montessori visit. He said that after less than five minutes, he was ready to burst in to tears and run out of the room.

He felt completely freaked out and thought that all the children he observed were brainwashed or maybe on drugs. Since we had visited several other preschools last week, this experience was not at all what he expected.

He incredulously asked, "What three-year-old sits still like that? What three-year-old raises their hand to talk?! It was amazing, Jen."

But then, he said that after another five minutes in the class, he was convinced that we must do whatever we possibly can to make sure that our children attend Montessori school. So, he lined up their first interview for next Friday.

If they are accepted in to the program, I'll be looking for someone to purchase my left kidney so we can cover the cost of tuition.

time lapsed, 22 minutes

Yesterday, Charlie told me that the things the children do, which really seem to annoy me, don't affect him at all. So I told him that if he had so much patience, maybe he should get up with the children this morning, while I stayed in bed nursing Henry.

That was at around 7:00 AM.

By 7:03, I could hear the festivities unfold. Mostly, what I could hear were the sounds of toys being dumped all over the floor and scattered throughout the house. The house that we had spent much of last night cleaning and organizing once the kids went to bed.

Charlie was futilely asking, "Guys, do you need to do that?"

By 7:08, I could hear the fighting begin.

Charlie was starting to referee. "Gracie. Elizabeth had that. William, there is more than one block in this house. Go find another one."

By 7:11, the destruction began.

My husband was flustered, "Why are you knocking things off the table, just to DO it?! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! STOP DOING THAT!"

By 7:15, the three-year-old demands began. Everyone wanted something.

"I WANT JUICE IN DA BUTTERFLY CUP!"

"DAT MY BUTTERFLY CUP!"

"NO MINE!"

"MINE!"

"MINE!"

"AAAARGH, AAAAAAARGHH!! AAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHH!"

"MINE!"

Around 7:20, I picked up the phone receiver in our bedroom, and called the base, which is located in the kitchen. I could hear it ringing and Charlie let out an exasperated sigh before answering "Yes. Hello."

He was surprised to hear my voice on the other end.

In an exaggerated sleepy voice, I said "Hi. I'd like to order some fresh squeezed orange juice and your organic fruit parfait with a side of whipped cream."

There was silence and then Charlie said, "Jen, my head is about to POP like a zit."

And that concluded my morning of sleeping in.

my wild life

After a week of being with the kids - all day, every day, by myself - Charlie will usually take the children off somewhere for a few hours on Saturday morning, after breakfast, so that I can have some time alone. On these days, I have found that the sounds in our house are always a little bit louder. The whining a little bit whinier. The fighting a little more severe.

Subsequently, the degradation of my patience happens just a little bit faster.

While I was cleaning up from breakfast, every one was talking at once. William was standing in front of me asking "Mom, did you buy this shirt in the store?" Elizabeth was asking "Did you see my TWO bunnies?" and Carolyn was pointing to a shiny red apple, the most obvious looking piece of fruit in the entire world, and asking "What's this?!"

To William, I responded "Yes."

To Elizabeth, I responded "In your room."

To Carolyn, I responded "An apple."

But those answers did not satisfy my kids. They just kept drilling me with questions, over and over and over again. And then, Charlie, started to tell me something about his upcoming trip, just as the baby started crying.

This is the symphony I heard, "What store?" "You go get my TWO bunnies?" "This an apple?" "To fly up north instead of driving..." "Wahhhhhh!!!" "What store?" "You go get my TWO bunnies?" "This an apple?" "Will save us at least 8 hours..." "Wahhhhhh!!!" "What store?" "You go get my TWO bunnies?" "This an apple?" "Not to mention a bundle on gas..." "Wahhhhhh!!!" "What store?" "You go get my TWO bunnies?" "This an apple?" "And the wear and tear on our car..." "Wahhhhhh!!!" "What store?" "You go get my TWO bunnies?" "This an apple?" "I'll rent a van..." "Wahhhhhh!!!" "What store?" "You go get my TWO bunnies?" "This an apple?" "Car seats will be installed when we get there..." "Wahhhhhh!!!" "What store?" "You go get my TWO bunnies?" "This an apple?" "And I guess I can bring sleeping bags for the kids..." "Wahhhhhh!!!" "What store?" "You go get my TWO bunnies?" "This an apple?" "..." "Wahhhhhh!!!" "What store?" "You go get my TWO bunnies?" "This an apple?" "Wahhhhhh!!!"

Charlie stopped talking and said - a split second before it would have happened, "Wow, I'm looking in your eyes and your pupils are starting to quiver. It looks like you're ready to explode. Are you alright? Do you need to take off and go somewhere?"

I responded, "NO. I'd like it very much, though, if YOU would take off and go somewhere and take all of these little people WITH you."

Charlie vacated the premises with four children, and while he was outside washing cars - I cleaned the bathrooms. I poured myself a mimosa, grabbed my iPod and headphones and scrubbed toilets while listening to The Cranberries.

I had such a fantastic time, I really wonder how a week in Florida will stack up.

Last night, we had a birthday celebration. Not for any person in our family, but for anyone that had a birthday on February 29th. Considering the day only comes once every four years - that's enough of a reason for us to celebrate with cake and ice cream.


We are a crazy bunch, we are.

i'm in it up to my eyeballs

Gymnastics classes started today.

The class is only three miles from our house. The class began at 10:15, so at 9:15, I started the process of loading everyone in the car. I figured an hour gave us a plenty good buffer to get there and get acclimated before class began.

Some mornings ... actually, all mornings ... are extremely hectic. Once the kids have breakfast they are completely wired. They'll start pulling out random toys for the sake of pulling them out ... they'll fight over the random toys that they pulled out and that someone is actually playing with ... they'll try and unload dirty dishes from the dishwasher ... beeline to the ice dispenser on the fridge if they notice that I've left it unlocked for an "ice" tea party ... and pull every blanket, pillow and stuffed animal out of their rooms and scatter them around the kitchen ... while I'm trying to put dirty dishes back in the dishwasher, pick up ice from the floor and toss random toys back in to the appropriate baskets.

Then, sometimes, they'll take off the clothes that I've dressed them in and pull off the shoes that I worked so hard to get on their feet.

Once I got everyone dressed this morning and started walking out the door, Elizabeth and Carolyn both informed me they had to go potty. I corralled everyone back inside the house so the girls could do their business.

Then Henry had a blow out poop that required a complete outfit change.

Then William was really, really, really thirsty.

Then Elizabeth had partially disrobed because she wanted to wear the PINK shirt. And, her FLOWAH shoes. And Carolyn had disrobed because she wanted to wear something other than what I had her dressed in. I can't even remember anymore. I just know I looked down and she was standing before me in her Nemo underwear and a pair of purple socks.

I got the kids dressed again and put their shoes on.

I got everyone outside and loaded them in the car.

Then, I had to run in to the house at least three times to get things that I forgot.

My sunglasses.

My water.

The registration for the class.

I pulled out of the driveway, drove to the gymnastics class and as I was pulling in to the parking lot, remembered that I had forgotten the Baby Bjorn - which is a critical piece of equipment. I turned around and drove home. The kids are crying because I had been talking up their class with great enthusiasm, and now, they thought I was backing out.

By the time I get back to the class, it is 10:00 AM.

Elizabeth and Carolyn have to go potty. I let them use the potty in the back of the car. As I'm unloading William, Carolyn tells me that she has to go poo-poo in the potty. But Carolyn has never gone poo-poo in the potty. Not ever once in her life ... intentionally.

Since I promised the children brand new bicycles once they go poo-poo in the potty, it happens at least once a day that they will go poop in their underwear (or diaper) and then quickly try and dump it in the potty, themselves. Then they'll tell me "LOOK MOMMY. I go poo-poo in da POTTY!"

They don't quite grasp that going poo-poo in the potty means actually SITTING on the potty and going poo-poo from that position. Until they get that concept and take heed of my shrill shrill screams "No!! You don't take off a poo-poo diaper!! Only MOMMY takes off a poo-poo diaper!!", I have resigned myself to cleaning up some of the most awful messes you can possibly imagine.

Fortunately, this morning, I had a change of underwear for Carolyn. And an extra for Elizabeth who also went poo-poo. But not in the potty.

We get inside the gym at exactly 10:15. I'm feeling grateful that I gave myself a full hour to get there - when it should have only taken me eight minutes.

There is only one other student in the class. We are sitting around in a circle and the teacher is handing out little colored squares for the children to use as part of their warm-up routine. She asks William "What color would you like?" And William who is hunched over with a bright red faced replies "I go poo-poo." She gives me an unsure smile and looking back at William says "You want Pupu... Is that purple?" William shakes his head and says "NO! I GO POO-POO!"

While the teacher is trying to conceal her laughter, William straightens up and declares "I feel bettah now. I'll take ... uh ... bwue!"

But before he can take the blue square and rejoin his pint-sized gymnast class mates, I have to chase him down, pin him and change his diaper because he has taken off running away from me while yelling "You NO touch my poo-poo!!"

The rest of the class went fine. The kids take turns running through various obstacle courses. They are tumbling over padded blocks, jumping on a trampoline, swinging on a bar, walking on a beam, vaulting over small horses. Meanwhile, I am running in multiple directions - trying to keep them in line and deter them from wandering on to the basketball court.

After 45 minutes, the class is over. I have broken in to a full sweat and am already feeling sore from all the climbing, bending, spotting and running. But the class was a good thing. The kids took a 2.5-hour nap this afternoon and were in bed, sound asleep by 7:45 tonight. Which makes me happy. Because yesterday, they slept barely an hour and were still bouncing off the walls at 10 PM last night.

Tonight, as Charlie was filling the tub to give the kids their nightly bath ... and I was sitting on the couch nursing Henry ... Elizabeth ran out to see me. While she was standing in front of me, with her pants around her ankles she exclaimed "I go poo-poo on da potty!" I started frantically yelling for Charlie because I knew that she didn't go poo-poo in da potty.

I'm her mother and I just know these things.

Charlie comes running from the bathroom and scoops up Elizabeth. He quickly checks each of the toilets in the house and confirms that indeed, she has not gone poo-poo in da potty. He then returns to the bathroom and I can hear him groaning "Oh no. OH NO!! These children are like animals!!"

He then yells out to me "Jen, we have a problem. William has pooped in the tub, Carolyn has pooped on the floor and Elizabeth's poop is missing. I don't know where the heck the poop is, but I know that she went. Can you please go find the poop?"

I couldn't at the moment - because I was feeding Henry. But I yelled back to my husband that once he got the kids out of the tub and we put everyone to bed, we could pour ourselves a nice glass of wine and go on a poop scouting mission, together.

And well ... that pretty much sums up how we keep our romance alive these days.

going postal

I've had a package sitting in our living room for the past five weeks that I've been meaning to send to my mother. But I've been putting off mailing it, because to do that, I would need to go to the post office.

When the package for my mother was joined by another package of hand-me down clothes that I needed to mail to my brother, and another package with a gift for a friend who just had a new baby, and another package with a gift for a friend who was recently married, I decided that there was finally enough stuff to be mailed that the major inconvenience of taking all four children to the post office, would be offset by the free space I would gain in our living room.

So, yesterday, I loaded up the children and off we went. It didn't dawn on me until I was unloading the children from the car, that I had never put Carolyn and Elizabeth in diapers. Alas, they were still wearing the underwear they'd had on since they woke up in the morning.

Although I will let the girls stay in their underwear whenever we are at home or in the neighborhood, I would much prefer that we not go out in public with the children out of diapers.

The girls are doing extremely well with their potty training, but I'm just not "there" yet. "There" being that point of dragging a potty chair and change of clothes with me everywhere we go, or - worse yet, venturing in to the realm of public restrooms.

As I started to walk in to the post office - with the triplets in their safety harnesses and Henry in the stroller, with four huge boxes piled high on top - Carolyn informs me that she has to go pee-pee on the potty.

Luckily for me, I have a small potty chair in the back of the van.

I turn the whole fleet around and with kids falling all over themselves, we walk back to the car. I sit Carolyn in the back of the van - perched on the potty chair - and seconds later, she flashes me a big smile.

While she is climbing out of the car, I realize that I have no idea what I am going to do with a potty chair full of pee. Eventually, I plan to get my act together and have plastic grocery bags that I line with paper towels stocked and ready.

But remember, I'm not "there" yet.

I span my surroundings and notice that there are absolutely no planters in which to empty the potty receptacle. The entire parking lot is paved, down to the road. Hoping that no one sees me, I nonchalantly dump the pee underneath the car and immediately start shushing my children when all three of them notice the trickle that is meandering out from beneath the car and yell "Oh MOMMY!! LOOK!! Dare go Twacie's pee-pee, on da gwound!!"

In typical fashion when I'm trying to distract the children from the subject at hand, I begin drilling them with questions, "Hey Guys!! What color is the sky?! Do you hear the wind blowing?? What does it sound like?? What is your name?? What are we having for lunch??"

Walking in to the post office, while my children are shouting out random answers to the questions I posed, Elizabeth informs me that she too, now has to go potty.

I take a deep breath and turn the caravan around a second time. I hoist her in to the car, and repeat the process of nonchalantly dumping the receptacle and doing my absolute best to avoid acknowledging the river of pee that is now streaming across the bone dry parking lot.

After my second child has completed their void, we finally make our way in to the post office. There is a line of at least 10 people in front of me. The kids are on their harnesses, and pulling as hard as they can to try and reach the breakable objects that are located at their eye level in the nearby post office "store".

William pretends that he is a tiger and his harness lead is a plush tail. I am holding on tighter and tighter to the harness leads, afraid that all three of them are going to bust free. William starts yelling at me "You wet GO my bootiful tail!!" while Carolyn and Elizabeth are trying to see how far forward they can lean without falling down.

At one point, a woman standing in front of me, turns around and just stares. After a few minutes of smiling, she pleasantly asks "How old are your twins?"

I've been getting this question a lot, lately. No one thinks that William is the same age as the girls, even though he is the exact same size. When I respond "They're triplets and they just turned three", she swats the woman standing next to her on the arm and says "Mabel. MABEL!! Oh My God. They are TRIPLETS!"

The entire line of post office customers turn around to look at me with my two daughters dangling from their safety harnesses and my son pawing at the air and roaring.

Mabel leans down and with a big smile starts to talk to Henry, who is excitedly kicking his legs in the stroller. William - a child who tends to be very outspoken and unmannerly at times - yells "You NO touch my baby Henwee!!"

My attention is suddenly divided between William who has put himself between the baby and Mabel, and Mabel - who thinks William's show of protection is adorable - and starts rapid firing me with questions regarding how much the children weighed when they were born, how long they were in the hospital, did I - or do I - have much help at home, do I have family in town, how do they sleep, how do they eat, how do they get along, are they potty trained, oh no? how many diapers do I go through in a month.

We finally make our way to the counter and the postal clerk sizes us up and gives me a look that says "I'm tired just looking at you."

After having stood in line for a solid 20 minutes, I want to get out of there. My window of opportunity for being productive with four children in tow is coming to a close. I can sense it is about to slam shut.

Unlike my prior experiences at the post office - before I had three children underfoot and a baby in a stroller - I don't comparatively evaluate which is the cheapest rate to get my four separate packages delivered. I just say "Fine. Fine. Fine. Sounds great. I'll also need 200 self-adhesive holiday stamps."

While I'm waiting for my order to be processed, a man stacks at least eight large boxes marked "FRAGILE" on the adjacent counter. Within seconds of him stepping away - one, two, maybe all three of my kids - try and almost succeed in pushing the boxes across the counter and on to the floor. I grab at their harnesses and pull them back to me. Someone grabs the pen hanging on the chain and starts furiously scribbling on the counter. Someone else is hanging on the back of the baby stroller and I catch it just before it flips completely over. Someone else is frantically pushing all the buttons on the debit machine as I'm trying to enter in my PIN number.

It flashes "ERROR. Invalid Entry. Try Again."

I do, and little fingers - a whole hand - come up from the depths and are trying. To. Get. In. And. Jam. All. The. Buttons. Must. Create. Havoc. Must. Destroy.

I start kicking my legs, not sure who I am going to strike, but hoping that my agitation will cause my troublemakers to pipe down. I'm ALMOST done.

All I need are my stamps.

The clerk is moving slowly. She is talking slowly. I feel like I'm stuck in time.

"Uh. Let's see. We've got Kwanzaa. Hmm.... We've got Hanukkah. Uh... We've got Madonna and Child. Oh yeah, we've got these more contemporary ones, too. Aren't they cute?"

Yeah. Yeah. WHATEVER. I'll take 50 of each. No, I'm not African. Or Jewish. Just give me the damn stamps. I HAVE GOT TO GO. NOW.

The children were standing quietly for a moment, but as the clerk is counting out my packets of stamps, I look down and see all three of them in a dog pile, rolling and laughing hysterically across the floor of the post office. I gather my stamps and when my attempts at getting the children to stand on their feet fail, I drag them out of the post office by their harness straps.

Back outside, Elizabeth tells me that she has to go pee-pee, again. I put her on the plastic throne and when five minutes pass and she still hasn't made a deposit, I tell her it's time to get in to the car. I encouragingly tell her that she can try again when we get home.

She refuses.

I give her another few minutes and feel my patience rapidly dissolve. If there is one thing I don't want to do, it's stand in the 92-degree heat waiting for my lollygagging three-year old to go pee-pee while my other two children are having a scream-off in the car and the baby is wailing to eat.

When I finally go to lift Elizabeth off the potty, she starts screaming and grabs both sides of the chair with her hands. I'm standing in the parking lot with my partially clad daughter that is clenching a potty chair to her rear. I start swinging her from side to side, hoping that she'll release her grip. Finally, she does. As the potty chair falls to the ground, so does a big poop that lands on my foot.

Just then, Mabel walks up.

My fellow post-office customer strides over to the car and shaking her head says "Gosh, I've been thinking that it must have been really hard when your triplets were all babies. How did you ever get through it? "

Bending down to pick up my daughter's poop from the top of my shoe, I smiled and said "Yeah. Thank God things are so much easier for me, now. My life has never been so peaceful. Which reminds me. I think I need to get my prescription refilled."

This is why we don't go out ...

Today, we went to our friend's house for a barbeque. They have an 18-month old and 4-year old. They assured us their house was fully baby-proofed and they would love to host Labor Day at their place. So ... after Charlie convincing me everything would be fine ... we went.

Their house was immaculate. Their children were well behaved. Their house plants were still alive and their floor lamps had not been toppled. They only had one baby gate blocking their flight of stairs and not a single bathroom door was closed. There were no safety latches on their cabinets and their CD's were in plain sight and less than 2-feet off the ground. Did I mention they have an 18-month old?

Within seconds of stepping foot in their house, I realized that their idea of "baby proofing" and my idea of "baby proofing" are vastly different. Suffice to say, this was the worst dinner party of my entire life and I have vowed to not return to our friend's house until our kids are 10. For those that are wondering - this dinner party was even worse than the time my professor from college and his wife came over to our apartment, she got completely drunk, smashed her corn-on-the-cob in to her salmon and called everyone at the table, including Charlie, a bitch.

On the drive home tonight, Charlie and I had a talk. I asked if it was possible that our children were absolute tyrants ... or if their children were abnormal. Three hours later, I'm still completely confused how in the world they can co-exist with an 18-month old AND house plants. And CD's in plain sight less than 2-feet off the ground.

At our house, there are areas where children can play - and areas where they can't. We do not give them free run of the house. That was not the case at our friend's home ... the kids could "explore" where ever they wanted to. While their children left all of the CD's alone and didn't press every single button on the stereo player ... our kids zoomed in on those two objects faster than a moth to a flame. And ... they left ALL their sand in the sandbox. While our kids were flinging sand all over creation ... their children sat quietly in the box sifting sand and building little castles with moats.

This experience begs the question: Are we doing something wrong by restricting what our kids can play with ... at our house?? Should we take down all the baby gates and let them have "at it"?? If we give them this kind of unreigned freedom ... will it make them less likely to destroy absolutely everything that they can get their hands on??

I wonder... (But I'm not entirely willing to take the chance.)

While their children sat and ate their food - our kids threw rice and beans all over the place and decorated their table and walls with guacamole. When they brought out brownies for dessert, our kids were double-fisted with mouths full of chocolate and grabbing for more. Giving Charlie the look of death that clearly says "MUST LEAVE RIGHT NOW" our children promptly laid on the ground and threw temper tantrums.

Our hosts just smiled at us and said "Oh, they are so cute." Yes ... cute kind of like my college professor's drunken wife who slurred her speech and tried to pick a fight with our cat.

Even though our kids aren't yet 2 ... my worst fear is that we are raising brats. At this age - we're not really doing anything to stem their erratic behavior because there is very little we CAN do. There are three of them and they feed off one another, like a storm brewing.

My analogy is a rip tide at the beach. When you're stuck in a rip tide, the best thing to do is conserve your energy and wait until you get spit out so you can swim safely to shore. Or, signal for help. If you struggle against the rip tide too much ... you're likely to drown ... unless your mother from South Carolina a lifeguard comes to the rescue. I feel like it's a futile effort to try rationalizing with three toddlers. Doesn't it make more sense to conserve my energy, keep my head above water, and reason with them when they get a little older?? Or, by that point - will I be washed out to the middle of the ocean and consumed by sharks??

I want to be a relaxed parent ... the kind of parent that doesn't hover over their child and constantly chant "No, No, No, No, No."

I also want to have relaxed kids ... the kind of kids that are not afraid to explore but don't destroy everything that they touch. I also want for them to be obedient and to not throw their food all over the place. But at THIS age ... I wonder if I'm asking too much.

Am I asking too much???

In the meantime we're staying home with our rats and spiders and three toddlers that have arrived at Hurricane Level IV status. Going out is hugely over rated. Especially when it involves having dinner with our friends and their abnormal children.