An Ode to Doggy Daddy

As far as Dad's go...

There ain't non greater...
If Daddyhood was a political race...
Our's would easily beat out Ralph Nader.


He cooks and he cleans...
He does laundry and picks up dog poo...
He reads us stories and gives us baths...
And took us to the World Famous Zoo.


He's worried about germs...
And always washes our hands with soap...
He carries Purell in his pocket...
And can hold all three of us on one rope.


He comes to our side at night...
Or whenever we are crying...
He'll happily change our stinkiest diapers...
When Mom's fast asleep (or looks like she's trying).


He's kind and he's gentle...
And although he has yet to win a spelling bee...
He never complains and he's friendly...
The kind of person we hope to be.


He taught us to assemble puzzles...
How to kick and throw a ball...
He takes us to the pool and park...
And always catches us before we fall.

He makes the best grilled cheese...
Omelettes, milk shakes, french toast...
He whips up waffles and quesadillas...
Thank goodness you cook. Have you tasted Mom's pot roast?!


He loves to play his guitar...
Read books and ride his bike...
He ran a marathon once and plays tennis...
There are very few things he doesn't like.


He's so good to our Mom...
He makes her laugh and often rubs her feet...
He's extremely patient when she updates her blog...
And will bring her wine and sweets to eat.

He works only part-time...
He says it's important to see us grow...
He takes us for long walks...
And we appreciate him more than he'll ever know.


Whether we're calling him "Doggeee" or "Daddeee"
We hope he knows that's it true...
There ain't no better one in the land...
Than OUR Daddy. That's you!

Word Sense

Perhaps I ought to write these stories up in Word. I'm sure that would save me a lot of pain and heartache. Plus, the small dash of embarrassment every time I realize, after a story is posted, that Blogger doesn't do a very thorough job on spell check.

But the primary reason I ought to write these stories up in Word is in the off chance one of our beautiful children were to cruise up to the computer and with one chubby little finger, click the shiny red "Master" switch.

Theoretically, this would happen less than a second before I were to click "Publish Post" for a well thought out story on my blog. Of course, if I had written this well thought out story in Word, it would have been recovered if the power supply to the computer was terminated. But Blogger isn't that smart.

I'm not blaming William. It was entirely my fault. I should know better than to let the babies have free run of the house, right after nap time, as I was finishing my blog posting. Normally, I would save my blog posting for the evening once the babies are securely in their cribs for the night. But now that my twilight hours are consumed with knitting blankies for babies, the afternoon is my only opportunity to update the blog.

My memory isn't what it use to be. Considering I walked around my office for a solid five minutes today while trying to figure out where I placed my cell phone ... Charlie, who had called me 10 minutes earlier, helped me solve the grand mystery when he suggested that maybe I was talking on it. I'm not even going to try and replicate the story I had written, earlier. There is no way I can recall the exact thoughts I had a mere two hours ago. But, I'll try.

My well thought-out story had something to do with how I love Friday nights. How it's been a ritual at our house that Friday night is pizza night. Homemade, from scratch pizza. I'll make the dough during the day while the babies are napping and by the time Charlie comes home from work, the dough has risen and we roll out our pizzas. We drink a bottle of red wine and reflect on the week.

My story had something to do with how today was a glorious day. The May Gray and June Gloom are gone, their departure perfectly coinciding with the end of school. Gone are the days of quiet. In it's place are the sounds, resonating through our neighborhood, of kids laughing and playing. Exuberant because they don't have to get up at 6:30 AM to catch the school bus for at least another 10 weeks. Exuberant because instead of being stuck in a building all day, they can rejoice in the outdoors and splash in the neighborhood pool.

My story had something to do with how our babies are enamored with our dogs and how our dogs, have not had a moment of peace since the babies have come in to their world. It had something to do with how I have relaxed my standards on cleanliness ... a lot ... since our babies have arrived. As newborns, I wouldn't let anything near them that hadn't been thoroughly washed and sterlized. Now, I don't bat an eye when the babies play in a bucket of water that the dogs had been drinking out of moments earlier ... or freak out when I see Carolyn sporting a potty-training seat around her neck. Instead of running for a can of Lysol, I'm running for my camera.

My story had something to do with how our babies are growing up faster than I'd like them to. How last year at this time they were still immobile in their bouncy chairs, barely able to roll over and just learning how to babble. A year later ... they are scaling each others booster chairs to steal a nibble here and there, chasing our dogs around the yard with arms outstretched and yelling "Baa daa zee dee hiya hiya hiya DOGGIE!"

My story had something to do with how there are few things that make our children happier than a puddle of water that they can splash in, getting absolutely soaking wet, walking around in their diapers, and drinking fruit smoothies from straw cups in the afternoon. It had something to do with how excited I was that the magical days of summer are finally here. That our babies are reaching that point where they can enjoy the zoo ... the Merry-Go-Round ... the beach and knocking down sand castles.

What my story didn't have anything to do with is how yelling "OH NO WILLIAM NO NO NO!!!" would make my 20-month old baby feel. How his huge blue eyes would look at me in bewilderment, for just a moment, and then divert to the ground because he knew that he had done something wrong. How he would then go stand in a corner, on his own accord, and glance back at me with tears in his eyes because he was so distraught that he'd made me upset ... how my words, had hurt his feelings so badly. And how I in turn - could suddenly care less about the well-thought out story I had just written. But, another lesson learned. I will be writing my stories up in Word ... from this point on.

Picture this ... Walmart

This morning, started out like many mornings. We ate breakfast.

Once breakfast was finished, we had toddler car races across the kitchen. Then as I tried in vain to clean the kitchen ... the babies chased each other around the center island for 15-minutes ... to the point that they were so dizzy they were toppling over themselves and squealing with glee. Mornings are always fun.

In honor of Flag Day, I dressed the kids in red, white & blue. I had picked up these really cute dresses for the girls last year on clearance and was optimistic that THIS year, they would fit well in an 18-month size.

I was wrong. So terribly wrong.

Our girls can put away more food in a sitting than William can in an entire week. They LOVE to eat. William does not love to eat - unless - it's fresh fruit or animal crackers. Or eggs from the kitchen floor. Yet, whereas William fits comfortably in a size 2T, the girls are still in 12-month clothes. It's obvious they have the metabolism of a whippet - which was most definitely inherited from Charlie's side of the family.

While William's clothes stayed on ... the girls skirts (that I dressed them in anyway), were falling down around their ankles. This posed a problem because once the skirt was gone ... there was nothing preventing them from pulling off their diaper. Or better yet, pulling off each other's diapers.

Now any person with an ounce of sense would know to not put their baby in clothes that are way too big. Not I. Besides, it's Flag Day. And they look so cute. Especially when they are sitting down and their clothes stay put.

I loaded the babies up in the van and took off for the most patriotic of all things to do on this seldom recognized and hardly celebrated of American Holidays. We went shopping at Walmart.

My rationalization for going to Walmart was because Father's Day is just around the corner and I really needed to pick up some cards for the "Dad's" in my life. Aside from that, our diaper supply was dangerously low. And, well ... a trip to Walmart is always a fun adventure ... in a fluorescenty kind of way. (Not really. But, I had to do some shopping and am trying to be an optimist.)

We get to Walmart and I park at the far back of the lot. I was ELATED to see that someone was too lazy busy to push their cart back to the "cart corral" and there was one right next to my parking spot. This is a good thing because it saves me the trip from having to walk away from the van and to the "cart corral" where there are hardly ever any carts in the first place.

Note to self: It is not a bad thing to leave your shopping cart in the middle of a parking lot. Mother's with small children will be enormously grateful. You are not lazy. You are thoughtful and considerate.

Babies are loaded in to their stroller and with one arm I pull them behind me, while I push the shopping cart with the other hand. As we approach the store we get all kinds of looks, stares and comments. I'm pretty use to it, by now. Although, I am amazed at how many canned responses I've got when people say "OH MY GOSH! You've sure got a handful there!!"

(The do's and dont's of interfacing with multiples and the general public will be a posting for an entirely separate day.)

Just as I was walking in the store, I saw the Walmart Photo Center. That's when I realized that it has been a while since we've had *professional* portraits taken of the kids.

Here's some history. We had portraits taken at 3-months ... 6-months ... 9-months ... and at 12-months. That 12-month photo was a nightmare. NIGHTMARE. Had we actually taken the babies when they were 12-months, it probably wouldn't have been so bad. But - because time often gets away from us, by the time we brought them in for their 1-year picture, they were 14-months old, and a whole lot more mobile than they were just 2 months earlier.

As fate would have it, the babies turned 14-months old in December. A week before Christmas.

Now any person with an ounce of sense would know not to bring 3-14 month old babies to a "First Come First Serve" photo studio a week before Christmas. Not I. We were there ... with bells on ... at 9 AM. And much to my surprise - on this lovely Saturday with children running all through the store dressed in red velvet elf suits - the next available sitting wasn't until 6:00 PM.

What's interesting is that the primary reason I was so adamant about having their picture taken on THAT day, was not just because we had FINALLY gotten ourselves to the photo studio, but because the outfit I had intended for William to wear I had picked out especially for his 1-year picture. It was both beautiful and extremely expensive. This was the first time he had ever worn it, and I knew that he wouldn't fit in it much longer.

The photos had to be taken.

Today.

Now any person with an ounce of sense would never wait for 9 hours with 3-14 month old babies to get their picture taken. Not I. We headed off to the mall, walked through every single store, introduced the kids to their first hot pretzel, walked some more, lost William's blankie ... found William's blankie an hour later and after lots of screaming ... and went back to the photo study at 5:30 PM.

Just as we were unloading the kids from their carseats ... William had the LARGEST BLOWOUT I've ever seen, still, to this day. It was the kind of blow out that required me to find the nearest Babies R US and get him a new outfit. It was THAT bad.

After all was said and done, we had the pictures taken. The girls looked adorable in pink knitted dresses and William wore an $8.00 ensemble from the clearance rack (as opposed to the $75.00 corduroy overalls he started out the day wearing). And now for the pathetic part. That was 6-months ago, and I still haven't ordered the pictures.

So today, I figured that because I missed getting photos taken at 18-months ... I'd get them taken today. Which, it just so happens - is the day our babies turn 20-months old. What I've learned is that if I try to plan something too much in advance - it will backfire on me. Kind of like the adorable outfits I bought for the girls. My best bet on getting anything done, correctly, is spur of the moment. If something fits now - buy it now. Otherwise, by the time it WILL fit, it will either be the wrong time of the year for them to wear it ... or it will be lost in the closet and you'll forget you ever bought it in the first place.

Hence my rationalization for wanting to get the pictures taken. I'm here. Now. With three kids that are dressed in cute outfits and more importantly ... they are clean.

Unlike our last photo experience, there wasn't a single person in the Photo Center ... except a rather bored looking clerk who was wearing a "Manager" badge and sitting at the counter with a phone to her ear and a huge bag of Ruffles in front of her. I pushed the babies and shopping cart up to the counter and smiled. I didn't want to talk, because it was obvious she was on the phone. But after standing there for a few minutes ... with her not talking ... and me not talking (and three babies starting to get rambunctious), I asked "Are you on hold?" and she said "No. How can I help you?"

Uh. OK then.

"Well, I would like to make an appointment to have pictures taken."

"Sure. When?"

"Well ... how about right now?"

"Sorry, we're booked."

I looked down at her calendar - open on the desk - and the next appointment wasn't scheduled until noon. It was 10:00 AM.

Giving her a funny look and gazing around the inside of the entirely BARREN Photo Center I asked, "You're booked? Right now?"

"Yeah."

"But, there's nobody here."

"Yeah."

"Alrighty then. When's your next available appointment?"

"Today at 4:00"

"Fine. I'll take it."

Father in Heaven forgive me ... but it took every bit of restraint to not crawl across the desk and smack this idiot lady in the head. I cannot imagine that this woman has ANY idea how long it takes to get three babies dressed and out of the house. Especially when their clothes won't stay on them. Now, instead of getting something done that would probably have taken me 15 to 20 minutes ... I must make every effort to keep my kids clean for the rest of the day so that they can look cute and tidy when I bring them BACK to the Photo Center at 4:00 this afternoon.

In the "old" days ... when I wasn't crazy busy every single minute of every single day ... I probably would have said %^$*&$ Walmart's Photo Center ... I'm going to find another photo studio. But, I know better. By the time I finally get around to finding another studio, booking the appointment, getting everybody ready for the appointment, getting us out the door and to the appointment ... the kids will be heading off to Kindergarten.

I turned my cart and stroller around and took off to do the shopping I had intended. Diapers. Father's Day Cards. More yarn. Of course these items are not right next to each other. That would be way too convienient. Rather, they are spaced at the exact opposite ends of the store, which means I have to navigate through all the aisles filled with brightly colored crap necessities for summer ... while trying to keep our monster stroller in the middle of the aisle and not too close to the sides, or the kids will pull every single item at eye level, off the shelves. Add to that, I was having a hard time steering my cart. It took all my effort to prevent it from knocking brightly colored crap necessities for summer and bags of generic cream filled cookies to the ground.

I finally maneuver my way to the checkout, pay for our goods, and start walking out to the parking lot. On my way, I pass by the Photo Center. My buddy the "Manager" is still seated, chomping on her bag of Ruffles, with the phone pressed to her head. She still isn't talking. I contemplate if there really is somebody on the phone ... or is this some kind of strategy she uses to look busy?

I wonder ...

I unload the kids, unload the bags and notice that one of the wheels from my shopping cart was bent almost completely beneath the cart. No wonder I couldn't steer the ^%*&#^ thing.

It's now noon - and I've got 4 hours before I have to return BACK to Walmart and the Photo Center. This time, I'm going to bring a change of clothes for the kids ... in the off chance they have a colossal breakthrough ... or, the pictures require the kids to be standing, and the girls skirts fall off. So much to consider. A person with an ounce of sense probably wouldn't attempt this. But I suppose with the time I have to *spare* ... I should see about ordering our 12-month photos.

Blankies for Babies

I'm embarking on something very important ... tonight. I'm going to blow the dust off my knitting needles, pull out some good yarn, and start whipping out blankets.

For newborn babies in Africa.

Recently, I read a post on a fellow bloggers blog (who happens to live in South Africa) about the plight of women living in poverty in her country. These women give birth in government hospitals and have little more than the clothes on their backs. They have nothing.

The sister of this blogger, has started a charity (Bosom Buddies) to help these women and their children. The purpose of Bosom Buddies is to collect new and used clothing (and other items) for the babies of these destitute mothers. What really compelled me to want to DO something to help, is when I saw that a reader on this bloggers blog, crocheted five baby blankets and put together care packages that she then sent from the US, to Africa ... for these women and their newborn babies. I wept when I read about her acts of kindness.

And then I thought ... I could do that. Why aren't I doing something like that?!

The other day during my drive to and from LA - listening to the radio the whole way - I was humbled by so much suffering in the world. When I was thinking what more I could do to teach our children compassion and how to spread love ... this is exactly the kind of thing I meant.

I've decided that if there is one thing I can do ... it is knit baby blankets.

Here's a picture of me ... 29 weeks pregnant, unable to get off the couch, my monster 1/2 gallon water jug (that I filled up and drank FOUR TIMES a day), carpal tunnel braces on both arms, a supersized bottle of Tums by one side a supersized box of Kleenex by the other ... with a baby blanket I was in the process of creating (that pink, blue and white thing to the right).

Now, the reason I am posting about my new quest on this blog ... is because I know all too well, "The road to hell is paved with good intentions."

I hope that next week at this time (that'd be Tuesday, June 20th), I can post a picture of a 1/3 completed baby blanket for the world to see. And if I don't ... I expect that at least one person out there in the blogosphere will razz me for it. Let me rephrase that...

If I don't ... I want at least one person out there in the blogosphere to RAZZ me for it.

To fly or not to fly ...

When I was in 10th grade, I sat behind a chap in Geometry named Will Brown. Will was a nice enough fellow and I always thought he was eccentric, in a cool kind of way. That is until the day he turned around and told me that he'd had a premonition I would die in a plane crash when I was 38-years old.

Lovely, huh?

Now, regarding premonitions. I've had a couple good ones. When I went through my first round of IVF, in October of 2003 ... I knew that it wasn't going to be successful, because just days before I was scheduled to have my pregnancy test ... the Red Sox lost the American League Pennant to the New York Yankees. Add to that, San Diego was burning to the ground, our neighborhood was evacuated and I just didn't have a good feeling about the whole cycle. I was filled with dread. I called my doctor to notify him, "Unfortunately, the Curse of the Bambino lives on. I know that this cycle is a bust."

He thought I was an absolute kook and told me that I couldn't base my chances of a successful pregnancy on the outcome of some stupid baseball game.

Stupid baseball game?!

Fast forward to March of 2004. I went through my third round of IVF. As I previously posted, I had a suspicion that this cycle was going to be the one. The very day that I learned we were expecting triplets ... the first words out of my mouth after seeing three heartbeats were "YAY!" and then "Well, you know that this means that the Curse of the Bambino has been broken and the Red Sox are going to win the World Series, don't you?" It was intended as a joke. I honestly didn't believe that one thing had anything to do with the other.

Or, did I?

Everyone in the ultrasound room laughed. BUT, had anyone (including me) taken my *premonition* seriously, we would have made some serious BANK. Because, the Red Sox did win the World Series, one week after I gave birth. Now, in hindsight, I believe that when Charlie and I broke our own private, "Curse of the Bambino" the other, more well known "Curse of the Bambino" was broken, too. I firmly believe that had it not been for our amazing triplets born in October of 2004, the Red Sox would not have won a World Series Title, still. I'll stand by that statement until the day I die.

Which takes me back to Will Brown.

Since the 10th grade, I've questioned more and more, how thoroughly they inspect commercial aircraft. It never seems like they are at the gate for more than 30 minutes before they are boarded, pushed back out on the runway, and launched off high in to the atmosphere, again.

I don't worry about terrorism. If someone tried to hijack a plane that I happened to be flying on, I (and I'm sure most of the passengers onboard), would be all over their terrorist a$$ like white on rice.

Mostly, I worry that the bolts affixing the wings to the fuselage are going to wiggle loose at 30,000 feet.

Or, that the plane will lose propulsion during take-off and fall backwards to the earth because the weight limit was exceeded (this actually happened not too long ago).

Or, we'll have a funky landing and spin out of control, flip upside down and burst in to a ball of flames.

Ya know ... that kind of stuff.

The thing that REALLY freaks me out, is having the knowledge that the plane is going down. You get to sit there in your seat completely freaking out, and thinking how CRAPPY it is that you ever got on THIS plane in the first place. Really. How necessary was this trip? Shoulda, coulda, woulda. It's one of those times that you wish more than anything you could hit "CTRL-ALT-DEL". Start over.

Usually, when faced with an upcoming trip - I always toss around the idea of driving - or taking a train. So what if it will take me 5 days to get somewhere that I could fly in 5 hours? What's 116 *extra* hours?

Never, ever - have I ultimately decided to drive or take a train when I could fly. Rather, I book my ticket ... freak out the entire time leading up to my departure ... actually envision the evening news when the camera crews are covering the wreckage of MY plane in a field or over the ocean, somewhere ... freak out boarding the plane ... break in to a cold sweat during take-off ... and then wait anxiously for my beloved narcolepsy to kick in. I usually stay asleep until the plane lands. Then, and only then, I think what a silly fool I was for worrying about my safety flying because everyone knows that air travel is safer than ground travel. Yes. Even I know. And, I'm not even 38. Yet.

I continue to remind myself how silly this paranoia is, until ... I have to fly someplace else. Then, the process repeats itself, in it's entirety.

Since the babies have arrived, Charlie and I have flown cross-country three times, with the kids, by ourselves. Actually six times - if you count coming and going.

We flew to South Carolina when they were 8-months old ... Massachusetts when they were 10-months old ... and Florida when they were 16-months old. I will say that it became progressively difficult traveling with the babies, the older they got. (This should be a blog posting in and of itself, "The art or lack thereof, of flying with small children.")

Of course it would have been easier for us had we "tested" the Benadryl before we gave it to them on a crowded airplane and realized that the 3% of the time Benadryl has an ADVERSE affect and causes hyperactivity rather than drowsiness ... would have been with our 1, 2, 3 kids. Not a single one of our children were the least bit sleepy from being medicated. Infact, I've never, ever seen them so hyper. They were strapped to us in Baby Bjorns and it was like trying to hold a wild cat in a bag on our lap for 6 (SIX) hours. Much to Charlie's chagrin, I finally turned the bottle of Benadryl on myself and slept like a charm the rest of the flight. But BEFORE I took the Benadryl, I was a nervous wreck.

If you're wondering why I'm babbling on and on and on about this ... it's because next month, I have another business meeting. This time, it's in New Mexico. Not some place locally, like Palm Springs, where I could drive. To get to this meeting, I have to fly.

I received the agenda today and was informed that I need to be there (fly-in) on Monday and will return home (fly-out) on Friday. My mother (God Bless her) has volunteered to come out and lend a hand so Charlie is not flying solo the entire time I'm gone. But even though Charlie will have support on the home front with the kiddos, I have apprehensions about attending this business trip. Here are a few:

1) I do not want to DIE in a plane crash.

2) I will miss the babies terribly if gone for 5 days, consecutively. (Or more, if I DIE in a plane crash).

3) The babies are very clingy to me lately, and I wonder how they would do without me being here for 5 days, consecutively. That's a long time...

4) It would be nice to visit with my mother if she is flying out to California. I rarely get to see her, after all. (I'd never get to see her again if I DIE in a plane crash).

5) I do not want to DIE in a plane crash.

6) I'm finally healthy and don't want to travel and run the risk of getting sick, again. The times that I've been really sick this year, have always happened as soon as I get back from one of these business meetings. (Can you get any more unhealthy than if you were to DIE in a plane crash? I don't think so.)

7) I do not want to DIE in a plane crash.

That's all I can think of. Other than ...

8) I'll really miss the kids.
9) I do not want to DIE in a plane crash.
10) I'll really miss the kids.


Now, more than ever, I'd like to stick around and see my children grow up. Now more than ever, I wish that I could kick Will Brown in the shins. Or, should I thank him for giving me a tip on something that MIGHT eventually save my life? Hmm. That's a tough one.

So, I'm pondering what to tell my boss.

(1) Yes, I know I would benefit if I attended this meeting. But, I'm paranoid the plane will crash and that will be the end of me. Better stated, I'm scared sh*tless that I'll leave behind a husband and three small children. Of course, by coming "clean" and telling my boss about my (as some might consider) irrational fear, I know I'll hear back "You're so funny. See you in New Mexico!"

(2) Do I buck up ... book the ticket, revisit my life insurance ... pack some Benadryl and and pray for the best?

(3) Do I make it sound more serious? One of the kids developed a curious condition that appears a bit suspicious. Her nose is growing at an alarming rate. Kind of like her mother's ...

From where I sit ... I'm thinking the "No's" have it. If we didn't have children, I'd be nervous about flying ... but not NEARLY to the extent that I am, as a mom. Being a parent really changes your perspective on things. Simple five-day business trips, included.

Flying Solo

Friday was a long day for Charlie. He was up at 4:00 AM and didn't return home until 9:30 PM. Which translates to ... Friday was a long day for me, too.

The only way to adequately capture what a day without my husband is like ... is imagine having one arm tied behind your back, one leg in a potato sack, and you're wearing a patch over one eye. Your good eye. And you're in a pool. With a shark.

We make a very good team, Charlie and me. Charlie and I. Whatever. He and me ... we go together like peas and carrots.

We work extremely well together - running interference with the babies - and executing plays like dinner and bathtime, flawlessly. On the days when I know Charlie will be home to help with getting the babies settled for bed at night, I often find myself counting the minutes until he returns. Literally.

Now, that's not to say that I don't have a good handle on things. I do. Our routine is a well oiled machine. But, as the daytime starts creeping closer to nightime, the kids get a bit ... how shall I say ... cuckoo. Just like the clock. Interestingly enough, we have a cuckoo clock, and as we get closer to bedtime, that little bird starts to make more and more of a racket. Just like the kids.

On the days when I know Charlie won't be home to help with getting the babies settled for bed, I try to mentally prepare myself for the day, before I even get up in the morning.

"Today, you are on your own. There is no one to call for help. It's you and the babies. Rah-rah you are all ALONE! Rah-rah you can DO this! Rah-rah you have NO choice!"

After I have my private pep rally, I usually pray that the babies will sleep for another two hours fifteen minutes, so that I can sleep for another two hours fifteen minutes, because I need all the strength I can get. To date, my prayer for our babies sleeping in until 10 AM hasn't been answered, yet. But, still I pray.

Friday morning the kids were busy doing stuff they always do in the morning. Play outside, read books, ransack the house while I try in vain to clean the house, sort blocks ... that kind of thing. Then, the babies went down for their nap. When they woke up from their nap, and after lunch, I took them to Costco. This time, I couldn't find any Famous Amos cookies, so I had to settle on a 30-pound vessel of Nonni's Chocolate Biscotti. Yes, I know the pediatric dentist said "no sweets" but, I had shopping to do. Fortunately, the children were blissfully entertained the entire time I perused Costco. Unfortunately, I didn't have my camera. I wish I had ... the sight of our three babies covered from hairline to chin in chocolate, was magnificent. MAGNIFICENT. In a Tide commercial kind of way.

Back from Costco, we played in the yard. We napped some more. We went for a 4-mile walk around the neighborhood with the dogs. We came home and ate dinner. And then, I started on getting the kids ready for bed.

By myself.

For anyone who might be thinking "What's the big deal?" this task is a lot easier said than done. I once hiked 8-miles down the Kaibab trail, swam in the Colorado River, turned around and hiked 11-miles up the Bright Angel trail. All in one day. The point is, hiking in to and out of the Grand Canyon, in June, is an easier task, both mentally and physically - than getting three toddlers ready for bed.

By yourself.

Am I exaggerating? Maybe a little. But just a teensy bit ... it's an almost immeasurable difference.

I plugged in a Baby Einstein DVD to keep two of the kids entertained while I attempted to get the third one dressed and ready for bed. Everything seemed to be going well until I heard a crackling noise. Kind of like plastic. I popped my head around the corner and saw William and Carolyn standing, with their backs to me, playing with something. Had I not had a partially clad baby on the changing table, I would have definitely investigated. I was in a tricky position, so I finished brushing Elizabeth's teeth. This is a huge chore in and of itself. But after the vast amount of chocolate biscotti she consumed at Costco, it had to be done. I plop Elizabeth in her crib. One down. Two to go.

I run in to the bathroom to fill my wash basin up with water and come back out just in time to see William passing graham crackers up to Elizabeth, and her freshly brushed teeth ... in her crib.

How thoughtful of him.

William gets an accelerated sponge bath while Carolyn has free reign of the house. Right now, I'm wondering why we ever took the 14-foot baby gate down ... and what kind of fool am I to not put all three kids in their crib while I get them ready, one at a time??

I finish up with William, one ear straining to hear what Carolyn might be up to. I don't hear anything. That's never a good thing. I quickly brush his teeth and before I have the opportunity to pick him up and move him to his crib, Carolyn wanders in to the nursery and hands William, and his freshly brushed teeth, a graham cracker.

How thoughtful of her.

Apparently, they do know how to share ... afterall. Two down. One to go.

I put William in his crib, and turn to see Carolyn high-tail it out of the nursery. I fill my wash basin up with fresh water and take off looking for Carolyn. She has obviously found our stash of graham crackers (from behind *supposed* baby-proof doors) and is hiding in the dining room. Beneath the table. I wouldn't have found her ... if not for the trail of crumbs leading directly to her hide-out. I scoop her up and bring her in to the nursery.

Quick sponge bath. Quick teeth brushing. Plop in to bed.

Three down.

I survey the disaster that is our kitchen and playroom. I see the same scene every night, but it always shocks me. It looks like there was a huge food fight and in the middle of that, a toy bomb exploded.

It's nearly impossible to summon the energy to clean this disaster when I am so tired. I'll start cleaning in just a minute. But first, I pick up the phone to call Charlie.

"How was your day? Great. Me too. What time will you be home? Good. Drive safe."

I hang up and head in to the living room, the only clean room in the entire house, to sit for a quiet moment. Something catches my eye. It's white. It looks like a diaper. In the middle of the living room floor. Did I do that? Did I change a diaper in the living room, today? Why - I don't think so....

And, what's this ... another diaper ... and another and another and another. Diapers, dirty diapers, littered around our living room, just barely visible from beneath the sofa, behind the curtains, under a chair.

The crackling noise was the trash basket as the babies were methodically pulling out all of their dirty diapers. Which they then strategically hid around the living room, for me to find. Kind of like a scavenger hunt for dirty diapers.

How thoughtful of them.

I grab a beer from the refrigerator and debate waiting for Charlie to get home and help me tackle this mess. I am nothing without my zone defense. Instead, I grab a chocolate biscotti, which goes well with my Heineken ... and clean up the house.

How thoughtful of me.

If Charlie doesn't know how appreciated he is - he should for sure after he reads this posting. It turns out Charlie does read my blog. Which is why I'd like to take this opportunity to thank him for my brand new razor.

How thoughtful of you.

Hydrangea ... My Sincerest Apologies

When we first moved in to our home, I planted a small hydrangea in the back yard. Through the years, this plant has grown larger and more beautiful, typically blooming it’s bright pink flowers only once a year.

Unfortunately, more than 90% of the blooms have been pulled off and partially consumed by three toddlers. Such is the price our plant has to pay as our children learn to “Stop and destroy mangle eat Smell the Flowers”.


On a different note, I find it interesting that although I have beautiful ribbons and bows for the girls’ hair … the only one that will allow me to do anything with their hair, is our boy, William.

I have a suspicion the days of styling our son’s hair in ponytails will be short lived.



Hopefully, our back yard full of beautiful flowering plants aren't too traumatized and die off as a result of the omniverous trio that have set up camp. And if they do, oh well. These are truly magical moments and I'm trying to treasure them all.

Like the bright pink flowers on our hydrangea (and most likely, William's ponytail once Charlie sees this post) these moments are are hair today, gone tomorrow.

welcome, welcome, welcome ... HOME! HOME! HOME!

THIS is what I have to look forward to when I come home from work:



This is also what I have to look forward to when I come back from checking the mail.

Or, feeding the dogs.

Or, return from the bathroom.

Pretty much anytime I am out of sight for more than 30 seconds.

But - it is especially nice that the babies have learned to give hugs and eskimo kisses when I come back after a long day at work. And then the craziness usually begins ....

I only have a minute tonight to update *da blog*, but wanted to let Teresa know that since we've gone back to two naps a day, the kids are doing fantastic.

*F*A*N*T*A*S*T*I*C*

They've been taking 2-1.5 to 2 hour naps during the day (typically from 10:30 until 12:30 ... and again from 3:00 until about 3:30) and are going to bed between 7:00 and 7:15. This morning, we had to wake Elizabeth up at 8:40. No kidding. There is NO crying at nap time, no crying at bedtime, they sleep soundly at night, and they wake up perfectly happy and refreshed. It is a little bit hard because two naps tend to "break" our day up ... but ... the kids are happy. And when they are happy (provided they're not chewing on an electric cord) I'm happy.

I've heard that the morning nap is the first to disappear - but thus far, that is the one that they seem to need the most. Although there are some days that one nap might be OK (particularly if we're out running errands or going to the zoo, etc - and they can catch a quick snooze in their stroller or carseat) I think that for now, we're a two nap-a-day family.

I saw what happens, first hand, when you go to one nap a day prematurely. Everything seems to be just fine for a while, but if you listen closely you can make out the "tick, tick, tick, tick ..........."

Paying Attention (Me, not Them)

Yesterday, I had an important business meeting to attend. I got dressed and when undecided on which of two pairs of shoes to wear, put on one of each and asked Charlie to help me pick. He’s got a pretty good eye for fashion.

“Hmm. I’d go with the black one.”

I finished getting dressed, helped feed the kids breakfast and made my way out to the car, peeling children off of me en route. Just as I was climbing in the car, I happened to notice that I still had on one black shoe and one brown shoe.

One of my favorite movies of all times is “Shawshank Redemption” and I whole heartedly agree with that one line where Morgan Freeman asks, “How often do you notice a person’s shoes?” I don’t notice other people’s shoes that often. But, if they happen to be wearing two different style shoes, you can bet your bottom dollar I’d see it. And, I’d laugh at them. It’s a good thing I happened to look down and notice that I had on two different shoes because otherwise, I’m sure someone at the important business meeting would have been laughing at me. I in turn, would have tried to play it off like this was something I had done intentionally.

Today, I had another important business meeting to attend. This time, it was in Los Angeles. Early this morning as I got ready to leave, I made sure I was wearing two of the same shoes before I took off on my 3-hour drive. It’s not very often that I have three hours of quiet time, during the day, while I am in a conscious state. I debated what I wanted to do during this drive … listen to the radio … or enjoy the blissful sounds of silence.

The little voices in my head unanimously agreed. Crickets it is.

Just as I was leaving our neighborhood, I saw a car with the license plate holder, “If You’re Not Angry, You’re Not Paying Attention!”

Except for almost leaving the house wearing two different style shoes and forgetting to close the doors and trunk on our van during my recent outing to the gym, I pride myself on my ability to pay attention. I’ve got three toddlers at home. I must pay attention. My children’s survival and my sanity depend on it. I keep the bathroom doors closed, toilet paper in a secure location, cabinets and cupboards safely latched, knives and indelible ink markers stored up high. In fact, the only time in my life that I have been accused of not paying attention is when I got kicked out of a Calculus class in college because I was chatting it up with my friend, Lorie. (In my defense – I was excited about my upcoming wedding and Lorie was the one that initiated the conversation. I know she'll disagree, but don't believe a word she says.).

I pay attention and I’m not angry. What do I have to be angry about?

I continued my drive to the freeway and noticed a group of people collecting signs that read, “Vote!” That’s when I remembered.

OH DARN!

Yesterday was Election Day. I never miss Election Day. The only time that I’ve ever forgotten to vote was … never. Well, unless you count voting for American Idol. I’m still kicking myself that I didn’t vote for Chris Daugherty. His getting booted off the show, and the public outcry that ensued, is a prime example of why people NEED to vote. You can’t assume that everyone else is going to vote like you would - if you voted, and the person that you think should win, will win.

Reality television shows aside ... ever since I've been 18, I always vote in political elections. Even in November of 2004, when I had premature triplets in the NICU and I was recovering from my c-section and HELLP Syndrome, I made sure that I was at the polls to cast my ballot for the American President. I’ve never felt like my vote counted for much because I can count on one hand how many times “my candidate” has won an election ... but ... I'm always there. If nothing else, I like to think I'd make Susan B. Anthony proud.

I’ve noticed that I’ve been receiving a troublesome amount of “junk” mail lately. Now it made sense. Those must have been all of the candidate and proposition pamphlets they send out en masse just before an election. Since I’ve been doing the majority of my shopping online, I receive a TON of junk mail. I’ve become extremely efficient at sorting through everything and rapidly discarding anything that is neither a bill nor personal letter. Usually, I don't even look at this stuff to know ... it's junk. (Yet, I have an uncanny ability to spot valuable Pampers and 20% off Bed, Bath & Beyond Coupons.)

I’ll concede … this election snuck up and passed us … without our knowledge. A few years ago, we would read every single one of the candidate and ballot fliers that came in the mail. Charlie and I also would set aside a couple nights before Election Day, to review (with a highlighter, no less) the Ballot and Voter Information pamphlet. Those were the days when we had lots of free time on our hands. The days before we were taking care of three toddlers while simultaneously managing a house, working part-time jobs (that most weeks are more like full-time jobs), striving to keep our marriage *alive*, struggling to walk our dogs at least once a week day, and squeezing in trips to the gym whenever we can. And, for me, making attempts at keeping my journal (aka: blog) somewhat updated.

Indeed ... this election got past us.

Although I’m pretty dialed in on what’s happening in our family life … maybe I’m not paying very good attention to the “outside world”. So, I decided that with my three hours of undisturbed driving time, I was going to do something I NEVER do. I was going to intentionally listen to the news. I clicked over to NPR, the most "unbiased" news channel I can think of. Here’s a sampling of what I heard:

• There was an earthquake in central Indonesia last month. This is the same region of the world that was crippled from the tsunami in December of 2004. This most recent catastrophe has left thousands dead, tens of thousands homeless.

• The average salary for fire fighters, police officers, and teachers is $41K a year. I balked until I heard the average salary for a recruit in the military is less than $15K a year. You mean to tell me that people who put their life on the line for this country (because these are the guys that would be front-line) are paid a tad over $1,000 a month? Unbelievable.

• Two of the candidates running for U.S. Congress to replace the shameful Duke Cunningham (who resigned after being found guilty in accepting over $2 million dollars in bribes) spent more than $6 million dollars on their campaigns. A democratic gubernatorial candidate, Steve Westly (former Ebay executive) spent over $30 million dollars of his own money on the campaign. He lost to Phil Angelides. I'm not sure how much Phil spent ...
  
• Proposition 82 which would have funded preschools was defeated. Voters didn’t like the price tag of $2.1 billion dollars on taxes that would be levied on couples that made more than $800K a year (or, $400K a year on an individual). I’m sure that there are downsides to this Proposition, but it certainly sounds good, doesn’t it? Apparently there are 14,000 4-year olds in this State that don’t have access to preschool. Considering there are studies showing that children who attend preschool are more likely to be successful in LIFE (the actual act of living, not to be confused with the board game), this makes me sad. Without sounding too much like John Lennon, IMAGINE if just some of the money that politicians in California are using to fund their primary election campaigns (heck, we haven't even gotten in to the GENERAL ELECTION, that's where the big $$$ is going to be spent) were funneled in to preschools. Or, if some of this money could be applied to an increase in wages for military ... teachers ... or those in public service. Yeah. I know there’s more to it. There always is. But just imagine.
  
• Women who have fled from the Ukraine to Turkey for employment, are being kidnapped and sold in to the sex slavery market. Most of these women are between the ages of 16 and 19. My heart breaks thinking of what these young women are going through. I don't know what to do to help them - or where to even start. This segment of the news made me think about the NBC Dateline “To Catch A Predator” series. The sheer number of vermin slithering around and preying on children is horrific. This "Predator" series has made us 1) stop watching so much TV because it is terribly disturbing, and 2) vow to never allow our children their own personal computers with internet access. When they are old enough to go on the computer ... we'll be monitoring it. CONSTANTLY.
  
• Counterfeit drugs are being brought in to this country and sold in pharmacies. These fake drugs have been responsible for the deaths of hundreds, if not thousands, of people around the world. Unfortunately, the vermin that produce these drugs are really good and as a result, they are indistinguishable from “real” medication to a consumer. (Does this mean that we all need to carry around portable mass-spectrometers every time we go to the apothecary? YES. The alternative is ... never get sick. Or, have penile dysfunction.)

• As of today, there are 2,484 confirmed US casualties in the Iraq Coalition.
  

I crossed county lines, lost NPR, and picked up a rap station. After straining to understand the lyrics for all of 15-seconds … and feeling thoroughly grossed out by what I heard in that short period of time … I flipped over to a Mexican radio station. My Spanish isn’t very good … but I was able to understand “Happy, Day, and Good-bye.” I don’t know what exactly they were singing about but I got a major hankering for chips, salsa and an ice-cold Corona. I hear disco and I feel like dancing. I hear a Mariachi band and I feel like eating. (Am I alone in this phenomenon??)

Giving up on the radio, I returned to my sounds of silence and started checking out all of the road signs. It appears that the California Lottery is up to $56 million dollars. On a huge billboard, the question was posed: “What would YOU do if you won?” After thinking of what I’d just heard on NPR, sadly, $56 million wouldn’t be nearly enough to do all the things I would want to do.

Here we worked so hard to bring children in to our lives and I'm wondering what kind of world have we brought them in to? The world was a much better place when I was a child. Wasn’t it? Actually ... when I was a child, the Vietnam War was in full swing. And when my mother was a child ... Hitler was in the midst of committing some of the worst human atrocities in history. Come to think of it ... in the history of mankind, there have always been wars and fighting, and just plain evil.

I was alone with these thoughts RUNNING through my head the rest of my drive to Los Angeles. These same thoughts were on my mind during the majority of my important business meeting, and for the duration of my entirely quiet, 3-hour drive back. As soon as I arrived home this afternoon, I picked up our babies and I covered them in kisses. When I tucked them in to bed tonight, we said our evening prayers. I then looked at these precious little children, with clean souls and I prayed so hard that they always find love in the world. That they always seek out and find the good in mankind. That they are not discouraged or swayed by negativity. That they are always safe in body AND spirit from harm. That they never go out of the house wearing two different shoes … and that they never listen to crap rap.

The reason that Charlie and I had children is because we are optimists and we believe in the future. We know that one person can do terrible things … or wonderful things.

Today, I tried really hard to pay attention. I did pay attention and I’m not angry. If I was angry – that would be more negativity - and really, what would it accomplish? Rather, I feel more compelled than ever to raise our children the best we possibly can … to fill their lives with love … to teach them to see the good in the world … and to always be honest and kind. Raising our children with these goals are the best way that we can see, to make a positive contribution to society. But the question remains ... what more can we do?

Bunnie Squeakles Boot Camp

After the tremendous effort that was spent looking high and low - all over the world - for a backup lovey for Elizabeth, we finally received our extra "Bunnie Squeakles".

I had actually ordered three (3) spare "Bunnie Squeakles" but I was notified that the on-line store where I ordered, only had one (1) "Bunnie Squeakles" in stock, and there was a chance "Bunnie Squeakles" was being discontinued because they were not going to be receiving any more shipments. Would I care to order a different "Squeakles Critter"?

No more Bunnie Squeakles??? Order a different Squeakles Critter??? Are you out of your MIND??? Apparently not everyone in the entire world reads our blog and understands the importance of this little stuffed animal. Thank you for the offer, but that would have to be a BIG FAT NO.

The package carrying the last remaining "Bunnie Squeakles" arrived in the mail this past week. I was so excited. I ripped open the box and handed the "new and improved" Bunnie Squeakles to Elizabeth. And guess what?!

She could care less.

I immediately realized that there is room for one bunny, and one bunny alone, in my child's heart. I don't know what I expected. Maybe that she would throw "bunny" to the floor and embrace this newer, squeakier, fluffier, more *refreshed* Bunnie Squeakles. Alas, she handed the new Bunnie Squeakles right back to me.

"No thanks, Mom. You can keep him."

But ... but ... ??? This was a concerted effort! People from around the country were looking for this "Bunnie" for you. Where are your manners, 19-month old child of mine?

Thinking it might help if the new Bunnie Squeakles was washed, I tossed him in with the laundry. As of tonight, he's been through one, two ... twenty-four wash cycles ... since he's arrived, and still Elizabeth shows no interest in him. No interest, at all whatsoever.

I really think it's important that Elizabeth accept the new Bunnie Squeakles in her life, for her sake and for mine. Heaven forbid something ever happen to "bunny" we would be in a terrible predicament. I'm not sure if "terrible predicament" is a strong enough phrase to capture the gravity of this situation. (Was Jen the only one to notice bunny in the sprinkler with our kids?! [Points to you, Jen!] Honestly - that bunny goes EVERYWHERE with Elizabeth.)

Our goal is that the new Bunnie Squeakles be completely interchangeable with "bunny". No one, especially Elizabeth, should be able to tell them apart.

With that in mind, I present my five-part strategy on "breaking in" the new Bunnie Squeakles:

1) Place him in the driveway and back our van over him 227 times.

2) Tie one end of a rope around one of his floppy ears, affix the other end to a stroller, and drag him behind us on our evening walks around the neighborhood.

3) Mix him in with all the ingredients and bake with whatever we happen to be preparing for dinner.

4) Give him to the dogs and let them bury him in the back yard. Dig up. Wash. Repeat process.

5) Wash him another 24 times and evaluate if he is FINALLY worthy.

Bunnie Squeakles bootcamp begins at 0700 hours, tomorrow. Stay tuned ...

(I'd love to add some pictures to accompany this blog posting - but for whatever reason, blogger is tanking on me. I am stuck in HTML mode [yet w/o any of the 'features' like adding a link, picture, changing font, etc] and I don't have the option of going back to 'compose'. If anyone has advice to fix this *problem*, I'd appreciate hearing it! **Edited to read: Thanks to Peter at
http://blogger-tricks.blogspot.com the *problem* has been fixed!!!)

Listen and Repeat ... Sleep Begets Sleep

For those that don't know (I, for one didn't), beget means: cause, bring about, produce, lead to, result in, make happen, create, be the cause of.

I had read that between the age of 15 to 18 months, most babies will drop their second nap. And since I'd read that tid-bit of information, we've been fiddling with the babies schedule. A smidge of fine tuning, if you will.

Our "old" schedule (i.e. a month or so ago) was that the babies would wake for the day at around 7 AM. We'd feed them breakfast, let them play, and put them down for their first nap at around 9:30 or 10:00 AM. They'd snooze for a solid hour, maybe two ... and be awake just in time for lunch at noon. They'd be fed lunch ... they'd play some more ... and go down for a second nap at around 3:00 PM. Between the hours of 3 and 6, we'd have more fun playing, dancing, singing, going for walks and just rejoicing in life. Dinner was at 6 PM, bathtime was at around 6:30'ish ... bedtime was between 7 and 7:30. Clockwork. Everyday.

This was a good arrangement because we had well rested babies throughout the day. They ate well. They played well. They slept well. Everything was good in our world.

And then I had to go and mess it up ... all because of what babies at this age are suppose to do. Serves me right for reading.

Gradually, I started pushing the first nap back to 11:00. And then, 11:30 ... and then noon, immediately following lunch. This transition kind of complicated the afternoon nap, because as the morning nap was pushed back - so was the afternoon nap. I was finding that I had extremely fussy babies at 5 PM ... which is WAY too late to start an afternoon nap, if you still plan on putting your child to bed before 10 PM.

Once I was able to keep the kids asleep on their feet awake until noon, I ditched the afternoon nap, altogether. At first, this seemed like a great adjustment because it allowed us the morning to do stuff, outside of the house. Because the babies would sleep from about noon'ish until about 2'ish ... we had our afternoon wide open, to do stuff, outside of the house then, too. Such freedom!

But as any veteran can tell you - freedom comes with a price.

It seems like the adjustment in the babies' schedule ... although well received at first ... has finally taken it's toll. Sleep deprivation is one of those things that eventually catches up with you. There isn't a parent with a newborn in the whole wide world - who will disagree with that fact.

For the past week or so, I've noticed that the babies aren't as happy as they use to be. At "this" age, it's hard to tell whether they are feeling their oats as they approach Hurricane Level II status, battling the remnants of this most recent bug, or, if they are simply overtired.

What clued me in to the fact that these children NEEDED more sleep, is that when they were sleeping, they weren't sleeping well. We'd put them down for their first and only nap at noon ... maybe 12:30 ... and after a whole lot of fussing before going to sleep, they'd be awake by 1:30, or 2:00. Instead of waking up happy and refreshed, they would wake up crying and spend the rest of the afternoon driving me positively batty. I'd have babies hanging off of me and laying down in the middle of the floor having full-blown tantrums at a rate of 6 per hour. That's a lot.

The icing on the cake was when their bedtime, at 7:00 PM, turned in to "nursery social hour". The kids would hang out in their cribs, chatting it up until 8:00 PM, everynight. Last night, they were still gabbing at 9:45 PM and I heard babies waking up randomly throughout the night and wee morning hours.

The point is ... our children - who once embraced their crib - were having an increasingly harder time going to sleep and staying to sleep. Here I am, a "self-proclaimed sleep expert" wondering what the heck is going on with our adorable, yet cranky, and "rapidly driving their fuzzy eyed parents to the absolute brink of despair", kids.

So, what did I do?

This morning, the babies were awake at 7:30 AM. We fed them breakfast and then the crying started. Almost immediately. I resorted to letting them "help me" unload the dishwasher, which I never do, because it was the only thing that seemed to keep them relatively happy. (For inquiring minds - I don't let William sit on the dishwasher door, but if I didn't snap a picture of it, I know I'll forget these "days" as he grows older.)

By 9:00 AM, I put the kids in their cribs for the first nap. Charlie was amazed that I was putting the babies to bed, after they'd only been awake for an hour and a half. But, after the difficulties I've been experiencing with our sleep routine ... I needed to "test" a theory. Aside from which, Carolyn was tossing out some "hints" that she might be tired. Only a trained professional might be able to pick up on these clues. Can you spot them?

William wasn't too thrilled with being put back to bed after only being up for 90 minutes. He hollered for a few minutes - - maybe 10 - - and then, silence. They woke up 2 hours later. We fed them lunch - ran some errands - and let them have some playtime in the backyard. At 3:30 PM, I put them down for their second nap. Again, William wasn't too thrilled with being put back in his crib. He hollered for another 5 minutes - - and silence, once again. His sisters didn't protest going down for their first OR second nap. Everyone woke up from this second nap at 5 PM. William woke up screaming. Very unhappy. No amount of holding or food offered seemed to help. So, I turned on the sprinkler. (If you didn't know, running water begets a happy baby.)

After playing in the sprinklers, eating dinner, and having a quick bath - all three babies were put back to bed at 7 PM, tonight. For the first time in several days - there was silence, immediately. Most importantly, I haven't heard a peep out of them, since.

Going forward, we'll be sticking with two naps a day. At least for now. When the babies are ready to give up their morning - or afternoon nap ... I'm sure they'll let me know. With any luck, they'll all be ready to give up the same nap, at the same time. Might I be so lucky??

I was a sleep dictator today, but it seems to be paying off - and - the old addage was once again confirmed. SLEEP causes, brings about, produces, leads to, results in, makes happen, creates, is the cause of BEGETS SLEEP.

One thing is for certain. As soon as I think I've got something "figured" out ... it inevitably changes. Have I said that already? It sounds oddly familiar ...

The razor must stay IN the bag

OK, so where were we?

Ah, yes ... my gym membership. Pull up a chair and grab a drink. This is a long one.

Before the triplets arrived, Charlie and I belonged to a local gym and for a while - we actually went. After the triplets arrived, we canceled the membership because we thought that the $75.00 a month we were spending on dues would be better placed on diapers. Besides, when did we have TIME to go? If there was a lull in activity around the house - we were going to lay on the couch and vegetate, definitely not pack a bag ... drive to the gym ... and stand on a treadmill all the while wishing that we were at home on the couch. Vegetating.

But as the babies grew a little bigger ... and we grew a little bigger ... we decided that maybe a gym membership wasn't such a bad idea, after all.

We live in the midst of a suburbia boom with all kinds of new development around us. A mile to the north, we have a brand new Target and Lowe's. A mile to the east, we have a brand new Walmart and Home Depot. They are building a massive mall a mile to the west. And just over the ridge from us ... they put in a brand spankin' new LA Fitness gym. With ... wouldn't you know ... an introductory offer to join. What could be better? This is our chance to get in shape ... hopefully stay in shape ... and all for the bargain basement price of $60.00 a month. We signed up for the gym in January, just in time for our New Year Resolution. (Isn't January the highest month of the year for gym enrollments? I think it is...).

The first couple of weeks were great because much to our surprise, we went. And, we were overjoyed that our money was being well spent. Charlie and I would alternate staying home with the kids, while the other one would go to the gym and workout ... and then take a nice hot shower in the luxurious limestone locker room.

Things were going fabulously ... until we got sick. And then we started to get better ... and then we'd get sick again. And again. And again. All told, we were sick FOUR times between January and May. That's almost every single month of the year and definitely not a great track record. Because we both felt like a huge pile of dung, we stopped going to the gym. But, we continued to fork out our monthly dues of $60.00.

Four weeks ago, I was just starting to feel better from the sinus, ear, strep throat infection hell I had been battling since my business trip to Palm Springs. I packed up my gym bag one morning, fully prepared to get in a good workout, take a shower, and head to the office. I got in my good workout, but when I went to take a shower, I realized that although I had packed my razor, bathrobe, flip flops, towel, make-up, toothbrush, toothpaste, dental floss, Neutrogena Sesame Seed Body Oil, deodorant, change of clothes, change of socks, change of shoes, hair dryer and hairbrush ... I had forgotten my shampoo and conditioner.

Bugger. I could have SWORN I put those items in right after I'd packed the kitchen sink.

There is no way that I can take a shower without washing my hair. And, although the locker room at this gym is luxurious ... the little dispensers in the shower are only stocked with body gel. So. My option is take a shower using body gel on my hair ... or ... skip the shower and head to the office sweaty and gross.

I feel like I should be embarrassed saying that I didn't ponder my options too long. See, I'm a geologist. I love to camp. I've gone days on end without showering when I'm deep in the wilderness. Add to that, I'm also the mother of triplets. I've gone days on end without showering when I had a house full of needy newborns that constantly spit up all over me. When faced with the option of using body gel on my hair ... or not taking a shower at all - - it was a no brainer. If I'd used body gel in my hair .... I probably would have lost half of it trying to brush the knots out.

Sweaty and gross. I've been there before. It ain't too bad. Fortunately, I wasn't stinky because I DID remember to pack my deodorant.

Since that time, I came down with another bout of crud, which came on a few days after the kids were sick. No, I didn't write about it on my blog because I figured that nobody wants to hear me complain about how I, alone, have gone through 14 boxes of Kleenex since the second week of January.

In the midst of all this, Charlie and I have been experiencing a tad-bit of marital disharmony. The problem is, my gym bag is now completely packed with everything I need. And, I don't want to unpack it for fear that I will forget something the next time I drag my arse to the gym. As a result, I have had to resort to using Charlie's razor to shave my legs whenever I take a shower. Charlie's a pretty easy go lucky guy ... but this one thing sends him completely over the edge. He does not like to "share" his razor. I know this. Which is why I've been stealthily using his razor during all of my showers and feeling pangs of guilt every time he comes out with a bleeding nick on his face inquiring why his new razors keep going dull. I think he suspects me - but I continually deny it.

I am steadfast. If I took the razor out of my gym bag, I knew I'd forget it the next time I went to the gym. And not shaving my legs during a shower is even worse than washing my hair with body gel. Moreover, if I take the razor out of the bag ... I may as well just cancel my gym membership, because I'm obviously not committed to going.

I do have a conscience. If I didn't -I wouldn't feel bad about this.

Last night was my monthly More-The-Merrier dinner. This is a "support" group comprised of HOM (high order multiple - - i.e. triplets or more) families that live in San Diego. There are ~50 or so families that actively participate in this group. We exchange e-mails, meet for playgroups, swap survival tips, commiserate, celebrate ... and all the mom's get together one night a month to party hard and throw all of our cares to the world while someone else waits on us hand and foot and cleans up our mess have dinner out.

One of my fellow triplet mom's, who is also a neighbor, told me that she takes her 3-year old triplets to the gym daycare at least three days a week. The same gym that we belong to, and have been paying $60.00 a month for - - and have gone all of about 10 times since the beginning of the year.

"It's GREAT. It only costs $10.00 per child a month - and you can go every single day and leave the kids there for up to 2 hours at a pop. I get in my workout, shower, the kids have a good time ... it's a total win-win."

As I sat there drinking beer and shoveling in my hot fudge brownie sundae ... I pondered this. My girlfriend looks fit, tan and fantastic. I, on the other hand, am still reeling from my clothes shopping trauma two weeks ago. I wiped the hot carmel that was dribbling off my chin and asked, "So, uh, what time are you gonna be there tomorrow?"

As I was speaking the words ... my mind was reeling with why I would ever ask this stupid question. Am I actually crazy enough to think that I would take my 3 toddlers to a gym ... by myself ... leave them in a daycare (which I've never done ... well, except that one time I tried to take them to the church nursery and was called out 10 minutes in to the service because two of the three were inconsolable) ... and try to get in a workout?

"I'll be there at 9:00 and it would be FANTABULOUS to see you!"

Uh-huh. We'll see about that.

As I eluded to in my recent posting, the kids have really become ... energetic ... in the past few weeks. Our traditional routine of staying home and quietly reading books in the morning is no longer acceptable for children that must always be GOING, GOING, GOING. I am finding myself hard pressed to come up with things that will keep the kids constructively entertained while I am trying to think ahead to what we are going to constructively do next.

It dawned on me this morning that maybe I wasn't being a fool suggesting that we'd go to the gym. The more I thought about it - the more sense it made. The kids have their most energy in the morning, as do I. What better time to go burn all that energy - and cellulite (for me) off? More importantly, I can take a shower, in luxury, while I'm there. Heck, my bag is already packed!

I'm not sure what exactly happened then. My body started going through the motions of packing a diaper bag and getting the kids ready to leave the house. But my mind was not entirely convinced that what I was doing was wise. Leave the house for the gym? With the babies? By myself? Just before nap time?? Yet, there was no stopping my body ... it was as if my body knew ...

"Must leave house. Must leave house. Must take children and leave house. Now. Now. Now. Body must go, mind will eventually catch up."

Since I'd never used the gym daycare, I called up to find out what I needed to do to drop the babies off. The woman on the phone was incredibly helpful. She said that she would start the paperwork now and by the time I arrived, it would be ready for me to check them in. She asked me when I would arrive at the gym. I looked at my watch and quickly surveyed the kids. All I needed to do was put on their shoes, put on my shoes, and get them in the car.

"Let's see, it's 9:00 now ... we'll leave here in 10 minutes, so I should be there in about 20 minutes."

I locate their little shoes and the babies start running around the house, excited because they know we must be going out. I got one shoe on Carolyn, turned to grab the other shoe ... and it was gone. Five minutes later, I found it beneath a teddy bear, in the doll carriage, being pushed by Elizabeth. I chase down William to put on his shoes. One shoe, on ... second shoe ... missing. Five minutes later, I found it buried beneath his mega blocks in the toy box. Elizabeth's shoes are found ten minutes later ... in the Little Tikes Kitchen.

I put my shoes on, bring the kids out to the garage where I load them in the car ... I put the dogs outside ... do a quick inventory ... three kids buckled safely in carseats, three loveys, gym membership ... I'm golden.

I back the car out of the garage, fill up the water bowl for the dogs, let the dogs back in the garage, give them cookies to keep them occupied while I close the door, and jump in the car. As the door is just about to close, I spot the triple stroller. In the garage. Garage door opens, Monty and Molly take off running down the driveway. I chase the dogs back in to the garage ... throw out more cookies ... re-arrange the stuff blocking the triple stroller, drag it out, disassemble it, load it in the van, give the dogs more cookies (it's no wonder they are getting fat) and close the door.

I jump in the car and am surprised that I've broken out in a sweat. This is good, I'm getting my cardio in before I even get to the gym. I look at the clock in the car. It's 9:40. So much for my being there in 20 minutes.

We get to the gym and I unload the stroller and the babies. I grab their loveys, snack traps, and diaper bag. I meander my way across the parking lot and am happy to see that someone has propped the front door open. We glide right in and I am greeted by the clerk at the front desk.

"WOW! You made it!!!"I felt surprised to be standing there. At the gym. With our triplets. By myself. An hour and a half before nap time is set to commence.

I collected all of the paperwork for the babies and their admission to "Kids Kamp". The "counselors" open the door and let me in. I scan the place ... not so bad ... it looks clean. There are a few little babies, and a few more little kids - but I don't see my friend's triplets, anywhere. I smother my kids in Purell, unload them from their stroller, and they are instantly surrounded by older kids from the "Kamp". All three of them stand holding on to the stroller for dear life, like it is a life raft and they are stranded in the mighty blue ocean.

One of the counselors approaches me. "They'll be fine. Really. They'll be fine!"

I gave her a weak laugh. "Of course they will. I think." I carry them over to the massive climbing fort thing-a-ma-jiggy and they instantly forget about me. This is my chance. I look to the counselor and she gives me an encouraging smile. "Go. If we need you, we'll call." I take off, running out of Kids Kamp before they see me leave and fall down crying.

Turns out, my girlfriend isn't at the gym today. But that's all right. I AM HERE.

I'm ready to work-off the brownie sundae and beer. I'm ready to get sweaty and gross. I jump on the ellipse machine and punch in 45 minutes. Two minutes in to my workout, my eye catches the television directly above my head. I stare up at the screen and am looking at ... News.

For a pleothra of reasons ... I never watch the News. Someone was killed. Someone is missing. I don't know if the reason I am having a hard time breathing and am covered in sweat is because I'm really out of shape ... or if it's because my three babies are in the care of people whose first names I don't even know. My mind suddenly caught up to my body.

What in the WORLD was I thinking?!?!

Are these people qualified? Are they CPR trained? What if they let them use some other kids sippy cup? What if they get sick again? What if they fall off that climbing fort thing-a-ma-jiggy and land on their head? What if someone comes in and sneaks one of them out? What if ...

OH MY GOD.

Eight minutes have lapsed. First and foremost, I'm thinking about the health and safety of my children. And then I'm thinking about the $10.00 per month, per child ... that I just committed to this gym so that my babies can go to Kids Kamp while mom works out. Our monthly gym membership just went from $60.00 per month ... to $90.00 per month. I sweat some more.

The kids are fine. They've got to be fine. We're paying a lot of money to be here. The people looking after them have to be competent.

Three minutes later, I jumped off the ellipse and run downstairs to Kid Kamp. William and Carolyn are standing next to each other - two feet from the stroller - laughing and playing with a similar sized toddler. Elizabeth is 50 feet away, opening and closing a door on a dollhouse. William looks right at me ... and looks away. Not so much as a hint of recognition. Probably because I'm covered in sweat and he doesn't recognize me? The counselor walks up to me and says "You're back ... so soon?"

"Well, uh, I just wanted to make sure that everything was OK. And, uh, I didn't happen to catch your first, middle or last name. Or, any aliases you might have. Actually, I was also wondering if, uh, you have a criminal record ... or if you would mind giving me a urine sample and letting me take some quick fingerprints?"

I didn't ask that. I just asked if the kids were OK. But don't think for a second I didn't feel like asking ALL of that - - and more.

I returned to the gym. I lifted weights for 10 more minutes before spotting the Juice Bar. The kids would LOVE a smoothie. Infact, so would I.

I head back in to Kid Kamp. Total workout time ... 21 minutes. The counselor looks at me and smiles.

"It's OK. A lot of mom's are really nervous the first time they leave their kids here. But then, they get better about it. And before you know it ... they start bringing their gym bag so that they can actually take a shower."

It hits me.

I forgot my $%^@ gym bag.

I owe the curse cup some money. Hopefully, Charlie won't read this blog posting and realize that I've been ... and will continue to be ... the culprit of his shaving horrors.

The kids are delighted to see me. They come running over with arms up high and I sweep them in to a huge hug. I load them in their stroller, smother them with Purell again, and indulge them with the fruit smoothie I bought at the Juice Bar. I wheel the stroller out of Kid Kamp and a woman who looks like she should be on the recruitment poster for the gym ... a drop dead beautiful workout Goddess sporting those tight little exercise shorts that I could only dream of fitting put one leg in to ... walks up to me.

I expected that she would tell me something like, if you really want to ever fit in your pre-pregnancy pants again, you need to spend more than 21 minutes working out. And you most certainly shouldn't be ingesting a smoothie that contains more calories than you would have burned even if you'd stayed on the ellipse machine for the 45 minutes you had punched in. Maybe she might tell me that they are shooting a "Before" and "After" campaign and would I mind being the "Before"?

Surprisingly, she doesn't say any of that. Instead she gushes "Oh my gosh. Those are triplets, aren't they?! I have a 16-month old baby and I have been watching you. I had to let you know that you are my HERO!"

I am HER hero? I didn't know what to say except "Are you drunk? Look at you! YOU have a 16-month old and abs like that?! Holy Crap!!!"

She laughed, I laughed, and I felt a lot better about my sweaty self and hairy legs. It's nice that perfect strangers look at me and think that I have my act together. I threw my workout towel over my shoulders like a superhero cape and wheeled the kids out to the parking lot. It's then that I notice the tailgate on the van was wide open, as are BOTH sliding doors. In my haste to get to the gym, I apparently forgot to close the car.

Oops.

Well, it's a good thing I've only been gone for 30 minutes. More importantly, no one seemed to notice. I'd really hate to blow my heroic cover.