'tis the season

Every year I tell myself that next year, I will have all of my Christmas shopping completed by the first week of December. I will have our Christmas photographs taken and all of our Christmas cards written and mailed out by the second week of December. On the work front, the only paperwork that will be required is a time sheet that I need to complete indicating the last two weeks of the year, I'll be taking off on vacation.

But every year, it seems that none of those things happen.

Instead, around the third week of December, I find myself totally buried in "other" activities when I remember that I still have a tree to buy and decorate, Christmas photographs to take, Christmas cards to write, presents to pick out, work to do and the only way to successfully cope is to bake cookies!


The good news is we do have a Christmas tree.

(And four dozen gingerbread.)

It's a five-foot number that I picked up one day last week while Charlie was out of town on a business trip. I had contemplated buying two trees, a smaller "children's tree" that they could decorate ... and a larger tree that would hold all of our heirloom ornaments. But once I saw what the children did to their smaller tree, I reconsidered the larger tree.

Each and every ornament on their tree has been carefully placed, removed, placed, tossed, kicked around, placed, removed, placed, removed, strung up on random cabinets throughout the house, placed all on one branch, removed and tucked in to assorted bags at least once.

But the kids love that tree.

It's become a ritual for them to dress up in various clothes (or not) and re-decorate the tree every day. They will hold hands and dance around it wearing bathing suits or a magic cape and hat. I doubt there is a Christmas tree that has been handled decorated as heavily as our tree. It will be a Christmas miracle if it has any needles remaining come December 25.

Saturday, I took the girls to see the Nutcracker.


We were joined by the "girls" of two other triplet families. There are four of us moms who have been getting together since our triplets were infants, and as nice as it is to see our children grow up together - it's even nicer to have the friendship of women who face many of the same trials and tribulations.

When my girls saw how all the little children clustered under Mother Ginger's dress, they tried to recreate the scene while we were standing in line for the restroom. One minute I'm talking to my friend, the next minute, I am wondering why my dress is hoisted up to my hips and my girls are standing beneath it.

We had a great time and are excited about yet another new Christmas tradition.

Although, I really do think that white tights on men should be outlawed.

wednesday weigh in (and my Uncle Bill)

I've hit a bit of a snag in my exercise routine. It seems that I go to bed late, wake up early, chase children throughout the day, work whenever I have a spare moment, clean, cook, shop, and if I'm lucky ... shower. It's dark by 5:00 PM and with these shorter days, I'm usually ready for bed by 8:00.

Here's a fact.

When I was part of an exercise group and had a commitment to go out running every Saturday morning, I was inspired to do it. It's a little more difficult when I don't have someone actually waiting for me, looking for me, physically running alongside me and cheering, "We're amazing! We're running when we could be sleeping!"

Yet whenever I start thinking about how my life is so full and busy and I just don't have time to exercise, I think about my Uncle Bill. And I am inspired to find it in me, to do something. Anything. Even if that "anything" involves doing 10 push-ups or sit-ups for a minute.

My Uncle Bill is married to my Aunt Grace, who is my mother's older sister.

Aunt Grace and Uncle Bill have lived in South Carolina for the past 40 years. They live out in the country on several acres of land and when I was a child growing up, they always had horses. There was a big lake in the back yard, tractors to ride, kittens and dogs to play with and barns to stomp around in. Because there always something for a kid to do, as far as I was concerned, their house was heaven on earth.

In the summer of 1979, my sister Eileen and I flew to South Carolina to visit my Aunt Grace and Uncle Bill. On the day that we were due to fly back to Massachusetts, the call came from my mother that she was leaving my father and she was planning to drive down to South Carolina with my brother, Wally. Instead of us flying back home, we stayed with my Aunt Grace's family and a few days later - were joined by my mother and brother.

Within a few months, my sister decided to fly back to Massachusetts to finish high school. But for the next year, my mother, brother and I lived with my Aunt Grace and my Uncle Bill and four of their five children. In their house. In the country.

Even though this was an extremely tumultuous phase in my life, I have so many warm memories from that time. I have warm memories of my mother moving out and establishing her own home, and the extremely close relationships that I forged with my Aunt's family. I have warm memories of my Uncle Bill, who rarely called me by my name and instead, always called me "Dear."

They became my family - closer to me even than some of my own siblings.

We chose the name William for our first son, largely because that is his father's name, but also, to recognize and honor my Uncle Bill. My father was absent for much of my life - but my Uncle Bill was there. He was a devoted husband and father and a good role model for what a man should be for his family. When my brother Wally had his twin boys, he named one of his sons William, as a direct tribute to my Uncle Bill.

To say he has had a profound impact on our lives, would be an understatement.

Three and a half years ago, late one Friday afternoon in June, I received a call from my mom where she told me that my Uncle Bill had just been diagnosed with Stage 4 lung cancer. It had metastasized and the prognosis was not good. He was given at most, three months to live.

This news rocked my mother and I could only imagine how traumatized his own family must have felt. Here was a man who had never smoked and had lived as healthily of a life as anyone I've ever known. I wanted to call him, but I didn't. I didn't know what I would say and I was so afraid that I would breakdown and he'd be the one to console me.

The following Tuesday he was scheduled for a very risky operation and there were concerns that he might not even survive that. Uncle Bill had always been such a pillar of strength to everyone in his life. And everyone was devastated.

I don't know what came over me.

Probably the Holy Spirit.

But I really wanted for Uncle Bill to meet our children. When he was 10 years old, his mother had given birth to spontaneous triplets (two girls and a boy), so Uncle Bill would fondly recall the "triplet craze" that he himself had experienced. He has told me many a story about people actually lining up to see his siblings, circa 1940.

So I called an airline, booked flights and Charlie and I were on a plane flying to South Carolina three days later with our eight-month old triplets. Nobody knew we were coming. It was a spur of the moment, complete surprise. I called my mother before we boarded our flight and asked if she could pick us up at the airport and maybe rent a pack-n-play or two.

Or three.

When we arrived in South Carolina, we drove straight out to my Aunt Grace and Uncle Bill's house. His surgery was scheduled for the following morning and it was very important for me to see him. The babies were asleep in their carseats, so we lined all three of the carseats up on the front door step and rang the doorbell, before disappearing in to the bushes.

My Aunt Grace opened the door and I remember Uncle Bill was a few steps behind. When they saw the babies on their doorstep, they exclaimed, "What is this? Oh My God. What is THIS?" And I chirped up, "Charlie and I really need to get away for a few days. Would you mind watching them?"

There are a few moments in life that are so epic, so awesome, so great - I wish I had them on video so that I could go back and replay them over and over.

This was one of those moments.

For the first time since Uncle Bill had received his diagnosis - everyone was smiling. There was an impromptu party. Cousins were called. A big dinner was cooked. Although the impending surgery that was scheduled the next day was on everyone's mind ... the infant triplets from California were a happy distraction.

That night, I told my Uncle Bill that I loved him. I told him that I was so appreciative of all the things that he had done for me when I was a child, living in his home. I was so appreciative that he took me and my family in and that he made us feel so welcome. I was so appreciative of all the advice and direction he provided me as I grew older. I told him that I thought his children were blessed and lucky to have them as their devoted father. And I was lucky that my Aunt married such a wonderful man - providing me with such a great Uncle. He was a man that always made me feel special - always made me feel like I was one of his own. He was a man that had great class and an enthusiasm for life and family that was contagious.

The following day I prayed and prayed.

And then, the phone rang.

Uncle Bill called immediately after his surgery. When I was talking with him on the phone, his voice was groggy but he was filled with excitement. He wanted to tell me that when they gave him anesthesia, he vividly could see our babies. All three of them. Before he went under they were there, as soon as he came out, they were there. They were with him during his risky operation. The whole time, he could feel their presence.

"Those beautiful babies were with me, Dear. They are my Guardian Angels. Thank you for bringing them to me."

Summer turned to fall.

Fall to winter.

Winter to spring.

Spring to summer.

Another year went past.

And another.

Despite the odds and what the doctors predicted, we have seen Uncle Bill several times since June of 2005. We visited with him in New England once and have seen him twice more in South Carolina. Whenever I call to talk with my Aunt Grace and Uncle Bill answers the phone, I am guaranteed at least two hours of good conversation with a man who I absolutely adore.

When I spoke with him two weeks ago, he told me that when his doctors initially told him that he didn't have much longer, he told them that they have their work cut out for them, because he has a lot of things left to accomplish in his life. He also said that he thinks that perhaps he is too dumb to know any better. He's not paying attention to the statistics or the odds. He's just living his life, the best he can and loving his family as much as possible.

He said that his "secret" to success is that he always has something happening. He always has something to look forward to. He told me that as soon as he completes one thing - he doesn't dwell on that which has been done, but instead, is busy moving on to the next thing.

He does not get hung up on that which has already passed.

His other "secret" to success is that he exercises.

Almost every day, he exercises.

In the past three and a half years, Uncle Bill has undergone more than 100 chemotherapy treatments. He has outlasted his oncologist's wildest predictions. He said that whenever he undergoes chemo, he brings a notebook and pen and will jot down things that he has to do next. He recently finished construction on my cousin Margaret and her husband Reiner's dream house.

Now, he has big plans for planting eight acres of grapes on his property. The revenue that is generated from selling these grapes will be used to fund his grandchildren's college tuition.

He is planning an elaborate 60-year wedding anniversary in Europe. His whole family will be there. He has invited Charlie and I and our brood to come along, too.

He is completely remodeling his garage and exercise room.

Uncle Bill is the happiest and most content person I've ever met in my entire life. He never complains. In his world, the sun is always shining. And so it should be for everyone.

When I told him that I was really undecided where we wanted to live and gosh, where was the best place he has ever lived - or where would he live if he could live anywhere - he smiled and said, "I have really enjoyed every place that I have ever lived and I know I'd be happy if I ever moved. So long as your Aunt Grace is by my side, I would be happy anywhere."

Last week, Uncle Bill went outside to feed his dog and when the dog unexpectedly jumped up and knocked him down, he fell and broke his hip.

My Aunt Grace was in the house on the phone with my mother at the time, and didn't know he had fallen. Instead of calling out for help, Uncle Bill - an extremely proud man - used his cell phone to call my cousin, Bill. He wanted to know if his son had borrowed his crutches. When Bill called back to tell his father he didn't have them, my Uncle Bill didn't mention what had happened, but instead, called my cousin, Lisa.

Eventually, it came out that he had fallen on the ground and couldn't get up. Eventually, my Aunt Grace would find out that her husband of almost 60-years was laying on the ground outside the backdoor and he didn't call for help because he didn't want to create a commotion.

Eventually, paramedics would come to the house and transport him by ambulance to the hospital where he would have a major procedure that involved placing a pin in his hip. The doctors were skeptical to perform such an operation on a man who has Stage 4 cancer, but they did it. Eventually, he will go through intensive rehabilitation so that he can walk again.

But I know he'll do it and he'll do it optimistically and cheerfully.

As he himself would say, "This is a WONDERFUL life and I have a lot to do!"

My cousin Margaret is coming out to California to participate in a triathlon with me next October. When I spoke to my Uncle Bill a few weeks ago, he said that he was planning to come out and watch his daughter compete. And maybe, he might do some bike riding. In fact, he was going to write it down on his notepad as a goal for himself.

So with that segue ... how are you doing with your goals?

we are easily amused

There has been a lot of joyful noise coming from our house the past few days.

First and most importantly, it appears that ALL of our four-year-old children are now using the potty in the manner for which it was intended, for any and all business operations, between the hours of 7 AM and 7 PM.

Some of our four-year-old children are even going so far as to wake up in the middle of the night in order to use the potty. The only thing that would make me happier is if they didn't feel the need to wake me up from a sound sleep and inform me of their great accomplishment, opting instead to save their awesome news for the morning.

Now I just have to figure out where I'm going to fit a pony in our backyard.

***

Keeping with our tradition of opening a new Christmas book every night, last night the children opened a book about the nativity. Charlie and I were in the middle of cleaning up from dinner when we noticed that the girls had draped receiving blankets over their heads and William was hugging his Baby Panda and saying, "Welcome Baby Jesus! WELCOME!"

The children stopped their rejoicing just long enough for William to ask, "Mom, how did Jesus get out of Mary's tummy? Do you have a picture of that? I want to see a picture of the baby coming OUT of her tummy. CAN YOU SHOW IT TO ME?"

I told him that we have a lot of Christmas books but I can pretty much guarantee I don't have anything in our collection that shows a picture of that - exactly. But that was a great question, and when did it happen that he became so filled with inquries and observations I'm not yet prepared to discuss?? What about, "Why is the sky blue? Why are trees green?"

Why are Joe-Joe's so yummy?

***

This coming Saturday, Elizabeth, Carolyn and I will be joining two of my fellow triplet moms and their daughters on an outing to see The Nutcracker. Charlie will be taking William on a father-son outing to see the famous ballet, the following day.

In an effort to teach the children a little about the story ahead of time, I bought them The Nutcracker Christmas book, we have been listening to the soundtrack and I have shown them various scenes from the ballet on YouTube. When we were at a store this past weekend, I also picked them up a variety Nutcracker ornament pack so that they are familiar with the character.

Last night, after Charlie and I had a glass of wine, we sat down and looked at these various ornaments in closer detail and I thought I'd jot down some of our observations.

Our assumption is that this ornament is Mail Carrier Nutcracker. The theory is supported by what appears to be a mailbag that the children have broken off.


We have no idea who this Nutcracker is supposed to be. Perhaps College Graduate Nutcracker? Or maybe Working at the Voting Poll Nutcracker? We can't tell if that white thing he is holding in his hand is a a voting box for ballots, or a diploma.

This is surely Rat Nutcracker. He lost his arm less than five minutes out of the box. That's the price to pay for coming home to a family with four-year-old triplets that want to see if he can do a cartwheel.

Charlie and I are divided on whether this is Doctor Nutcracker or Nurse Nutracker. My original assumption was doctor; Charlie's was nurse. His argument is that doctor's don't wear hats with red crosses. My argument is that nurses don't wear pagers. But maybe they do? Either way, I'd be slightly frightened if this medical professional ever came in to my room carrying a needle.


My assumption was that this was Fire Chief Nutcracker. Charlie's assumption was that this was S&M Nutcracker. "Bark! Bark like a dog!!"

And this ornament had us both laughing so hard we couldn't even talk.

The poor girl. Or boy? Or boy dressed as a girl and posing as a ballerina?

The girls love anything that wears a crown and carries a wand.

So we've named it Princess Pat.

month seventeen: in review

This past Thursday, my baby Henry turned 17 months old.


I started this blog when our triplets were 17 months old. But for whatever reason, Henry seems so much younger than his siblings were at the same age. Yet, he seems so much older. And I'm sure that makes no sense at all.

Perhaps it's because I've so carefully documented Henry's life since he has arrived on the scene and it is unfathomable the huge strides that he has made in such a seemingly short period of time. And yet, he is doing things at this young age that it took his siblings a few years to master.


Of course his siblings didn't have older siblings to emulate.

For instance, our triplets didn't eat cereal with milk and a spoon until they were at least two and a half.

But Henry absolutely must do everything that they are doing.


Henry must play with them ...


... and ransack their toys whenever they go to school.


He must get in to whatever it is that they get in to.

And although Henry gets in to a lot, he doesn't get in to nearly as much as the triplets did when they were his age. For instance, our floor lamps are safe. As are our blinds, plants and rolls of toilet paper.


I don't remember exactly when the triplets were talking up a blue streak, but I know it wasn't a day before their second birthday. But Henry?

He is jabbering words like "HI!" and "BYE!" and "JUICE!" and "ICE WAWA!" and "UP!" and "AW DONE!" and "DOWN!" and "WOODY!" and "DaDa!!" (but that last one refers to either his father or me.) Although he can not yet say Mama, he can say "BUZZ WIGHTYEAR!"


He also knows how to say, "CHEESE!"


And "NO ELMO!!!"


But in the course of trying to keep up with his siblings, he has fallen down and skinned his knees more than once. These accidents always elicit a show of support from his doting sisters.

His big brother it appears isn't nearly as compassionate.


This month, Henry accompanied Carolyn on her "special day" to The Zoo and William and Elizabeth (on their respective "special days") to Sea World.


He went on various rides and sat in on a 4-D animation show.


He walked and walked and walked...

And was EXTREMELY TICKED OFF when his father and I decided that if we were going to get back to the car before Spring, we might want to consider carrying our zigzagging toddler the last 200 feet.


Henry is still nursing and I see no sign of him giving that up anytime soon. But between nursing on-demand and allowing him to have a pacifier and eat ice cream at least twice a week and lollipops whenever he has a haircut (at the rate his beautiful locks grow it works out to once every four weeks), I am doing a whole lot of things with Henry that I never did with his siblings. This time around, I see how fast it goes and I'm just enjoying him completely. The nursing and pacifier will go away when it's time. And we haven't yet decided that it's time or when that time will be. But I'm sure we'll know.

He is typically in bed between 6:30 and 7:30 at night and will generally sleep until at least 5:00 in the morning. Although, he has been known to wake up at 11:00.

Or 2:00.

Or 3:00.

Or sometimes even 4:00.

And all I can do is laugh and laugh because I had TRIPLETS sleeping 12-hours through the night when they were around four-months old, but in 17-months, I have yet to get a SINGLETON to sleep more than eight hours without waking.


And naps? Once a day for an hour and a half.


If I'm lucky.

But I'll tell you what ... even though I haven't had a decent sleep in almost two years, I wouldn't want my life any other way. This baby fills my heart.

He touches my soul.

And when he throws his little arms around my neck and gives me huge baby hugs, or he cuddles up next to my face and rubs my cheek, I just cannot believe that I have been blessed so richly.

I am putty in his hands.


And he knows it.

when they are good they are very good; but when they are bad, there isn't a word for it

After I picked the children up from school on Friday, I decided to take them to the Christmas parade on Coronado Island. I've written about Coronado before. It's a beautiful, beautiful place.

So Friday while I was there with all four of the children in their matching Christmas outfits, we were walking along the boardwalk that separates the majestic Del Coronado Hotel from the magnificent Pacific Ocean along with the scores and scores of people who had congregated to see the annual parade.

Right about that time, which just so happened to be the most inopportune time, William starts prancing and jumping around like only a four-year-old boy (who needs to use the restroom) can do. Before less than two seconds had lapsed, he loudly exclaimed, "MOMMY! I HAFTA GO POTTY!!"

And because I am not yet courageous enough to go out without a potty chair with us, I whipped out the one I had packed beneath the stroller and helped him to sit down. As William is doing his business, I was taking a glimpse around at my beautiful surroundings, while trying to shield my son from all of the people that were strolling past. When I thought that William was taking a little too long and might have dozed off, I cautiously asked, "William, are you done?" and looking up at me with a bright red face, he grunted, "NO! I. Am. Going. Poooooop!"

I'd guess that only eight people heard him say it.

Surely there were no more than twenty.

While I was trying to figure out how exactly I was going to dispose of a potty chair full of poop on the boardwalk outside of the upscale Del Coronado Hotel, a group of four people that overhead my son stopped to talk with me. One of the people, a man with a slightly rotund abdomen, laughed and said, "That sure brings back memories of when my children were little. When they've got to go, they've got to GO!"

William glanced up at him and exclaimed, "Mommy look!! There is a man with a baby in his tummy!!" As soon as he said, "Mommy look!!" I knew exactly where the conversation was going and I tried to stop him from talking by opening my eyes as wide as I could and frowning. I even tried talking. But instead of stopping him, it fueled the inquiry because Elizabeth and Carolyn put their hands out and asked "Can I feel it?!" and William gave me a quizzical look and replicating my bulging-eye expression asked, "Mommy? Why are you looking at me like that? What does that mean?"

I smiled at the man and to my son replied, "That means LOOK! I think I see a dolphin swimming in the ocean!"

Today, we took the children to the store to pick up a few items that we desperately needed.

After meandering around Target for a solid 30 minutes with a cart full of goods, Charlie went to check out while I picked out several boxes of Christmas cards. As I stood looking at the various card selections, with my heart beating out of my chest because I knew that my window of opportunity to complete shopping was coming to a close, I could overhear my family walking towards the cash register.

Elizabeth had picked up a zebra striped toiletry bag and was shoving it full of whatever caught her eye. William had picked up a pirate birthday gift bag and was shoving it full of whatever caught his eye. Carolyn was trying to corral her siblings by playing the roll of enforcer. She sounded like me, in a four-year-old body.

"NO! Don't go over there! Don't TOUCH anything. Do you hear me? Are you listening to me? Come over HERE!" But then she, herself, would be drawn off to touch things, including a delicate fountain that wobbled and almost toppled when she stuck her hands on it. Despite Charlie's pleas. Despite 1, 2, 3. Despite everything we've learned from Love and Logic.

As they drew closer to the cash register, Charlie had the unfortunate job of telling his son and daughter that the bags that they had stuffed full of whatever, would not be coming home with us. And from at least 100 feet away and through the holiday weekend chatter, I could hear the screaming begin.

Charlie would later tell me that he has never in his entire life experienced a temper tantrum like the one he experienced, today. While William started to get more and more wound up, Elizabeth who had also started to throw a fit, realized that her brother was going to have a big enough breakdown to cover them both.

And so he did.

Arms waving. Legs kicking. SCREAMING.

But seeing as Charlie had a cart full of stuff that we needed, he worked his way though the line before picking up a back-arching, head banging William, and speeding out to the car.

The rest of the day - and in to tonight - Charlie has been questioning if he handled the situation well. After the children were tucked in to bed, we sat discussing our techniques and strategies and what we should be doing differently. Short of reading a host of books on the subject of preschool discipline, we are prepared to carry duct tape and a taser gun.

Seeing as my husband didn't go completely crazy in the store, I think that he handled the situation very well. Unlike me, who just today when the girls were driving me nuts over something I cannot even recall, told them that I was going to eat them whole.

Which although that may seem bad, it's probably not as bad as when I took them shoe shopping two weeks ago and bought the girls dress shoes (that less than 24 hours later, Elizabeth destroyed when she scratched almost all of the patet leather off the tops), and they were rolling on the floor and knocking items off display and I hissed if they kept it up, I was going to send them straight back to God.

Here I am thinking that I'm fit to home school. All along I was certain that four would be so much easier than three. So what happens at five? Please tell me!!

What happens then?

Do their heads start spinning around on their shoulders?

favorite thing friday

This is my favorite time of the year.

I love the Christmas holiday.

I love sharing in Goodwill.

I love decorating the house.

I love listening to and singing carols.

I love traditions.

This year, for the first time ever, the children really understand what is going on and they have been taking turns each day, placing a toy from our Advent Calendar over a date, indicating one less day remains before the great Holiday.

Adding a twist to the Advent Calendar countdown, is a relatively new tradition that our family has adopted. For the past few years, I have been picking up Christmas-themed books whenever I have seen them. Our collection of 25 books ranges from The Nutcracker and Mr. Willowby's Christmas Tree to Tonight You Are My Baby and Room for a Little One.

(Unfortunately, I cannot remember all of the books that we have in our collection and because I didn't write down the titles before I wrapped them, if anyone is interested, I'll post our full list after Christmas. I suspect that each year I may opt to add or remove stories from the lineup, as the children grow older and the books grow wearier. Or, we find new stories that we might enjoy.)

Each night, after we count down one more day to Christmas on our Advent Calendar, I will read one story from our Advent Storybook, before one of the children is allowed to open a Christmas-themed book that I have wrapped up and placed in a large basket.

Once the Christmas holiday has passed, I will take all of these special seasonal books out of circulation and put them away until next year, when they will again be wrapped up in festive papers and decorated with bows. But for right now, I am loving this new tradition and the children are loving the significant increase to their library. Almost as much as they are loving the ritual that one person gets to open a present ... every night.

A PRESENT!!

And while the children are ecstatic over all their new books, I am ecstatic that when Charlie went shopping the other day, he brought me home a present.


(Actually TWO presents).

This really is the most magical time of year.

What holiday traditions do you have that are a favorite in your family?

don't try this at home

So. Yesterday morning, Charlie called the school and told the Director that December would be our final month and as suspected, there were a lot of questions, talking and concern. And then moments after he hung up the phone, there was a lot of self-doubt because WHAT are we doing?!

We sat in on Elizabeth's class on Tuesday and she was doing great. The observation went very well and we were impressed with the overall performance of the teacher and the classroom environment.

Our children love the school.

They seem to be thriving.

And yet we pull them out less than 24 hours after our very first parent-teacher conference.

We must be crazy.

There are a few preschools near our house that I might look in to, but as of right now ... come January 1st, it will just be me, my four children, and a pink tower that I ordered off a Montessori supply store. I also plan to have them in swimming lessons, gymnastics and music classes.

Carolyn wants to play the violin.

William wants to play the drums.

Elizabeth wants to play the tuba.

My friend Michelle sent me an e-mail wherein she asked if I really thought I could handle being home with four children by myself? She suggested that if I thought I could handle this monumental task, that I needed to go back through my archives and look at some of my blog entries from this past summer.

Like the one where I had fantasies of abandoning the children in Mexico, perhaps. Now, add preschool music to that dynamic and I might be jumping off the closest bridge.

I know that I am swept up in the ideal of teaching our children at home. I love the idea of having complete freedom to do whatever we want each and every day. I love the idea of learning alongside them. I love the idea of watching them change and grow and experience the wonders of the world. I love the idea of not exposing them to the "socialization" that I hear people talk about being so important, but I think is totally over rated.

Just tonight, when I went out with my fellow triplet moms, I was talking with one of my friends who recently started her children in kindergarten. The first day of school, a boy told one of her daughters that she was the ugliest child in all of the school. And the next day, someone else told her that they hated her. Her little girl cried for two weeks straight.

I think back to one of the classroom birthday parties that our children had and when I was passing around a picture of Gracie as a baby, a boy in her class exclaimed "That's not a girl, that's a BOY!!" and while Gracie sat looking sad for a moment, William declared, "That is MY Gracie and she is a BEAUTIFUL princess!"


Which was a much better response than what I had in mind. Because surely my yelling, "HEY KID, I am going to put you DOWN like a bag of chips!!" would have raised a few eyebrows.

Yesterday, while I was swept up in the romance of teaching the children from home, my boss called to tell me that come May 1st, a mere five months from now, I am expected to return to work full-time. And just when I'm thinking that come May 1st I'll quit my job and stay home with our children ... they go and offer me a raise.

So, of course that makes the situation a lot more complicated because although it's "only" money, for me to leave my career seems like a terribly irresponsible decision for our family, from a financial perspective. Especially since my contribution to the family fund is greater than 50%.

I told Charlie that if I really wanted to continue working part-time, then my only hope is to go on another maternity leave. And that's when I realized that my life is way too full of drama and reading this blog is probably much like watching a train wreck in slow motion.

tang would not be on the menu

Today, I am going to observe Elizabeth's classroom.

I want to see how she is interacting at school and what progress she has made. But mostly, I want to take mental notes on how they run things, because I am really thinking that I want to teach them at home.

The school is too far away. We spend almost two hours a day doing the drop off and pick up. We go through a tank of gas every week just transporting the children to and fro.

I don't like that I am away from the children for six hours a day. Well, sometimes I like that, but usually, I don't. It definitely defeats the purpose of me working part-time when my children are in school full-time.

I don't like that they are changing so rapidly and learning new things and I don't feel like I am getting to see those changes, growth and development first hand. And although I know this will happen throughout their life, I'm not ready to be removed from their progress when they are this young.

I don't like that whenever we have asked to come participate in the classroom or volunteer for different events, we have been turned away because they fill up to quickly.

I don't like the bags of candy and treats that the children come home with, consistently. This is an example of a goody bag Carolyn came home with last week.

This is almost identical to a bag that William brought home (substitute Hannah Montana with The Incredible Hulk) and a bag that Elizabeth came home with yesterday. Maybe it won't kill them, but I don't like that they are coming home with it several times a week.

I do like that they are learning new things everyday. Everyone is either writing their name, or close to writing their names. Everyone is learning to read and although I should probably take some of the credit because I read to the children every day and they have enough books to pave the neighborhood, I find it hard to believe that I am teaching them something so important.

They know all of their continents, shapes, planets, and how to solve for e.

I do like that the teachers are so kind and patient.

I do like that they are making new friends.

I do like that when I picked the children up at school yesterday they were singing "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" in Chinese.

But then there is the tuition. And although I want to finish something I have committed to, for the amount of money we are spending every month, I could take the children to China.

Last night I was up until the wee hours, checking out a Montessori supply website. And today, I'm thinking of pulling the trigger and purchasing the "kit" that covers our children through Kindergarten. We could have our very own Pink Tower, Knobless Cylinders, Brown Stairs and a host of other common Montessori supplies.

Glory Be The Wonders of The Internet!!

It turns out I could also purchase all of the supplies necessary to build a rocket to launch myself in to space, but just because you can buy the supplies doesn't mean you are equipped to own and operate them. I really wonder if I have the patience, organization and structure to teach my children at home. I am totally filled with doubt at my ability to do this. Successfully.


Seriously. I think I'd have a better chance of re-entering the atmosphere than figuring out how a red ball and a black triangle (edit: it's a PYRAMID) teaches a child about nouns and verbs.