a walk in the wild

Last night, as I was going through our digital photo archives, I came across a series of pictures that I took when Charlie and the children accompanied me on a business trip to Palm Springs this past October. On one of the meeting days, we were dismissed early to explore the area. So, Charlie and I loaded up the kids and took a tram ride to the top of Mount San Jacinto.


Please, come with me as I relive the experience.

Mount San Jacinto is at an elevation of 10,834 feet above sea level, and is the second highest mountain range in Southern California. There are magnificent granite peaks, sub-alpine forests, mountain meadows and several hiking trails that allow visitors to explore the high-country wilderness area.

In order to access the mountain from Palm Springs, we hopped aboard the Palm Spring Aerial Tramway which runs from Valley Station at an elevation of 2,643 feet, to Mountain Station which is at an elevation of 8,516 feet.


Once we were off the tram, we realized that we had not planned very well and had consumed almost all of our snacks on the tram ride up. So we decided that since there would be hiking involved, we should probably pick up some additional food supplies at the Mountain Station Shop to bribe replenish the children.

With two large bottles of water, a bag of trail mix, a jumbo bag of peanut M&M's, two apples and a banana and $30.00 less in our pockets, we set off on our hike.

We stopped to observe tree that fallen down across the trail. We counted rings and looked at little worms that were burrowing in to the wood.


We scurried to the top of large rocks and played in the shadows of the magnificent trees.

We tried to pose for a family photograph by using the timer on our camera.


We tried again.


And again, and I started to feel harried as Henry threw out indications that he might be getting hungry and frustrated with all of this sitting and LOOKING AT THE BLINKING LIGHT!! LOOK!!


Finally, success. Although, it does appear William is sprouting out of Charlie's head, I was amazed that everyone actually was LOOKING AT THE BLINKING LIGHT!!


I sat down on a rock and soaked up the sun with my boys.


When suddenly, William hears something. "What is that noise? THAT NOISE? What IS that?!" I replied, "I'm sure it's nothing. Sit. Smile. Soak up the sun. This is God's Country, son!"


"No. Mommy. Good feeling is gone. What is that noise? Over there, in the twee!!"


"THAT TREE. What's that noise??"

Since I was not providing the level of support and protection that was dictated under such circumstances, both William and Elizabeth ran to their father, while Carolyn retreated to the stroller.

"Daddy. What is that noise??"


"Oh, what is that? Over yonder breaks, look children! It's a little squirrel!! See it?!"


Insert blood curdling screams here.


And here.


They tried to climb on top of their father's head.


While continuing to scream.


And scream. And then, under the weight of hysteria, Charlie started to lose his balance...


And toppled like a magnificent tree in the mountain meadow.


The kids continued to scream while Carolyn looked on from the safety of the stroller.


"Are you OK over there? Are you safe? Stay there!! Don't move!! Although not attracted to EAR PIERCING SCREAMS IN A QUIET MOUNTAIN MEADOW, small North American brown squirrels that are the size of our shoe ARE attracted to sudden movements and it will SWOOP OUT OF THE TREE AND DEVOUR YOU with their RABID teeth!!"


The first and only wildlife experience offered a prompt conclusion to our nature walk. The children were terrified to put their feet on the ground, so with Elizabeth on Charlie's shoulders, Carolyn in the stroller, William on top of the stroller, and Henry in my backpack, we began the walk up the switch back trails to Mountain Station.


And up, and up and up we went.


And up. And up. While fellow hikers looked on and asked if we had heard the blood curdling screams that echoed through the still mountain air. Was it a poisonous snake? A vicious mountain lion perhaps?

But at a mountain elevation of 8500 feet, while carrying and/or pushing more than 100 pounds of children, two large bottles of water, a bag of trail mix, a jumbo bag of peanut M&M's, two apples and a banana ... I could only shake my head and gasp, "Squirrel."

favorite thing friday

One of the most glorious things in my life ... is after taking a hot shower, using a nice plush towel to dry off. It might sound rather trite, but in my world, it's the small things that matter.

A few years ago ... actually, about 10 at this point ... Charlie and I replaced all of our thin and scrappy towels with Turkish towels from Restoration Hardware. We bought bath towels, hand towels and face cloths. Soon, we added four more people to our family and these towels - that we use every single day - show no wear.

They are still thick and plush and oh so soft and absorbent.

Last month, when we rearranged our entire house, we turned to Restoration Hardware to buy a few new pieces of furniture. And in return, we received several $20.00 gift cards. The way that they work is for every $100.00 that is spent, 20% is removed from your purchase price. They do not work on sale items, Baby & Child, monogramming or gift wrap. And it's no surprise you cannot receive cash or credit back.

But because I have a self-imposed moratorium on buying anything for the next year (or five), and I would hate to see all of these gift cards go to waste ... if you are looking to buy something for yourself - your home - or some lucky person you know - at one of the coolest stores around, drop me an e-mail at TheAmazingTrips(at)gmail.com and I will send you the discount code you need. Or if you are planning to go on a shopping spree, tell me how many discount codes you need and I'll set you up.

The coupons expire on January 31, 2009 and although they cannot be used on web orders, they can be used on phone orders. I just discovered that they cannot be used on bath towels (which are currently on sale) but there are a whole lot of other beautiful things they can be used on. Any of which I would love to buy for myself if only I didn't have this pesky thing called a "mortgage" to worry about. (And you know, food on the table, lights overhead, clothes on our back.) Sometimes it's tough having to be responsible.

Footnote: While I was writing this post, the house became eerily quiet. And this is what I found. I'm responsible all right!

So uh ... anyone know how to get Sharpie off a child's face?

my, what big eyes you have

This is a picture that Carolyn sketched of me.

I have no arms, legs, hair, ears, nose, or mouth. Nor do I have a double chin. But I do have beautiful eyes and a head that is disproportionately larger than my body.

I absolutely love four-year-old art. Especially since I'm not at all offended when my child sketches me to look like a limbless alien.

wednesday weigh in

Last spring, I joined a fitness group called Moms In Motion. I was introduced to the group through my fellow triplet mom, Jessica, and together the two of us would meet with at least 15 other women, every Saturday morning, and train for a 10K race that was scheduled at the conclusion of our eight-week season.

Becoming a part of this group was the impetus that I needed to start thinking about fitness and healthy living. So even though I took off on a 7,000-mile road trip a week before the race and never completed the "goal" that I had set for myself, I made a lot of progress towards the larger goal of getting in shape.

For whatever reason, or rather - host of reasons - I didn't rejoin the group for the summer or fall seasons. But when I received an e-mail from them a few weeks ago announcing that the winter season was beginning on January 10, I tucked the date in my mind with the thought that maybe I would attend.

But honestly?

When I went to bed this past Friday night at 11:30 PM, I highly doubted that I was going to get up at 6:00 AM to go running in the dark. Yet Saturday morning rolled around and like clockwork, Henry was up at 5:00. He was brought in to bed with us and while I laid there nursing him, I kept thinking that my bed felt so warm and cozy. And the baby was so cuddly. And the house was so quiet. And the triplets were sleeping so peacefully. And wow, this is as good as it gets.

And then, for some reason that I absolutely cannot explain, I moved the baby over to Charlie's side of the bed and I got up. I changed out of my warm pajamas and in to running clothes. I put on the running shoes that I've worn on only three occasions since my second triathlon in October. I grabbed my iPod. A bottle of water. A banana. And I slipped out the door and in to a dark, cold morning.

All the while, I was thinking WHY am I doing this? No one is expecting me. No one even thinks that I am going to be there. I could go back in to the house and go to sleep for quite possibly, the next two hours and no one would be the wiser.

But instead, I climbed in to the car and drove 30 minutes north to our running rendezvous. After 10 minutes of exchanging pleasantries with women who I hadn't seen in seven months, I wrote a check for $80.00 to cover my enrollment in the winter season, I signed up for a 4-mile race that is scheduled for St. Patrick's Day. And then ... I ran two miles.

While I was running - or rather stumbling along and trying not to fall down - I kept thinking that I might never be a "good" runner. Or a good swimmer. Or a good cyclist. But, exercise makes me feel more alive than I normally do, and if it helps me to not morph in to something totally soft and squishy, all the better.

If you are having a difficult time getting or staying motivated, I highly recommend joining a group. The group that I am now a part of, Moms in Motion, has teams in 4 countries, 46 states and 162 cities. The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society's Team In Training® (TNT) is another great international organization where you raise money towards cures for blood cancers and in return, receive training and support for a host of athletic events including marathons, half-marathons, triathlons and long-distance bike rides.

Charlie just recently joined a Swim Masters group at the YMCA and three times a week, is in the pool swimming laps with 20 other people at 6 AM. There are a lot of groups out there. It's just finding one that works best for you. But it is my honest opinion that it helps to have support and encouragement.

I'm not sure what the driving force was that got me out of bed this past Saturday morning. But now that I've gone to a meeting and shown my face and written a check for the season, I know that I'm committed and I must continue.

Or, I must quickly plan another cross-country trip.

*****

As an aside: Someone left me a comment a few weeks ago asking if I could post a link to my post on tying my shoes so my feet don't fall asleep. Here's that link.

As another aside: Have you set any fitness goals for yourself this year - and if so - what are they and how are you doing?

i will sleep better tonight

Ever since she has been able to walk, I have noticed that Carolyn walked differently from her siblings. When everyone started to run, she would run differently from them, too. Her legs wouldn't really bend at the knee and she didn't seem as flexible. Instead, she appeared stiff and her gait uncoordinated. Whenever we would go for a walk, within a matter of minutes, she was anxious to be carried or ride.


It just didn't seem right.

Her siblings would be running around and exploring and she would be perfectly content to sit in the stroller and ride. Or, she would collapse on the ground and moan, "CARRY ME! I can't WALK!"

Then, she started to complain that her body hurt. Her joints hurt. Her knees hurt. Her ankles. Her thighs. Her hips. Everything hurt. The poor little dear would be on the verge of tears because she was so uncomfortable. Seeing as she was growing so fast, I attributed her discomfort to growing pains - which made sense considering she has at least three inches on Elizabeth and two on William. But still, I had this nagging feeling in the back of my mind.

What if there really was a problem?

What if she had a bone disorder?

What if she had a muscle disorder?

What if she had arthritis?

What if it was something even more serious?

So a few months ago, I called to schedule an appointment with an orthopedic specialist. But because the wait to get in for an evaluation can take so long, I've tried to suppress my concerns.

Finally. Today. I loaded Carolyn up and we drove north to meet with the doctor. While we waited to be seen, we watched several people emerge from the office. There were young people and old people. There were people in casts, braces and wheelchairs. We saw one little girl, smaller than Carolyn, who had a severe limp when she walked.

After waiting for 45 minutes and reading through every Highlights magazine in the office, I asked the receptionist if they had forgotten we were there.

Apparently they had, because seconds later we were called back.

The doctor was a nice man in his late 60's. He was warm and kind. He commented on Carolyn's sweet features and asked her where she got such beautiful blue eyes? When she matter-of-factly responded, "GOD!" he laughed and asked her if she had any siblings.

Without hesitation, she named off her sister and brothers and then told the doctor their ages while holding up the appropriate number of chubby fingers as numeric evidence. He took pause and asked, "Did she just say that she has a brother AND a sister who are four-years-old?"

When I nodded yes, he smiled broadly and with genuine sincerity said, "Wow. Aren't you lucky?"

I have found that there are two predominant reactions when people find out that I am the mother of triplets. The first reaction is what I consider to be sympathy. The second is what I consider to be wonder.

I much prefer the latter of the two.

After the doctor told me about his family, the four children he and his wife (whose name is also Carolyn) had in five years, he began his exam.

He checked the motion of Carolyn's legs. Could he bend her knees when she was on her tummy? Could he bend her knees when she was on her back? Could he rotate her legs and evaluate the movement of her hips? He checked her gait. He had her stand on one leg, then the other. He had her bend down and touch her toes.

Then, he ordered x-rays. (Which we had to call "pictures" because Carolyn threw a fit thinking anyone was going to take pictures of her BONES.)

While we were waiting, the nurse loaded her up with stickers. Dora. My Little Pony. Princesses. The radiology technician came to take her back and when Carolyn read the sign on the door, she threw another fit. The technician in a desperate attempt to calm her, loaded her up with even more stickers. Thomas the Train. Puppies. Kittens. Horses.

Clutching no less than 50 stickers, Carolyn begrudgingly had her x-rays taken. And then we were sent back to our room. A few minutes later, the doctor reappeared. He pulled the images up on his computer and after a few tense moments, he told me that everything looked great.

Her ankles, knees and hips look fine. Her hips are aligned with her knees are aligned with her heels. The discomfort that she has been experiencing most likely is attributed to growth pains, especially since the highest incidence of occurrence is usually after she has participated in some kind of physical activity. Like gymnastics. Or soccer.

Or jumping on the couch.

Then, he took his glasses off and leaning back in his chair said, "Just a little while ago, I saw a little girl who is four-years-old. She was adopted from Russia. She has a severe hip dislocation and can hardly walk. She will require major surgery," and then hesitating for a moment, he gave me a solemn look and said, "there could be significant complications."

He chewed on his glasses thoughtfully and continued, "You would be amazed at what I see. Children who come in that might never be able to walk. Children who will be crippled for their entire lives. Children who are born with defects, children who contract diseases or have injuries that will effect them, forever."

"Today I have seen two four-year-old girls. The little girl that just left this office was on one end of the spectrum. Your little girl is on the other end. Your little girl is perfectly healthy. She is perfectly fine." He took my hand in his and he added, "This is my favorite kind of appointment and my favorite news to give." Then he bent down to look in to Carolyn's big blue eyes and said, "I think you might be my new favorite patient."

When we left the office and were driving home, I looked in the rearview mirror at my little girl who was randomly placing her 50 stickers on anything within arm's reach. It felt like a huge weight had been lifted off of my shoulders.

A weight that I didn't realize had been so heavy, until it was gone.

freckles (and a frown)

Someone asked me the other day what type of camera I use.

I actually use two cameras. But typically not at the same time.

I have a Nikon D40X digital SLR and a much smaller Canon PowerShot SD 870 IS. This Canon replaced the Canon PowerShot SD 850 IS that was dropped in to a hot tub in Louisiana. I usually grab whatever camera is the closest, but if I want a clearer image - or a better zoom - I will rely on the Nikon. I really like both of these cameras and some day I hope to read the instruction manuals. Because I seriously have no idea what I am doing, nor the time to figure it out.

So if you think any of my photos look good, it just shows how easy to operate these cameras are. A preschooler could do it. Although preferably NOT when standing near a hot tub.

(Edited to add: The sad face is because her brother sprayed her with the hose. Even though she had sprayed him first. Lesson learned: Being a sprayer is fun. Being a sprayee? Not so much.)

january in san diego

This is how we've been spending our mornings during "home school."


A quintessential winter's day in San Diego.


In the afternoons, we have some kind of activity. Today, it was gymnastics.

Charlie happened to be with me today, so together, we took the children to their class. William is in a boys-only tumbling class and the girls are in a girls-only tumbling class that meet at the same time, on opposite sides of the gym.

While Charlie and I were standing outside with Henry, I could see that William, along with his four-year-old peers, were bouncing all over the place. Because the parents are separated from the students by a large plate glass window, I couldn't hear what the instructor was saying, but it appeared as though he was becoming frustrated with his young class.

When he was trying to get them to stand on the line to do somersaults, and they all took off running for the trampoline, he had to chase after them. And when they left the bars to go jump on the beam, he held up his fingers and started to count.

After about 10 minutes, I handed Henry to Charlie and walked in to the gym and right up to William. I squatted down at his eye level and gave him a stern warning. "William, there is a time to play and a time to pay attention. Now is the time to pay attention. You need to LISTEN to your teacher and FOLLOW instructions. Do you understand?"

In a bout of silliness he nodded yes and then said something that sounded like, "Oooga Jugaaa Looga Mooga! HEE HEE HEE!!!"

I could tell that what my message wasn't sinking in, so I held his arm firmly and repeated, "William, you need to PAY attention. PLEASE."

I let him go to rejoin his class and he barrel rolled in to the group.

Instead of joining Charlie in the lobby, I stood off to the side of the gym keeping my eyes focused on my son's class and hoping that he would settle down. But instead, things seemed to get even more rowdy. It was evident that late afternoon energy stores were at an all-time high as the boys chased each other around, knocked each other down and wrestled across the ground.

I recognized that they were feeding off of each other's craziness, but I stood wondering at what point "typical four-year-old behavior" becomes "down-right-bratty." I didn't want to disturb the class (again), but I also didn't want for my child to act like a tyrant. Even if several of the other children were acting up, just as much.

After watching William take off for the pommel horse for the second time in less than two minutes - when the teacher was clearly trying to keep them on the mats, I stepped in again. Walking briskly towards William, I harshly whispered, "William! Follow me."

I took him in to a private office just off the gym and giving him a quick swat on the rear I said, "LISTEN. If I tell you to pay attention to a teacher, YOU PAY ATTENTION. You are acting naughty out there and I do not like it. Now you will go out there and you will LISTEN to what your teacher asks you to do and you will stop acting like a wild child. Are we clear?"

Instead of responding, he dissolved in to tears.

Sobbing, embarrassed tears.

For the next five minutes, I tried to get him to rejoin his class, but he wouldn't stop crying. Soon, Charlie came in to the gym looking for us and when he saw William, he shot me a look of disbelief. How could I get angry with a four-year-old who was acting his age?

Maybe I need to lighten up a bit?

Although he didn't say either of these things, I know he was thinking it.

So I asked, "Don't you think it's important that a parent steps in when they can clearly see that their offspring is defying authority? Or do you think I should just sit back and watch a teacher struggle?? Would you rather have a child that is respectful and has manners? Or would you rather have a child that behaves as though he was raised by a pack of wolves??"

Considering tonight when we came home from gymnastics, it was dark and our children stood outside of the house and howled at the magnificent moon, I'm worried I might be fighting against the tide on this one.

soul food: when the going gets tough

Over the past few years, Charlie and I will go to church pretty consistently - and then - either someone will get sick or we will have a schedule conflict and we won't go again for several weeks.

(Or several months.)

For the past month - at least since Christmas - we've been going to church every week. But before that, we hadn't been to a service since October. It was when we had gone in October and a new minister was discussing Proposition 8 and Christian views on homosexuality, that Charlie and I were both so agitated that we stopped attending.

But then, it seemed like a whole lot of things happened.

We made the decision to pull our children out of school. I was informed that I needed to return to work full-time in May. We were faced with another opportunity to move. My father's health began to decline, rapidly. My mother was admitted to the hospital for what was thought to be a heart attack. My family began to fall apart at the seams.

I've discussed my religious views before and I've already "confessed" that I don't believe everything that I've read in the Bible. I don't believe everything that I hear during sermons. And although I may not have mentioned it before, I was really turned off to organized religion when I lived in South Carolina during my teenage years. My algebra tutor was a student at Bob Jones University and before we would begin a lesson, he would bow his head in prayer and recite verses from the Bible.

It always made me a little uncomfortable.

Almost as uncomfortable as people who would flat out ask me if I had been saved.

The first time I was asked this question, I didn't know what the person meant and I responded, "Sure. When I was three-years-old, I fell in to the pool and my brother Wally saw me floating face down and pulled me out."

The look of astonishment that I received was almost as bad as when I was having dinner with my Presbyterian friend's family and when her mother reached for my hand to say a blessing, I hesitated for a moment before taking out my well-chewed bubblegum and sticking it in to her extended palm.

Since I lived in the buckle of the Bible Belt, I was frequently asked about my eternal salvation. Eventually, just to avoid the shocked stares and questions, I would answer "Yes, I've been saved." And then if I was feeling particularly daring, I might add, "Praise the Lord!"

But in my heart I didn't feel it.

Not at all.

Not even close.

Still, that didn't stop me from being a part of the church community. If any of the local churches were having a ski trip to the local mountains, I would sign up. Over the course of my teenage years, I went skiing with the Baptists, Catholics, Methodists and Episcopalians.

Yet, I always felt like an outsider.

A total fake, looking in on all of these faithful people.

I'm not completely sure what has happened in me over the past few years. Maybe it was becoming a mother. Or finding a church that really works well for us. But these days, I don't feel like as much of a fake as I once did.

Now, I'm in no way a fundamental religious person. Yet, these days, whenever I go to church and I listen to the message, I am almost instantly transformed in to a better person. Whenever Charlie and I go to church - we are a stronger unit.

We are better parents.

We are more kind, gentle and compassionate people.

(At least for the next 24 hours.)

We are both in agreement that attending church provides us an outline for living a better life. And once a week, we have a full hour together while our children are supervised, to hold hands and listen to good music and an encouraging message. Equally important, we like surrounding ourselves with people who are genuinely kind and are trying to live the best lives that they can.

We don't tithe and we're not members of the church because we're not "there" yet. But we like what church does for us and for our family. So we keep going.

Yesterday, when we went to church, Charlie dropped off the triplets in their classroom and I went to drop off Henry in the nursery. As expected, he threw an absolute fit. When I took a moment to look around, I noticed that there were 10 one-year-olds in the room and only one volunteer baby sitter.

Apparently, three people who were supposed to be there, never showed up. One rogue volunteer babysitter was running between the infant room and the toddler room and she tried to assure me that everything would be fine. They had it covered. But for several moments, I stood debating what to do. Henry was making more noise than the other 10 children, combined.

Do I scrape him off me, jump over his little body and run for the door?

Do I take him in to the cry room so I could still hear the service?

Or do I cut my losses and go home?

And then it was as if the very voice of the Great Almighty whispered in my ear to stay and help.

Even though I'd had an extremely difficult week and really needed to have my spiritual cup refilled, I knew that it was more important for me to be there, sitting on the floor with a room full of toddlers. So I put on a smock and a name tag. And when Charlie came looking for me, I had children other than our own in each of my arms. While Charlie went to hear the sermon, I read stories and blew bubbles. I held babies that were crying and I sniffed out dirty diapers.

And I really enjoyed myself.

Some people can turn to other sources for fulfillment. Maybe they can take a walk in the great outdoors and be inspired by the beauty of nature. Maybe they can write poetry or listen to music or exercise. Or trade stocks.

But I need a little bit more. I'm sure some would argue that I shouldn't be attending a specific church unless I am accepting all of the message. But I think that exact position is what has turned me off to church for so many years, prior.

How could I possibly go if I didn't believe it all?

Nowadays, I just believe that it is important to find a church that you like. And then, go. Listen to the message. Take what you need. Don't be discouraged if you have reservations. With time, you might discover that you are transformed in to an even better version of yourself. I mean, after my first full week of homeschooling and family turmoil, I never would have thought I would have given up a whole hour of quiet time with my husband, to sit with a room full of babies.

I'm sure that counts for something.

how do we get out of here?

I had intended to write a comprehensive post summarizing our first week of "home school" but it's late and my bed is calling to me. Soon, I'll write about some of the activities that have been filling our days, but for now, I'll just say that we've been doing a lot of outdoor exploration and a lot of art.

This is a picture that Elizabeth painted for my Dad, yesterday.

When I asked her what it was, she knowingly said, "Pwayers of Color." As in, there is a lot of color AND prayer that went in to it. My caption at the top reads, "Dear Dad, Just a creation of love for you to help speed your healing. Can you believe that at birth this "artist" weighed 3 pounds?!" Since Dad was with me when our children were born, I hope it warms his heart to see his (once) tiny granddaughter's masterpiece.

This is another of Elizabeth's creations.

She called it, "My Family." Charlie is the tall brown figure on the left, I'm the blue one on the right. The little people from left to right beneath us are William, Elizabeth and Carolyn. Carolyn has recently cut her own hair (again) which is why it looks like a hedgehog has camped out on top of her head.

Henry is still in my tummy. But you can see his feet sticking out my side.

When I showed the picture to Charlie tonight, his first comment was, "These children are a gift from God!" But then after looking at the picture again, he added, "You look a little frazzled. I mean, you have bug eyes and shocked hair. And that smile? You look kinda crazy."

Well. This has been a rather crazy week for me - what with all of the chaos that has been going on with my family. I've spent several hours every night on the phone and several more hours reading and responding to e-mails. But even with the unusual drama that has rocked our world, I think the children are thoroughly enjoying their home school experience.

And the fact that they piled up all of their bean bags and were trying desperately to unlatch the door was not in any way related to them attempting to escape from their bug-eyed teacher with the crazy smile.

may they always be so close

Almost all of the stress I've incurred from dealing with my family this past week, has been offset by spending time with our children at home.

Oh sure, I went a little nuts when they used Dry Erase markers to write on the walls. And when they peeled open the bedspread from their doll house and pulled apart all of the foam, inside. And when they went through an entire 10-oz bottle of hand soap in an afternoon. And when they climbed in to the cupboards, confiscated and ate an entire bag of miniature marshmallows at 5:30 AM.

But for the most part, I have loved having them home with me.

It's like I know what life is like when they are off in school all day and I'm not ready for that just yet. There has been a huge weight lifted off my shoulders, not having to get them up and dressed and fed and washed and lunches packed and out of the house every morning by 8:30 AM. And did I ever mention that I counted the traffic lights on the way to school and although it was only a seven-mile drive, there were 26 traffic lights?

Consider that for a moment.

In one day - I would drive through 104 lights just dropping off and picking the children up from school. And the vast majority of the time, I would hit at least 50% of them when they were red.

This afternoon, I took everyone to the park. And while I stood watching our children climbing up and going down the slide, I kept thinking, "This is the way siblings are supposed to help each other."


This is the way they are supposed to support one another.


This is how they should always stick together.


This is the way it's supposed to be.


Although I don't know if it would be quite as cute if they fell to the ground in this kind of embrace when they were in their 40's.



They warm my heart, completely.

an open letter to my family

Considering the stress of my father's failing health, the controversy surrounding my family and a strained neck that is probably a direct result of the aforementioned, I have been unable to get out of my pajamas before noon every single day for the past week.

I go to bed late. I wake up early.

I spend much of the day on the phone with various family members. And at various times throughout the day, I will erupt in to a fit of uncontrollable tears. When I took the children to gymnastics yesterday, I realized only after I had arrived that I was wearing the same pants and shirt that I'd worn for the past two days, I had completely forgotten to brush my hair or teeth. My face was puffy, my eyes were red. I was a walking definition of the phrase, "Gone to hell in a hand basket."

I am posting here what I wrote to my family not because I want to air (more) dirty laundry. But because life is short. If you see yourself in any of what I have written about my own family, make amends and move on. And if you are someone who doesn't think family is important, go spend some time looking at this blog and prepare to be inspired.

*******

Hi Everyone:

According to Frank, Dad's doctor thinks that he is going to be in the hospital for a bit longer before being discharged to a physical therapy facility. From there and depending upon Dad's progress ­ he will either be released home or to a nursing facility. I hope that Dad is allowed to return home. I truly believe that home is where he needs to be, even if we need to bring in aides or nurses. And although it might not be popular with all of you, I believe that Dad needs and wants to be with Mary. He genuinely cares about her. Some may disagree, but I think that she has been good for him. Or at least, good TO him.

From what everyone has been telling me, I am preparing myself for the worst. I am sad that this might have been the last Christmas that Dad is with us. I really hope that isn't the case, but as quickly as he has purportedly gone down hill and from the message that Frank played from Dad's doctor, I suspect that unless Dad really is able to turn this situation around, it might be over for him soon. It breaks my heart to write that. But with that being said, I think that as a family, we need to pull together.

We need to put aside our own "issues" that we have with each other and come together the way a family is supposed to be together. Especially, when we are on the verge of losing one of our parents.

LIFE IS SHORT.

We've all got baggage. Any one of us can run down a laundry list of what our siblings have done to wrong us. Any one of us can find fault with any one else. But if we are being perfectly honest with ourselves, we know that we haven't been perfect.

WE'VE ALL MADE MISTAKES.

We've all done things that are wrong and perhaps, downright unethical and shitty. But of course, any one of us can rationalize why we shouldn't speak with one of our siblings for the rest of our lives. Because THEY did this. And then? They SAID this.

Try as you might - you don't ever lose your family.

Nobody is at fault for what has happened and is happening with Dad. All of us have been hurt. All of us have scars. Why create more?

As far as I'm concerned, Beth has been a savior to this family. Sure, Beth has made mistakes. But she is a tiger and her heart has ALWAYS been in the right place and I don't want to hear anyone curse her or put her down in front of me. Not a single person has done as much GOOD for this family as Beth. And if you don't agree with that, than I'll say that no one has done as much good for ME as my sister Beth. She has done so much for everyone of us, and if you don't see it - you're not looking.

It's no coincidence I named our first born daughter after her.

I love her and I would do anything for her.

I just looked out my window and a five-gallon tree that I planted a few years ago is now over 30 feet tall. Look around and you will see, TIME GOES FAST. Janet and Marylou are both grandmothers. Mary T is heading off to college soon. Our babies are growing up.

God forbid one of us loses a spouse. Or a child. The day will come when Mom and Dad will be gone. The day will come when one and then another and another of us will be gone. It could happen at any moment. But today, we're still all here.

Please stop pointing fingers.

Please don't insult one another.

Please don't ignore one another.

Please have some respect for each other.

Please stop gossiping.

Please leave the past IN THE PAST.

Please don't dredge up crap that happened 20 years ago.

Please let the bitterness and anger and hatred end.

Please don't let our father leave this world while his children are in yet another emblazoned battle. Please, let's make Mom AND Dad proud for the kind, gentle and compassionate children that they created. You have it in you to be good. And if not, FAKE IT. Please, be a good role model and make your own children proud. How would you feel if they showed such hatred against each other as we have??

Please, from your little sister ... GROW UP.

I love all of you. (Even if I haven't spoken with you in five years.)

Love, Jen

maybe ice cream IS the cure

From what I've been told, my father was sitting in his hospital room and suddenly he starts complaining that he doesn't feel right. His stomach hurts. His head hurts. He looks over to my brother and says, "Quick. Get the nurse. There's a problem here. It feels like I am coming out of my skin!"

My brother tries not to panic as he runs out of the room to find the nurse.

"Please come quick!" he pleads to the first person he sees. They rush in to Dad's room and my father is in apparent distress. "Something's wrong!" he says. "I don't know what it is. I don't feel well. My stomach, my head, my chest is pounding!"

The nurse calmly looks at him and says, "If I remember correctly, I think we had this same problem last night. And let's see, what did we do about it?"

Then she smiles and says, "Oh yes, I remember. What if I got you a bowl of ice cream. Do you think that might help?" Dad stares at her for a moment and then nods, "Sure. Why don't we try that."

Ten minutes later, after my father has consumed a bowl of vanilla ice cream, he is telling jokes. So apparently, ice cream will make the situation better.

Silly me. I really should have known. We are SIMPLE people.

Most of the conversations I have had with my father over the past month have lasted for less than two minutes. He just doesn't have the ability to be on the phone and any discussion regarding what is happening within the family fatigues him, instantly.

So whenever I call Dad, I try to keep it very short and sweet.

Last Sunday, before my father was admitted to the hospital, I called him at home to tell him that I love him. And that all of this controversy that is going on around him is only because everyone else loves him, too. Even though everyone is trying to do what is right for him, he is getting crushed in the process.

Before I hung up with my father I asked him to do me a favor. I said, "Dad, listen. I know that you haven't been to church since you and Mom divorced. But here's the thing. I think your soul could use some healing. So please, could you go to church as soon as possible? Catholic. Unitarian. Buddhist Temple. Maybe even a Jewish Synagogue. Please, just go somewhere that you can be exposed to a dialogue that is happening with God."

He told me that he'd try.

But the very next day he was admitted to the hospital.

So today, I called the hospital and I left a message for the Chaplain. I have asked that they please stop by my father's room and sit with him for a while. I don't know what they will say. But my father is a kind man and I think that he'll be happy to see them.

Especially if they bring him some ice cream.

(Updated to add: I called my father this morning and told him that if a Priest shows up in his room, not to panic. The doctors didn't call for him ... I did.)

if only ice cream would make it all better

It really doesn't seem like that long ago that I was a child living at my father's house.

That year my parents divorced.

When I close my eyes, I can remember with such precision and accuracy the look of the lot before the house was built. I remember the large pieces of schist that were stockpiled on an earth torn construction site, in the swatch of land that had been cleared of forests.

Those big pieces of schist.

I can still feel them in my eight-year-old hands.

They were gritty and heavy.

They were gray and brown with flecks of mica.

I carried the smaller pieces. My mother, brother and sisters carried the larger pieces. Together, we carried those pieces of schist in to the house to frame the three beautiful fireplaces that would soon exist.

In the kitchen, there were double ovens, a glass cutting board built in to the counter, a SubZero refrigerator that matched the cabinetry and an Insta-hot. By 1979 standards, it was gourmet.

There were Pella windows in every room that looked out on a swimming pool, pond and beautiful Concord forests, surrounding the house. When it was finished, the house would consist of four large bedrooms, three and a half bathrooms. The total square footage, including a finished basement, was just shy of 7,000 square feet ... situated on just over three acres.

This was the house that was meant to be home for our family.

This was the pool that was meant to be played in by the seven children, in-laws, and the twenty grandchildren that would come in later years.

But sadly, that house was never home for our family.

And that pool was very rarely used.

My mother never moved in to that majestic house. She and my father separated before construction was finished and mom moved far away, returning for the first time 15 years later to help me prepare for my wedding day.

My father's girlfriend moved in to the house before my parent's divorce was finalized. Over the next few years, every one of the children that was supposed to live in that house, moved away. Every one of the children that were supposed to live in that house moved away much sooner than they should have moved away.

When I close my eyes, I can remember with such accuracy and precision where everything was located in the step down living room, just off of my father's bedroom. I can remember the big brown marshmallow couch. The dark lamp that was carved like an Indian princess. The step table. The marble chess set. Many of these possessions had arrived from our old house on Walnut Street. These were comfortable remnants of an earlier, happier time.

A time when we were a family.

Thirty years later, I can still see and feel it all.

The feel of the carpet.

The squeak of the closet doors.

The portable electric heaters that we carried around with us from one room to the next.

The red heat lamp in the bathroom off the hall. And while sitting in that bathroom, looking out to the front of the house wondering, "Why? Why? Did they put a bathroom window at eye level from the toilet to the front door?"

I remember the sense of anxiety that always existed. I was a child in an adult's house. I missed my mother and I craved my family. Yet here I was living in my father's house. The best times that I can remember were when Dad and I would sit at the kitchen table and eat bowls of maple walnut fudge ice cream together. This was my father's dream. He worked so hard for it. He had picked out the land. Designed the house. Helped to build it.

This was Dad's house.

It has always been Dad's house.

Even when his wife of 23-years and his seven children were displaced by divorce. Even when his second wife of 24-years was taken out by the police in handcuffs for pulling a knife on him.

This house is his dream.

Tonight, I received a phone call from my brother.

My father is not well.

He has been in the hospital for the past week and the doctors believe that he will need to remain in the hospital until he can be discharged to a physical therapy facility. From there, it is likely that he will need to be transferred to a nursing home. Even though he has his friend, Mary, helping him at home, he cannot stand up unassisted. At the moment, he can no longer function independently. The prognosis is not good. Just a few months, if he doesn't improve.

Hearing those words was like a punch to my gut. For the first time ever, medical professionals have quantified the "anticipated" time remaining that my father has left. I pray with every ounce of me that they are wrong.

My father's health has deteriorated rapidly, not because of Parkinson's. Nor is it because his body is being ravaged by cancer or muscular dystrophy or dementia. In my opinion, it's because my father has lost his will to live. In my opinion, it all began with him selling his drugstore. And seeing his second marriage end in divorce.

Wondering, what was it all for?

My father has deteriorated from the strong man that I once knew. And his house has gone from something majestic to something sad. A place where true love has never once lived. A place that was supposed to be so much more. But a place that to my Dad, has always been home. It's all that he has left. After all of these years.

Within the past month, there has been so much turmoil surrounding my father that a rift has formed among my siblings that may never mend. There has been a reassignment of responsibilities for power of attorney and health care proxies. There has been name calling. Accusations. Even though I believe that everyone is doing their best to work on Dad's behalf, everyone is getting hurt.

Including and probably most especially, my father.

All Dad wants is to go home.

And all I want, all I have ever wanted, is for my family to love each other.

To look beyond what they perceive to be bad and see only the good.

Even though Christmas was last week, I think it is fitting that all of this turmoil has erupted at this time of year. Christmas is for giving.

Christmas is forgiving.

Forgiving the dreams that never came to fruition.

Forgiving ourselves as we forgive those who trespass against us.

My Dad's dream is to go home.

And my dream is to see my Dad happy.

this may be the last you see of me for a while

I had this well thought out post when I sat down and now I can't remember it.


Maybe because when I first turned on the computer I saw that several of the people I found earlier in the day on Facebook had responded that they want to be my friend.

Facebook.

Have you heard of it?

I signed up almost a year ago when someone sent me an invitation. Since then, I've logged in once every few months to accept invitations from long-lost friends to reconnect. But I haven't really spent much time with it, because I spend far too much time as it is on the computer.

(Or so Charlie says.)

But today.

I logged on to Facebook for the first time in three months and accepted several friend invitations. Or whatever you call them. And I ignored several friend requests from people that I have absolutely no idea who they are. Maybe they have me confused with someone else? And I looked at all these crazy requests I've received for ... Lil Green Patch? Nicest Person? Ice cream madness? Star Wars? Sweetest Person? Give me a hug? Give me a cupcake? Give me a zombie?

Who?

What?

And in the midst of all that, I noticed that my niece, Janine, had written to me.

My niece that I haven't seen or spoken to in at least two years.

Janine?

So I click over to her Facebook page and I see that she is connected with several of my other nieces who are also on Facebook. And so, I send them invitations to be my friend. And then, just out of curiosity, I decide to search and see who else might be on Facebook that I know.

And almost every one that I looked for, I found.

There were two of my four sisters. Three of my college professors. Almost half of my 23 nieces and nephews. And my very first boyfriend who I dated all through highschool and for two years of college. Through the beauty that is Facebook, I found out that my highschool's 20-year reunion is the last week of July.

I sure hope my neck is healed by then because showing up in a brace would be so uncool.

This to me, is what is so great about the internet. Sitting in the comfort of my living room in my pajamas, in a single morning, I can almost instantly connect with people that have touched my life. And just when I'm getting in to it - I will look at my watch and notice that almost THREE HOURS have slipped past while I was checking in on Alice. And Lucy. And Emily. And Eileen.

And my 17-year old niece Mary has over five hundred friends?

Does my brother know that his daughter has befriended so many people?!

So, that might be the last time I log on to Facebook for the next three months because I just don't have the time. With whatever computer time I have, I need to be recording for posterity William wearing his soccer shin guards to church tonight over his pants because last week, a boy kicked him and he wanted to make sure that didn't happen again.

I need to write about Elizabeth telling me that while she was at church - she heard God whisper in her ear that He is taking good care of Molly. And that Molly loves her very, very much.

I need to record that although I tell the children every night when I tuck them in to bed that God sent them to me ... tonight, Carolyn felt compelled to tell me that No, God sent ME to HER. And also? Could she please get up for a very small minute and have some ice cream?

Okay, enough about posterity.

While I was writing this post, Charlie decided to check out Facebook. He is going crazy sitting behind me yelling out that he has just found guys that he hasn't spoken with in over 20 years. People from his trip to New Zealand!!

And college roommates!!

And oh man. Where's his HAIR?!

He set up an account less than 20 minutes ago and already, he's sent out 30 friend requests. Now something tells me my husband might be spending more time on the computer than me from this point on. At the rate he is going, he might soon have more friends than me.

And that simply won't do.

the explained and the unexplained

Today I began the process of taking down all of our Christmas decorations.

Usually, I'm anxious to get our dried up tree out of the house and everything tidied up by December 26, but this year I felt a little sad as I was putting away all of the decorations. Probably because this was such a wonderful Christmas, likely my best ever. The children were asking, "Why are you putting that away? WHY?" and when I finally took the tree out of the stand and carried it outside, there wasn't a dry eye in the house.

The triplets were all crying because they didn't want to see the tree leave. Henry was crying because I put him in his crib to contain him since he would have otherwise bolted out the front door and directly in to the street when I was dragging the tree to the curb. And I was crying because Charlie was at work - I was pushing myself - and it felt like there was a cow prod jammed in to the right side of my neck and shoulder.

Later, as I was packing away all of our Christmas books, I remembered that I had promised to jot down the titles from our "seasonal" library. Not all of these books were wrapped because some were received as gifts. But, seeing as we now have 28 books, I think we'll probably wrap all of them next year since I have learned that the first night of Advent, everyone will want to open a present. Regardless, all of these books will be stowed away until next year when I can bring them out and make them new, again.

With the exception of Alison Julian's book (The Twelve Days of Christmas), I have provided a hyperlink to Amazon for all of the books listed. Those with the astrix were a personal favorite and books that I believe will always be a part of our Christmas tradition.

Advent Storybook (We read one story every night leading up to Christmas)

What Is Christmas?

Bear Stays Up For Christmas

The Christmas Star

Room for a Little One

Stable in Bethlehem

Reindeer Christmas **

Gingerbread Baby

The Polar Express

The Gift of the Magi **

Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer

Santa Duck

Santa's Favorite Story

Santa's Snow Kitten

Mr. Willowby's Christmas Tree **

There Was An Old Lady Who Swallowed A Bell

The 12 Days of Christmas (We have the Anne Geddes version as well as Alison Julian's.)

Tonight You Are My Baby: Mary's Christmas Gift **

The Nutcracker

How The Grinch Stole Christmas **

Bear's First Christmas

Great Joy **

The Mitten **

Frosty the Snowman

The Christmas Alphabet

The Night Before Christmas **

I Spy Merry Christmas

As I've mentioned before, Charlie and I have a lot of Christmas traditions. The Advent is just one of them. We watch almost every Christmas movie known to mankind throughout the month of December. My favorites are "It's A Wonderful Life" followed closely by "National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation."

Cousin Eddie and his full shitter gets me every time.

On Christmas Eve, we are each allowed to open one present. We have English Crackers at some point during our festivities. We read "Twas The Night Before Christmas" before retiring on Christmas Eve, usually after we return from Church and have had a fondue dinner.

We have cinnamon rolls for breakfast on Christmas morning and lox and bagels for lunch. Both meals are served with mimosas. We draw out the process of opening gifts as much as possible. We open our stockings first and because we wrap each and every item within the stockings and then eat breakfast, we typically don't get around to opening presents from under the tree until a couple hours later.

We send out over 100 Christmas cards and we receive over 80 in return. This year my favorite Christmas card came from my friend, Deana and her family. After having been diagnosed with Stage 4 cancer earlier in the year - Deana is now cancer free. The doctors told her that her case was so advanced that if she hadn't been diagnosed and treated as aggressively as she had been, she probably wouldn't have even survived until Christmas. But here she is.

Cancer free.

Every time I looked at this picture over the past few weeks, I totally choked up.


It is so, so awesome. ROCK ON, DEANA!!

Another of my favorite traditions is setting up our little Christmas village.

Charlie's Uncle Bobby bought us our first Christmas village house in 1993. He sent us another one in 1994, 1995 and 1996. And then he started sending us mixed nuts. For the past five years we haven't heard from him at all. He still gets a Christmas card, though, and we think of him every time we pull out our Christmas houses.

In 1998, my father sold the pharmacy that he had operated for over 30 years. That Christmas, I just so happened to stumble upon a store that was selling village houses that matched the ones we had at home. And when I saw that they had a "pharmacy" for sale, I absolutely had to buy it. The similarities in architecture were so like my family's drugstore that what first caught my eye is the two-story brick building with large bay windows.


But when I saw the name of the pharmacy I almost keeled over.


Although this wasn't the name of my father's store, it is my family's name. So is this just a HUGE coincidence, or do you think it's likely that the designer of this little Christmas Village House has been to Concord, Massachusetts and visited the historic Snow's Pharmacy in the downtown?

That's what I think.

You know what else I think?

Karma is real.

Recently, whenever I see one of the children attempt to hurt their sibling and it backfires on them, I tell them, "That's Karma."

So when Carolyn tried to hit Elizabeth and instead smacked her hand on the table and burst in to tears and when William tried to kick Carolyn and his feet slipped out from underneath him and he banged his head, I told them, "Do unto others as you would want them to do unto you. If not, you will suffer the consequences of Karma. Cause and Effect."

Do you remember when I wrote on New Year's Eve that I did yoga that morning?

Well.

When I wrote the post it was morning, so I figured that since my intention was to do yoga that morning, I would. But. The day just kept on going and going. And before I knew it, it was time to get the children ready for bed. And then it was New Year's Eve and Charlie and I had to watch "The Dark Knight." And eat crab cakes. And drink wine.

So. Uh. I never did yoga that day.

(I'm so ashamed.)

And then the next day, when I woke up and was sitting at the table blissfully watching the children dance, it was ON MY MIND that I need to stop eating french toast and I need to get up and do yoga. Immediately. And just then, while the thought was still on my mind, my neck muscles went in to a spasm and I've been miserable ever since.

So not only do I believe that if I had done yoga this "incident" wouldn't have happened, I believe even more so that if I hadn't WRITTEN that I had already done yoga when in fact I hadn't, I would still be able to move my head without cursing loudly.

When the children saw me wearing a neck brace, they were terribly concerned with what had happened. I tried to explain that I pulled a muscle and it hurts to move my head, so I'm just going to take some nice medicine, wear a heating pad at various times throughout the day and keep a brace on for at least the next 24-hours. Not one, but all three of our four-year-olds looked at me and almost simultaneously asked, "Mommy, is that Karma?"

Yes, my children. This is the face of Karma.

(Without makeup. And a double chin? OMG. IS THAT A DOUBLE CHIN?!)

we're off to a roaring start

This morning while I was sitting at the table, blissfully watching our children dance around, I felt a tingling along my neck followed by a sharp ZAP.

And then, I couldn't turn my head without intense muscle spasms.

Twelve hours later, I still can't.

Concerning to me is that I didn't do anything.

I was just sitting there.

Watching the kids.

And now I'm almost completely paralyzed.

Thankfully my fingers can still move.

Despite my intense pain, I told my husband that of course he should go with our neighbors and their friends, all of whom are professional cyclists, on a New Year's Day mountain bike ride to the top of a local mountain. Sure, it's a 31-mile round trip excursion with more than 2,000 foot change in elevation.

But he could do it. Because he's a stud.


Charlie stumbled in the front door from his ride - five hours later - and told me that he was so tired he thought he was going to throw up. He was totally and completely spent. And since I had been with the children all day, children whom had not napped more than 15 minutes on the car ride home from an outing, I told him that he couldn't be spent because me and my bum neck were spent. Totally and completely spent.

So the two of us laid on the floor trying to out moan each other, while our children emptied our cupboards and threw Cheez-Its at us. We were the epitome of pathetic. Especially when the kids started to plead, "Get up and FEED us mommy and daddy. We are CHILDWEN and we are HUNGWY!"

Yeah, Yeah. In a minute.

Here, have some Cheez Its.

While laying on the floor pondering the curse of age, Charlie told me about the 65-year old man who was talking smack to my husband at the beginning of the ride. The man who commented that my husband needed to take the reflectors off his bike because that was amateur. The man that my husband sized up and decided that he was going to fly past on his way up the mountain while calling out over his shoulder, "How you like my reflectors NOW?!"

The man who it turned out, got a flat tire 3/4 of the way from the summit and had to walk his bike the rest of the way to the top and still beat my husband. (And his reflectors.)

Suffice to say, as we continue this rapid progression in to old age, it will become even more important to be strong. To remain flexible. To remain agile. And now, I must sign off because I have a hot water bottle waiting for me, along with a nice cup of Metamucil, and The Best of Lawrence Welk starts in ten minutes.

But before I retire for the night, I have to tell you that selecting a winner for this third iPod giveaway has been the most difficult for me yet.

There are so many people that are working so hard towards acheiving their physical goals and they inspire me. There is Susan in Missouri who was hospitalized with pneumonia, but is striving hard to keep going, losing upwards of 20 pounds in the past two months.

There is Caroline who started running earlier in the year and then was sidelined when she broke her rib from coughing. There is LilKatie who has reduced her cholesterol and blood pressure levels. There is Sarah L who was running and then found out SURPRISE! she is pregnant. But instead of giving up on the progress she had acheived, she is looking to buy a treadmill so she can stay active in the bitter cold. There is Courtney who has taken on a variety of different activities over the past few months and is looking for the next challenge.

And there's Joy H.

And Wendster.

And In Due Time.

And Momma of 5.

And Heather at Twinsanity.

But the winner of this third iPod giveway is Michele S.

Michele has never once said that she wants an iPod. She has never once left a comment that she needs one. And with all the dough I'm sure she's raking in from her online makeup store, she could probably buy one herself - in between writing about the evils of self rising flour, Aunt Jemima syrup and red M&M's.

But I'll bet FIVE DOLLARS that she doesn't have one.

I've never met Michele, but I know she is all about living as healthily as possible. And I know that she had started working out earlier in the year but from what I could tell, her motivation tapered off. So it is my hope that this iPod will give Michele the enthusiasm that she needs to start working out again. And hopefully, exercise during the day will help her sleep better at night so she spends less time tossing and turning and worrying about her beautiful little boy who in 2007, was diagnosed with a brain tumor.

Since Michele is such an internet sleuth and found my home address so she could send me a Christmas card (and send me in to a mild cardiac arrest), I actually have her address - so there is no need for her to send me an e-mail. Michele, you can look for your iPod in the mail.

Or, maybe I'll just deliver it.

Our kids love trampolines and I'd love to take a spin on that scooter.

wednesday weigh in

Alright people.

This is it.

The last day of 2008.

Last night while I sat polishing off the box of chocolate covered Joe-Joe's and noticed that there were 150 calories PER cookie, I decided that this hibernation I've been enjoying must come to an end. So this morning I did yoga. This afternoon I'm going for a jog. I have a 5K race with my friend Lorie in a month that I must get ready for.

This Saturday, the running group I had been a part of earlier this summer is starting up again. And I'm going to do my best to be there. I need that commitment every week. I need to know that people are waiting for me. I need to be held accountable. If this past month has taught me anything, it's that when I have no goals or aspirations, I am very much the kind of person that will hide in a bathroom and eat a half a box of peppermint bark.

This morning during breakfast, I told Charlie that one of my goals for 2009 is to be physically active every day. I will do yoga. Or swim. Or bicycle. Or walk. Or run. Or jump rope. Or lift free weights. Every day, I will do something. Maybe it will only be 15 minutes. Or maybe it will be three hours.

But every day, I will do something.

I will eat fresh fruit and/or vegetables every day.

I will drink a lot of water.

I will get sleep.

I will cherish this body of mine.

I told Charlie that I'm not really that concerned with reaching a target weight because I think it's more important that I feel good about myself. Then I made the mistake of asking my husband if he thought I needed to lose weight. His eyes diverted and he said, "I think you look great."

At first I thought how sweet his response was. But then I realized he hadn't answered the question. So I prompted him again. His nostrils flared like they do when he is trying to suppress laughter and he repeated, "I think you look great."

And although he didn't say it, I imagined he was thinking, "Considering you have consumed five boxes of Joe-Joe's over the past month and two gallons of egg nog. Oink. Oink." Holding a syrup-coated pancake on my fork I threatened, "Charlie. ANSWER THE QUESTION."

He gave me the look of a deer in the headlights that said, "Don't do this to me!" Then, when he could see I wasn't going to relent, he shrugged and said, "Well. I think we could ALL stand to lose a little weight. We could all stand to be a little healthier."

I retorted, "Oh yeah? Well I'm not talking about all of us. I'm talking about me. Where could I stand to lose weight?" Fearing that he was going to point out some area I hadn't even recognized before ... like my shoulder blades ... my husband sweetly pointed to the top of his head and to the bottom of his feet and said, "I think we could both tighten up from here to here."

You've got until midnight tonight.

Tell me how you are doing with your goals.

Tell me why you are proud of yourself.

Share how you are going to make 2009 the best year ever.

And Henry, who at 17-months old, enjoys sitting with his sisters dolls while listening to Meat Loaf on my iPod, will help me to select a winner of a new personalized Product Red iPod shuffle.

They are so cool. You really need one.

(iPod that is. Although toddlers that play with their sisters dolls are even more scrumptious than chocolate covered Joe-Joe's.)