my little sweet tooth

I baked a batch of chocolate chip cookies this past week. In the process of doing so, I pulled out all of the various ingredients that I would need.

Noticing that I was running low on chocolate chips, I ran to our outside refrigerator to get a new 72-oz Costco-sized bag. As I was walking back to the kitchen, I could hear one of our small children's chairs being pushed across the tile floor. I was thinking to myself that one of the children saw that I was about to begin baking and wanted to pull up a chair to help.

But then I rounded the corner and was quite surprised to see that my baby had pushed the chair up to the counter and was standing on it.

High on his tippy toes, he was peering in to the almost empty bag of chocolate chips.


This baby. This little angel in my life, woke the entire house up with his cries last night at 11:30. He was up again at 1:30 and 3:15 and when I didn't pick him up, but instead gave him a sip of water - his pacifier - and told him "HUSH! GO BACK TO SLEEP!" he woke everyone up again at 4:00 AM screaming, "Mama! MAMA!! MAMAAMAMAMA!!! APPWLES!!!"

Charlie and I were completely exhausted today. As we were exhausted yesterday. And Friday. And every day last week, last month and last year.

Just as we will be exhausted tomorrow.

Our exhaustion doesn't have to do with training for a marathon. Or raising triplets. Or even working. While laying in bed at 4:30 this morning, we were animatedly discussing how and when we will ever get this child to sleep through the night in our small and almost completely doorless house. We discussed moving Henry's crib in to William's room (with a door) and moving William in with the girls. And then, we'll just close the door and give everyone a set of earplugs.

But I spoke with my sister-in-law today who has a little boy a few weeks older than Henry. A baby that she is also still nursing, in a house that is even smaller than ours. She told me that she just moved my nephew in to her bedroom so that when he wakes, she can scoop him up before he disturbs my brother and three-year-old twin nephews.

I really cannot stand to hear my baby cry, especially since I know that I have the ability to make him perfectly content. I have exactly what it is that he wants and needs and I know that it really won't be that much longer, relatively speaking, that he will need me in the capacity that he needs me, right now.

So ... I've decided that I am either going to move him in to our room, or put a bag of chocolate chips in to his crib. Thus far, it's the only thing that quiets him down like appwles.

favorite thing friday

Last November, Charlie and I dropped off a few meals for Deana and her family. Because they live an hour north of us, we stayed for a little while and let our children play with Jack and Deana's two little boys, Zachary and Zane.

While we were there, I noticed that Zach and Zane each had a monogrammed Pottery Barn Kids anywhere chair. I had been eying those very same chairs in every issue of the PBK catalogue since our triplets were babies. And last year, I had finally made up my mind that I was going to make the big purchase and buy one for each of our four children at Christmas.

But when I asked Deana what she thought of the chairs, she said she didn't care for them too much and was very disappointed in the quality. Apparently, the chairs are comprised of foam pieces that are velcroed together and they don't "stick" very well. The pieces would detach from one another and the chair would quickly lose it's form.

I was so glad to have that nugget of information before I dropped $500.00 on four chairs and non-returnable personalized slip covers.

Still, I wanted some kind of soft chair that each child could call their own. So I did a little more research and ultimately settled upon the PBK anywhere bean bag chair.

What I like about these beanbag chairs is that the durable covers come in a variety of different colors. When the covers are closed, there is small lock that holds the zipper shut. A locking feature is very necessary on something like a chair that is filled with 10,000,000,000 beads. Especially when you have children that sometimes act like goats and pull anything they can get their hands on apart.

The covers are machine washable and the bags can be stashed in a corner when they are not in use. And because they are so durable, I suspect that these bags will last the children for several, several years. (Optimistically hoping that until they are at least teenagers?)

They can be monogrammed with up to eight (8) characters in one of four different fonts. Of course I didn't even think about how many letters our children had in their names until the week before Christmas when I was completing my online shopping. And it was then that I assigned the nickname of Liz to our second born because I figured that was a better option than intentionally misspelling her name "Elizbeth" on a chair that she'll have through her entire childhood and adolescence.

Our children love their bean bag chairs and I love them, too. They will tote them around from one room to the next and use them as chairs, launching pads, nests, beds and walls to their forts.

Do you like them? Do you want one?

For a $5.00 donation to The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society via either Margaret, Charlie or yours truly and a comment left on THIS post, you will be entered in to a raffle to win one, regular sized - solid cover bean bag chair with a personalized cover, from Pottery Barn Kids. (Estimated value including tax and shipping is ~$125.00).

Your donation is 100% tax deductible.

Your donation is fueling research for a cure.

Your donation will help people like Deana who at 39-years old, with two little boys, should be thinking of worms and snails and puppy dog tails and not praying that this next round of chemotherapy will save her life.

Winner will be announced in on Wednesday, March Fourth.

So please MARCH FORTH and spread the word on this contest. Since ideally, I'd like to have the total of donations exceed the cost of the bean bag chair. Makes sense. Right?

Ready, set, GO!

(ps: I haven't yet had an opportunity to look in to adding a Paypal donation button to the blog, but I hope to do that, soon. If and when I get that squared away, any donation that comes to me via Paypal, I will forward to The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. And if you provide me your e-mail address, they will send you a receipt for tax purposes.)

do you pray?

I just received this update from Deana's husband, Jack.

If you believe in the power of prayer, please keep this beautiful family in your hearts. I know my heart is breaking for what they are going through. And yet, I've never felt so motivated.

************

Dearest family and friends,

Deana and I met with her doctor today and received some disturbing news. Apparently Deana's cancer is not responding at all to the chemotherapy treatment she's been receiving these last several weeks. It has started to appear on the right side of her face causing a numbing sensation that Deana describes as 5 Novocaine shots after a dentist visit.

Deana has tried two different chemotherapy protocols and is now going to start a third (possibly final) no later than Monday. We will know in as little as two weeks if it is successful. To our shock and utter dismay, the doctor is not optimistic about this round of chemotherapy, but given the odds are greater than zero, we charge forward. We will not give in.

Tomorrow, Deana's oncologist and I will each be contacting medical oncologists at M. D. Anderson Hospital in Houston, TX. Apparently their lymphoma treatment is the most progressive and if there are applicable clinical trials with experimental drugs -- should it come to that -- that hospital will be leading those efforts.

Deana wanted me to let everyone know that while we are hopeful, and are trying to remain positive, that the doctor did tell us that given the aggressive nature of Deana's cancer, we are dealing with just a matter of weeks for Deana if not addressed. He has encouraged us to contact Hospice.

I apologize for the impersonal nature of this update, but wanted to make sure to keep you all informed. Please keep Deana and our boys Zane and Zachary in your prayers. It means so much to us. We need them now more than ever.

On a much happier note, when asked last week by his teacher how Zane's parents met (apparently a Valentine's Day exercise at school), he responded: "They ate chocolate donuts, brown donuts and chocolate donuts and just fell in love."

Priceless. This hangs on our refrigerator now.

Please, please take the extra moment to hug your spouse and kids today and often.

Either I or Deana will post an update just as soon as we know more.

God bless you all,

Jack

much like a can of sardines

We've reached that point where we either need to split the children up ...





Or get a larger tub.

what's in YOU wednesday

Last week, I received an e-mail from my boss, Dave.

Dave has been my boss for the past five years. He became my boss when he transferred from his assignment in Melbourne Australia to southern California. Dave is married and has two grown boys. In his lifetime, Dave has completed over 100 triathlons. Every single day, he does something active. One day he'll run six miles before he starts work. Another day he'll swim two miles during lunch. On the weekends, he'll ride his bike 50 miles or more, up and down the Pacific Coast Highway.

Dave doesn't "train" for triathlons.

He's just always ready.

At 52-years-old, Dave is a bona fide stud. He ran a half marathon a couple weeks ago, with his Labrador Retriever Zoey, in just over an hour and a half. But to talk with him, you'd never ever guess that he was an accomplished athlete. He is one of the most unassuming and humble people I've ever met. And I'm not writing this to earn brownie points because Dave doesn't read my blog.

Dave's job consists of managing an annual budget that exceeds $40 million. I can't say exactly how many people Dave manages directly because in addition to the ten people in my group, Dave just recently picked up the supervision of a few more personnel in South America. But I would estimate that all told, more than 200 people ultimately report to Dave.

Dave travels constantly.

Every week he is going somewhere new. Virginia. Oregon. Texas. Florida. New York. Brazil.

Today he was in Los Angeles.

Tomorrow, he'll be in San Diego meeting with me.

What I really appreciate about Dave, other than the fact that he is a great boss who pushes his employees to strive for continuous improvement, is that Dave is as inspiring in his personal life as he is in his professional life. It's the way that he lives. The way that he balances everything. The way that he makes taking care of his body a top priority.

Dave makes me realize that it doesn't matter how busy you are, you can always make the time to take care of you. And when you take care of you, it's likely that everything else in your life will operate that much better.

Soon after Dave started working with our group, he sent out inivitations to join him in various athletic events. We rode our bikes with him in the Los Angeles City marathon in 2004. Then, when the triplets were a year old, Dave asked for Charlie to form a relay team with two of my co-workers in the Los Angeles triathlon. Since then, Dave has inspired almost every single person within my group and their spouses ... and several of our consultants ... to participate in his "challenges".

Last week, Dave sent out an e-mail titled, "What's in YOU?"

(What's in YOU will forever more be the title of these Wednesday posts. I like that a lot better than weigh-in, because these posts really had nothing to do with weight. At least not mine!)

From one of his worldly business trips, Dave informed all of my co-workers that the San Diego International Triathlon is coming up in June. And although he will be participating in the entire event as an individual, he wants for his employees to pull together teams to challenge our consultants. Before I even had an opportunity to digest his e-mail, Dave established two relay teams comprised of me and Charlie (and my coworkers and their spouses) and then, sent an invitation to all of our consultants, encouraging them to set up teams so that we could have a face-off.

It now seems that less than a month after we complete our marathon, Charlie and I are scheduled to participate in the San Diego International Triathlon.

On the one hand: Considering I fell OFF the treadmill this week while I was running at the YMCA, I'm a tad bit concerned over my ability to do all of these events. But on the other hand: I really need these types of goals to inspire me.

Additional inspiration comes from an e-mail that I read which was written by one of the passengers on US Air Flight 1549. The passenger had summarized his experience of surviving a plane crash and coming so close to death, he determined that there are four important lessons to live by.

1. Cherish your families as never before and go to great lengths to keep your promises.

2. Be thankful and grateful for everything you have and don't worry about the things you don't have.

3. When you fly, wear practical clothing. You never know when you'll end up in an emergency or on an icy wing in flip flops and pajamas and of absolutely no use to yourself or anyone else.

4. Keep in shape. You never know when you'll be called upon to save your own life, or help someone else save theirs.

All of these lessons are important.

But that last lesson about keeping in shape is something that I hope to always strive towards. Not just because it makes me feel good to be in shape, but because as the passenger noted, you never know when your life - or someone else's - might depend upon your physical abilities.

Now Charlie and I have been talking a lot over the past few weeks about this marathon that we are training for and we are both excited. Charlie is excited to run. I am excited to fund raise. And quite honestly, I am beyond thrilled that over the past two weeks, between the three of us, we have raised more than $2,000.00 to fuel research that ultimately will find a cure to cancer. Considering we still haven't sent our letters out (but they are stuffed and awaiting postage) I am really thankful to all of you who have made a donation to this important cause.

In case anyone is interested, Margaret received an e-mail from The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society yesterday, wherein they stated that as of July 2008, no human embryonic stem cell research is currently funded by the organization. This is a huge relief for me and my predominantly Catholic family.

After my mother's beloved neighbor and very close friend of our family lost her battle to breast cancer this past weekend, Charlie and I have both decided that whatever races we participate in from this point on, we are going to do while fundraising for some type of cancer research. I can't think of any better way for us to remain inspired to continue working out, than to know that for each race we participate in, we are raising money for a cure. I plan to post at least one new contest each and every week until all three of us reach our fundraising goals. The next contest will be up this coming Friday.

Let's see. What else to discuss?

Oh yes!

The winners for the two handknit scarves, as determined by a random generation program, are Karen Moden and Stephanie A.

Congratulations and thank you so much for participating!!

I knit one scarf in black and grey and one in pink. So the first person to send me an e-mail specifying the color that they would like will get it.

And if anyone is really heartbroken that they didn't win a scarf, I'll make you one - in whatever color you would like - for a $50.00 donation to the cause. If you would like a handknit scarf > please send an e-mail to TheAmazingTrips at gmail.com and specify the colors that you would like. While keeping in mind that although I will happily make a scarf in return for a donation, I cannot guarantee that I will get you that a scarf before our marathon. Between training for a marathon and now also a triathlon, it seems I'm a little delusional busy these days.

But as time permits, I will be making some substantial changes to this blog in the near future. Or hopefully by Christmas 2012. For now, at the top of my blog - in the sidebar - you will notice that the most awesome Hilary from ScrapBlogDesignsbyHilary made us our very own button. (Thank you again Hilary!!) If you are so inclined, you can grab the HTML code at the bottom of that button and add it to your own blog or website.

(In fact, I would love you a lot if you did.)

Be Amazing. Join the amazing trip to help cure cancer. You can contribute to the fund. Or, you can get yourself out there and raise money for a cure to something that is near and dear to your heart.

Why not?

What's stopping you?

What's in YOU and how are you doing with your goals?

fur real

When I wrote about hairy feet a few weeks ago, what I meant to say is that I cannot imagine waxing my toes, from the sheer pain factor. I must have received at least 20 e-mails from people "confessing" that they waxed their feet and really, it's the most simple solution to foot hair removal. Granted, my experience with waxing is rather limited, but from what I can remember before blacking out, waxing hurts. And, it seems my body doesn't "respond" very well to have hair ripped out of it by the root.

Several years ago, shortly after Charlie and I began fertility treatments, my mother came to visit. And during her visit she commented on what she thought was dirt on my face.

I remember she held my chin in her hands and with her eyes squinting at my upper lip she said, "It looks like your face is dirty. Are you sure you're washing your face? Are you using soap? Are you scrubbing? Maybe you need to use a Buf-Puf? Do you want me to send you some?"

(Since my mom had retired as a nurse from 3M, she has a seemingly endless supply of Buf-Pufs.)

I exasperatedly replied, "Mom. My face is NOT dirty. Yes, I'm sure I wash with SOAP. And yes, I'm sure that I am SCRUBBING. I don't know what you are talking about. Maybe it's YOUR eyes?" Then, sensing an unfortunate fall out to my remark, I quickly added, "Or, maybe the light in here isn't very good...?"

We turned on another light and after more scrutiny, mom was convinced that there was something on my face that shouldn't be there and she gently suggested I have my lip waxed.

The day after I went through this brutal waxing process, the entire area surrounding my mouth broke out in a rash. Or, what I thought was a rash. Over the next two weeks, the rash turned in to large red pustules before finally fading away. But for two solid weeks, it looked like I had been blowing bubbles in hydrofluoric acid.

When I received a phone call from the "beautician" that I was due for another waxing, I told her what had happened and she was certain that my reaction was a one time ordeal. My body couldn't be allergic to wax. She'd never heard of such a thing! So, I went back and had it done again. And that second procedure hurt worse than the first and for the next month, the whole lower half of my face was covered in zits.

I had a zit goatee.

Then to add insult to injury, I had to have my driver's license picture renewed.

When I went to visit my dermatologist the year after our triplets were born and I pointed out what my mother believed was dirt on my face, she told me that the discoloration was frequently called a "mask of pregnancy" and was due to the increase in hormones from fertility treatment, and incubating another life (or three) in one's own body.

It had nothing to do with dirt. Or hair. So I just cannot imagine waxing my sensitive toes and inflicting that kind of pain on myself. My lesson learned from that experience is that I'll take a hairy face or hairy feet any day of the week and thrice on Sunday.

Or, I'll just wear clogs and a TurtleFur.

Now, speaking of fur.

A few weeks ago, it became obvious that some kind of animal had died in our garage. Within a matter of days, what started out as a slight odor grew to a stench that would knock the wind out of me. It got so bad that I couldn't even go out to the garage. Instead, if things needed to be put out there, I would just open the door and with my faced turned the opposite way, randomly throw them in to the stinky space, with the mental note, "I'll deal with that once the rotting carcass is removed."

Charlie ripped the entire garage apart trying to find the deceased critter, to no avail. Ultimately, he determined that a mouse or some kind of rodent, had climbed inside of our refrigerator and died. And to get the animal out, he would need to empty the refrigerator of it's contents, flip it upside down, and take it apart.

And since he had no idea how to do that, he didn't.

So the stench continued.

One afternoon, when the children were anxious to go on a bike ride, I gave everyone strict instructions before we entered the stink zone. I told them, "HOLD YOUR BREATH. Do not breathe through your nose or you will likely throw up. I will open the garage door and once I do, you need to RUN through the garage and stand in the driveway. I will bring out your bicycles and helmets. OK. ARE YOU READY?"

The plan was executed well. The kids ran through the garage, holding their noses, and they stood in the driveway waiting for me to grab their bikes and helmets. But as I was going to fetch their bikes, I spotted on the floor ... a dead rat.

Just laying there. Right next to the bikes.


How it was that Charlie missed that rat when he was pulling the entire garage apart remains a mystery. But there it was. In the middle of the floor. The kids all came running back in to the garage and were so interested in seeing the rat that they didn't even want to go for their bike ride. They just wanted to stare at the dead rat.


And through all of this, I screamed. And I'm not even sure why I was unable to stop screaming, seeing as it was a dead rat. Within a day or two of that unfortunate incident, I was in the process of making the girls bed.


And when I pull the quilt up, out pops a snake.


A fake snake, mind you. But a snake, nonetheless.


A toy snake that Carolyn had picked out when her father took her to the Science Center the day before. A toy snake that I didn't even know had been brought in to our house and added to our toy supply. And the screaming in the garage with the REAL dead rat was nothing like the screaming in the girls room when faced with a PLASTIC toy snake.

I can handle comments that elude to me loving one of my children more than another (I was seriously not offended by that). I can handle my husband telling me that the anonymous donor to his fundraising efforts was probably my mother because she favors him over me. I can even handle taking care of five people who were all struck with the stomach flu and vomiting at the same exact time.

But I can't handle waxing.

And I can't handle rodents.

And I can't handle toy snakes that are hidden within my daughters bedding.

And I think that this video might be one of the funniest things I've ever seen.



And now you know almost everything there is to know about me.

the crush

Did you happen to catch the controversy brewing on my last post?

It all started out harmless enough, with an anonymous commenter suggesting that I write similar "month in review" posts for each of the triplets individually. Because as the children get older, I wouldn't want for any one of my children to feel that I loved them more (or less) than any other of my children.

I responded to the anonymous commenter that the effort that would be required for me to write similar month in review posts for each of my children would be rather extensive. Infact, part of the reason I have skipped a month here and there with Henry is because those posts take me a long time to write. And since we are transitioning out of naps during the day for the kids, the only time that I have an opportunity to update my blog is at night once every one has gone to bed and I've spent an hour or more cleaning up from the day.

And you know what??

Sometimes at the end of a long day, I don't want to gush about how much I love each one of my kids, individually. Sometimes I am so tired that it's a miracle I am able to update this blog at all. More times than once, I have dozed off only to wake up with my head collapsed on my keyboard and there are a few hundred rows of dgjhfkhjklldfgjk.

I do love each of my children. But I don't want to write about them all the time.

I've got other things to write about.

Like weekly weigh-ins. And favorite thing Fridays. And with what little time I have during the week, I'd like to eventually squeeze in a post here and there about closet organization; O'Henry bar preparation; the next steps in knitting; the snake I found in the girls bed last week; home school activities; what Charlie and I are going to do with the rest of our lives seeing as I need to return to work full-time in three months; and last but not least ... facial and toe hair removal.

Tonight I had intended to write about facial and toe hair removal.

But now, I am going to respond to the comments generated from my last post.

And not just the comments generated from my last post, but the TELEPHONE CALL from my mother this afternoon where she pointed out that during a conversation she had with my Aunt Grace earlier in the morning, they had both noticed that I no longer discuss the triplets very much on this blog and everything is about Henry. Henry. Henry.

So clearly he must be my favorite.

If I'm being perfectly honest, sometimes I do favor one child more than another. And this might trouble me, if I didn't notice that every day, my favor generally falls to some one new. From the time they were tiny infants, I have had a crush on any one of my children on any given day.

In so far as Henry ... he is still a baby in my eyes and he very rarely annoys me. He is just cute and cuddly and loves to be held. So my crush on him is rather constant.

As for the triplets, I'm currently crushing on all three of them. They are so unbelievably adorable right now with all of the observations and questions that they have about the world around them. They typically have me smiling all the time, except for when I am FREAKING OUT because they aren't listening to me and they are running about, trashing the house.

There's William who thinks he is Peter Pan and his sisters are Tinkerbell.

He'll stomp around calling for them, "Tink! Tink! Where are you?"

Much to my chagrin, for Valentine's Day, his father bought him an electric megaphone that has not been out of his grasp since Saturday morning. Yesterday he was up at 5 AM tapping on my sleeping head and looking for the megaphone that I had successfully (Thank God) hid the night before. Despite talking with him - for several minutes - he couldn't understand why I wouldn't give him his MEGAPHONE at 5 in the morning so he could go wake up his Tinkerbells.

William has the most vivid imagination, stocked with an imaginary friend named "Tresiam" that he talks about ad nauseam. Tresiam was swallowed by a whale. Tresiam was knocked off the chair by his sister and had to have stitches on his eye. Tresiam is going to be an astronaut. Then as if the most brilliant idea suddenly dawned on him, he'll yell out, "I AM GOING TO BE A ASTWONUT!"

After a long moment he'll ask, "You want to know what I want to be for Halloween?" When I enthusiastically reply, "An astronaut!" he'll shake his head and say, " NO! NO! I'm going to be Peter Pan!"

And then five minutes later.

"Do you want to know what I'm going to be for Halloween?"

"Um. Peter Pan?"

"NO! A SKELETON!"

And then five minutes later.

"Do you want to know what I'm going to be for Halloween?"

"Um. A skeleton?"

"NO! A FIREMAN!"

And then five minutes later.

"Do you want to know what I'm going to be for Halloween?"

"Um. A Fireman?"

"NO MOM! A ASTWONUT!"

And so it goes. On and on.

There's Carolyn who is a pint-sized version of me.

Not only does she look just like me, she loves sweets. Many a night I have been woken from a sound sleep to find her perusing the cupboards for a snack. After we discovered that she had eaten an entire bag of miniature marshmallows one morning while everyone was still in bed, we have had to hide various foods on top of the refrigerator. It cracks me up how she will innocently ask, "Why you put the chocolate chips up there? Why you not put those down here?" and then she'll point at the lowest drawer in the kitchen.

When she asked me that question tonight in regards to some oatmeal cookies we had bought at Costco baked earlier in the day that I was placing up high, I told her, "Because there is a little mouse in this house that likes to eat sweets. This little mouse will come out of it's hiding place at night when everyone is sleeping and it will nibble this and nibble that."

She looked at me with wide-eyes and asked, "A MOUSE? IN THE HOUSE?"

I nodded and continued, "YES! And it will tip toe around very quietly nibbling, nibbling." Then I asked, "Do you know what that little mouse's name is?"

She silently shook her head no, but when I reached my hand to touch her arm and whispered "GRACIE!" she screamed and jumped two feet in the air while giggling uncontrollably.

There's Elizabeth who is our sweetest child, except for when she's not. She is the most loving, gentle soul I've ever come across. All she wants to do is help. All she wants to do is smother her siblings with love and kindness.

But when she is over tired and feeling punchy, she is absolute hell on wheels, matched by none.

Tonight when Charlie and I went to the YMCA to squeeze in a run on the treadmill, I dropped the children off in the nursery and as I was signing them in, I overheard Elizabeth talking to one of the grandmother-aged nursery volunteers in a very soft voice. When I turned my attention to their conversation, I could hear Elizabeth telling her teacher that her friend was sick.

"My fwiend, Deana. She is sick. She has a bug in her tummy named canswah and she is in the hopital." She nodded her head before adding very matter-of-factly, "But I pway for her. And I pway for the people in the ambuwance. And I pway for the wittle babies in the hopital. Did you know I was a wittle tiny baby in the hopital? But I gwew up. I am gwowing and gwowing." As the teacher smiled at my little girl, I could see the tears brimming in her eyes.

Elizabeth just has that kind of effect on people. Whenever I ask her where she came from, she will smile and say, "Daddy says I am a gift stwaight from God."

She sure is.

They all are.

month eighteen and nineteen: in review

I had been intending to write this post for the past month. And just as I was about to sit and recapture some of the moments from your 18th month ... you go and turn 19 months. Time, come she will.


I try not to blink and still, time flies.


One day my newborn baby is lulled to sleep in his sister's doll cradle.


The very next day he is hoisting himself in to that same cradle and rocking it until he squeals with glee.


You are such a baby to me. My baby. But you are growing so fast. Too fast.


Per toddler standard operating procedure, you are in to everything.


One of your favorite past times involves pulling random things off the counter. Why just last week, in the span of 10 seconds, you grabbed a telephone and called our neighbor on speed dial, before scattering an entire bag of granola cereal across the floor.


You watch and absorb everything your siblings do. And sometimes it shocks me just how much you emulate them.


Although I probably shouldn't, I actually trust your capabilities. I know that you won't put small things in to your mouth and 7 out of 10 times, you listen to me better than your older siblings do.


You have mastered climbing our play fort and are almost too fast for me to catch.


You know how to sit and go down the slide.

And you know how to hold on to the rope on the climbing wall, until I realize that you are dangling holding the rope on the climbing wall, and run to rescue you.

With three tutors, you are mastering the English language. You have a repertoire of words that include various foods, body parts and the entire cast of Toy Story.


You love Toy Story. Not so much the movie, as the characters. Currently, your favorite character is Buzz Lightyear. Not surprisingly, it is your brother's favorite character as well. And I am just tickled that the Halloween costumes that I bought five months ago are getting so much use.

At the moment, we only have one hard plastic Buzz Lightyear, which happens to be the most coveted toy in the entire house. Coveted by you. And your brother. Unfortunately, during a recent trip to Target, we learned that the hard plastic Buzz Lightyear is no longer being produced. So until we find another one, we must share, which brings all parties involved much consternation.

Several times throughout the day, you will disappear in to your brother's room, where you will sit and quietly play with Buzz Lightyear and Woody for a half hour or more. Quite often, your older brother tends to get a little crazy when you are playing with these toys - which tends to make me a little crazy - because not only is he hyper-possessive over the one hard plastic Buzz Lightyear, he is going through a phase where he likes to stash any toy that he is not playing with in various hiding places so that you can't find them.

(But rest assured, I always help you out.)


Even though they aren't always the best with sharing, you adore your siblings.

And they continue to adore you.

Your siblings have helped to teach you so much. You know where your nose, eyes, ears, fingers, toes, legs, arms and tummy are and you have mastered eating cereal with a spoon and spaghetti with a fork.

You will work alongside your siblings whenever they do home school activities, contentedly stacking blocks or reading books.


But because you are so determined to keep up with them, you do not like to miss any of the action and will resist naps until you pass out cold.

How it is that your siblings on any given day and if provided the opportunity, will take up to a three hour nap and still sleep a solid 11 hours at night, while you nap no more than 45 minutes during the day and sleep no more than 8 hours at night, is beyond me.

Even though you have robbed, and continue to rob, me of a good night's sleep, I cannot imagine loving you any more than I do. The two of us have such a strong bond that your father will hold one of his hands up high and say, "There is Mommy..." then holding his hand down low to the ground add, "...and then there is everything else."

It often happens when I hold you, that I will think, "This is the best moment of my entire life. This one, right now, this is as good as it gets." So thank you for making my heart so full that it warms my soul. Thank you for making me feel so blessed, that my vision often blurs with tears.

Thank you for coming in to our world and for taking my breath away, on a daily basis.

favorite thing friday

One day last week, my sister from Massachusetts called to ask me how cold is too cold to go skiing. She was calling on behalf of her son, who was scheduled to be at ski school later that afternoon.

Since I'm a huge skiing enthusiast, I didn't have a good answer because I've braved the cold to go skiing when it's been -15 degrees. (Minus 15 degrees. Below zero. Fahrenheit.) But when my sister told me that it was 10 degrees and my eight-year-old nephew didn't have a turtle fur for his neck and face, I suggested that she keep him home and make O'Henry bars instead.

Clearly she was on the same wave length, because at that very moment, the timer went off for a batch of chocolate chip cookies she was pulling out of the oven.

The turtle fur is essentially a tube of soft fleece that you pull over your head and wear like a turtleneck. What I love about them is that they can be pulled up high to cover your lower face and ears - or - you can push them down so that they just cover your neck.


Whenever we venture in to a climate where the thermostat drops below 30 degrees, I make sure that I have my turtle fur. And whenever I go downhill skiing, regardless of the temperature, I make sure that I have my turtle fur. Nothing beats a turtle fur when you are whipping down a slope in the late afternoon and the sun is on the other side of the mountain. And you pass a snow blower that shoots icicles all over your face.

We've owned our turtle furs for at least 15 years. I have since seen similar garments made by other companies and they all appear comparable. They come in both adult and children's sizes. Infact, the picture above is one that I just recently picked up for my eight-year-old nephew that I plan to drop in the mail tomorrow ... so that he never has to miss a skiing lesson again.

But while we are on the subject of cold necks and faces...

Here are pictures of the fuzzy-scarves that I've neglected almost everything else in my life so that I could knit over the past two days. The girls love them. And considering NO ONE HAS MADE A $1.00 DONATION for these scarves, it looks like they might be staying in the family.

Thankfully, I'm not easily discouraged.

My cousin, Margaret, on the other hand.

Sweet Clementine.

She called me yesterday in a panic.

I answered the phone to hear her gasping, "I cannot believe it. I cannot believe it. What am I doing? Am I out of my mind? How in the world am I supposed to raise $4,100.00 for this marathon? HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO DO IT?!"

"Hello? Hello? Margaret? Is that you??"

"YES IT'S ME. How am I supposed to do this?! I am sitting here eating raw cookie dough and Hershey Kisses and peanut butter. I AM IN TRAINING FOR A MARATHON AND YET I'VE GAINED EIGHT POUNDS IN TWO WEEKS. How is that POSSIBLE?! My heart is beating out of my chest and all I can do is EAT!!"

I calmly asked if she had sent out her fundraising letters yet and she exasperatedly said, "No. No, not yet. But, I did just send out an e-mail to NINETY EIGHT people and no one has responded to me. NOT ONE SINGLE PERSON! But oh thank GOD for your reader, Amy, that donated to me last week. GOD BLESS AMY!!"

I asked her when she sent out her e-mail and she said, "Ten minutes ago. I sent my e-mail TEN MINUTES ago and no one has replied!! Have you looked at my fundraising page? HAVE YOU LOOKED AT IT?? On yours and Charlie's, the fundraising ticker has already started to move. On mine it's still stuck at ZERO!!"

My attempt at stifling a laugh was unsuccessful. So I said, "Margaret. Listen. Take a deep breath. You need to give this some time. Most people don't sit in front of their computer all day hitting REFRESH on their e-mail account. I'm sure at least one person will respond to you."

As we were talking, someone did respond to her.

A woman from Margaret's Catholic church wrote her an e-mail to say that she would not be able to support this particular cause because The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society supports the use of embryonic stem cells in finding a cure for cancer. Soon after that e-mail rolled in, Margaret heard from other people within her homeschool co-op where they also stated that they would not be able to contribute to her cause for the same reason.

Margaret met with some of these people today, and apparently it was brought up that in her efforts to raise money for a cure to cancer, she may as well be promoting abortion and pregnancies that result in the birth of octuplets.

And here I thought that the reason people weren't contributing was because of the economy!

Suffice to say, Margaret went in to an absolute tailspin.

Ultimately, I told her that she needs to relax and not take everything so personally. Yes, it is difficult to put yourself out there when you are trying to do something for a good cause and yes, you do open yourself up to judgment and criticism.

After three years of public blogging, I guess I'm use to it.

But then I told her, "Imagine how I feel? Here I am making something with my own two hands that no one wants or is willing to bid on for a single dollar!! NOT EVEN MY MOTHER!! I think that perhaps I've overestimated my knitting abilities!!"

We laughed for a minute before I added, "It probably wasn't a good idea for me to post knitting instructions on my blog a few weeks before I tried to raffle off scarves. Anyone can make them now!! Maybe I should hold off on posting how you FINISH knitting until a much later date? OR, unless people donate to the cause?! My poor readers will have scarves that are 20 feet long and they'll be thinking, 'How the heck do I end this thing? Is she ever going to tell us?!'!!"

I actually think that considering we haven't sent out our fundraising letters yet, across the three of us, we've done remarkably well. As of today, we have raised over $1,500.00 in the past week. (There are a few checks that came in that will be added to the accounts). So for those of you who have donated, thank you a million times over. (Especially you, Amy. If not for you, Margaret would be curled up in a ball with empty tubes of cookie dough clutched in each hand.)

The question does still remain why Margaret needs to raise more money than Charlie and I, combined. And until the official answer is provided to us next week from The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society, we have a two-part theory.

First: the fundraising goals are set by each chapter. Since there is a higher participation in the San Diego chapter than in the Greenville (South Carolina) chapter, Margaret is required to raise more.

Second: the race is in San Diego. So for people living in this area, they do not need to cover air travel or have accommodations, provided. I'm fairly certain that is at least part of the reason Margaret's fundraising costs are higher than ours, but although a certain percentage does go toward travel, 75-80% of the money raised goes directly to research and patient care.

Since tomorrow is Valentine's Day ... and Margaret's 45th birthday is on the 16th ... if you are feeling any love for this cause, please drop your donation in to her fundraising account.

Please keep in mind that I make this suggestion only to help my cousin out and in no way to guilt people in to bidding for one of my meticulously hand knit scarves.

**Sob!**

where's waldo?

I have spent the past hour looking at this photo.

You can zoom in with amazing detail. I'd really love to get a lens like that for my camera.

Of particular note:

• The curvature of the earth comes in to play before you can see an end to the sea of people. And I think it is absolutely hilarious that someone actually wore a Waldo hat to this event. Can you see them?
  

• The secret service agents camped out on roof tops. I count at least 16. Although I can't tell if they are all secret service agents or crazies that are trying to get a good glimpse of the President.

• The little boy on his father's shoulders wearing a bright orange hat. You can actually see him before you even begin to zoom in. Since that hat would be visible from outer space, good choice Dad on outfit selection!! If I took my children to an event with that many people, I'd dress them entirely in that same exact color. And then, I'd strap a flashing beacon to their heads.

• Even within the nice seats where people were provided blue lap blankets, I definitely see more than one person who would have greatly benefited from one of my hand knit fuzzy scarves. And since I have continued to neglect this...

I have already completed one and am 1/2 way finished with the second.

wednesday weigh in

Charlie and I loaded the kids in to double strollers and we went running last Saturday. We left our house at 9:30 AM, just as the rain clouds started to roll in. We ran to REI where we browsed the winter clearance racks before running to Macy's.


And then we ran to a fabric store where I picked up some fuzzy yarn.


Then we popped in to Walmart to buy some diapers.

We were leaving Walmart when the kids started to complain that they were hungry. So we ran to Chic-fil-A and we let them out of the strollers to stretch while we scarfed down french fries and milk shakes salads.

Just as we started to make our way home, the heavens opened and it poured.

We were still several miles from our house and Charlie suggested that we run home, through the rain. The children would remain dry because we had rain covers for the strollers and they were bundled up warmly. But he and I would get drenched. My husband's eyes sparkled when he told me that it would be such fun to run home through the mud and rain.

But I was full. And tired. And my foot hurt. So I suggested that we cruise the aisles of Home Depot and look at bathroom fixtures until the storm passed.

Which we did.

All told, it took us four hours to run five miles. But there were a lot of hills. And mud puddles. And strong headwinds. And awesome sales. And we were pushing four children in strollers that were loaded down with bags from REI, the fabric store, Walmart and Home Depot.

Five days later, I'm still tired.

I haven't been running since Saturday because of the wrath of sickness that has struck our house in the past few days. But since I just got the clear from my doctor that my foot is only sprained, I plan to ice it, wrap it tightly, and reduce my running to walking until it heals.

Or, maybe I'll just lay on the couch and watch the first two weeks of American Idol that we've recorded and I haven't yet had a chance to watch?

I don't want to strain my foot any further, but I do plan to be back out there, this weekend. If it hurts to run, I'll walk. But I'm going to keep going. Even if I have to hide my roller skates somewhere along the course, I am going to finish that marathon.

I am also going to do whatever I can to help raise money for cancer research, which may or may not stop once we complete our marathon in May.

If there is one thing that my blogging experience has taught me, it's that there is heartache every where. Within the past month, I read two separate blogs written by women whose small children are battling cancer.

In late January, one family learned that one of their toddler triplets was diagnosed with neuroblastoma. The very next week, another family lost one of their two-year-old twin girls to the exact same disease.

These are the stories that make me lose sleep.

But they are also the stories that inspire me.

Last night, Charlie and I were up putting the finishing touches on our fundraising letter that I plan to send out to everyone we know within the next few days. And since I've nearly finished Kim's baby blanket, I'm turning my attention to knitting a few fuzzy scarves for our fund raising campaign.

See, Look!

I took a break from writing this post to start knitting one of my fuzzy scarves. When finished, it will be a fashion masterpiece and not look like a cheap toupee.


As you can see, there are other things I could be doing. Like laundry.


Or, playing with the baby on my lap.


But over the next week, I'll be making scarves to help our fund raising campaign. For what it's worth, I saw a similar (albeit INFERIOR) scarf when we were out shopping running this past weekend and it was $90.00.

But for a $1.00 donation to any of our Team In Training websites (Margaret ... Charlie ... Me) you can enter a drawing to own one of the two hand knit fuzzy scarves I plan to make. They are warm. And fuzzy. And a beautiful compliment to any outfit.

Winners will be announced next Wednesday.

Now we know, first hand, that times are tough with this economy. But we must not let that hinder us from finding a cure to a disease that can and must be stopped.

Just ask Tuesday's mom.

****

Up until earlier today, I was in disbelief that I am attempting to take on a marathon. But when one of my running friends sent me a quote this morning by John Bingham, I realized that I'm already 95% of the way there.

"The miracle isn't that I finished. The miracle is that I had the courage to start."

So how are you doing with your goals?