tenth

I have been with my company for exactly ten years.

It's been a great ten years. I've learned a lot and have had the opportunity to do some amazing things. For the first nine years, I'd tell anyone that I met that I was beyond lucky because I had the absolute BEST job in the world. I loved the work that I did and more often than not, I felt like I was making some incredibly positive contributions for my company and for the environment.

It certainly helped that I had wonderful job flexibility that allowed me to have the optimum work-life balance for myself and my family. Why, on many occasions, I would take my family with me on some awesome business trips.

These days, the maximum flexibility that I have surrounds whether I want to start my eight-consecutive-hour work day at 8 or 9. To say that my transition from a home office to a work office has been challenging would be the largest understatement of the century.

At least for me.

And I knew, full well, coming in to this that the transition would be difficult. But that knowledge wasn't enough to stop me from accepting the job because we were excited to try something new and getting closer to my mother was a top priority. So to say that accepting this position and moving our family back to the east coast was a great decision, would be the second largest understatement of the century.

This move has been fantastic for us.

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

Early this morning (too early if you ask me because I was still in bed sleeping), my doctor called to tell me that my most recent round of lab results were in. While we won't know definitively until my appointment in mid September, all signs are currently pointing to a positive diagnosis of lupus. Which, it turns out, is a disease that has plagued (at least) one of my sisters for the past several years. My reaction, upon hearing this, was mixed.

Yes, it's a major bummer.

But!!!

I haven't been imagining the aches and pains and fatigue!! And the rashes that I break out in every time I step out in the sun may be a lingering effect of Prednisone ... OR, it may be a result of a lupus flare-up!! Why, I'll bet that I've been in one huge flare-up for the past several months and if so, that might explain my often times, overwhelming feelings of anxiety and depression!!

YIPPEE, I've got an EXPLANATION!!!

And if I know what it is, I can manage it.

Right?!

During the conversation at an ungodly hour this morning, my doctor told me that she wants for me to resume Prednisone. Which I'm hesitant to do, for a number of reasons.

Namely: Rapunzelesque nose hair.

I'm not necessarily opposed to medication, but a few weeks ago, my doctor ALSO prescribed me a very mild anti-depressant that is intended to help me sleep better at night. Her theory is that if I can get a deep restful sleep, my body will have more of an opportunity to heal. I tend to agree with this theory. The problem is, the children don't understand that they aren't supposed to jolt Mommy awake at 3 AM.

Why, just once, can't they wander over to Daddy's side of the bed?

Also, our friends that got confused the other night by thinking that we were three hours BEHIND them, instead of three hours AHEAD of them, called us at 2 AM to inquire how we held up during the earthquake and that didn't really help my REM sleep, either.

Anyway, Charlie picked up my little prescription bottle and shot me a concerned look when he saw the pastel warning labels taped along the side. "Uh, Jen? This says that you might have hallucinations, panic attacks or thoughts of suicide. Love of my life, mother of my children, keeper of my secrets, critically important coordinator of my wardrobe ... please promise me that you'll let me know if ANY of those things happen, OK?"

I replied, "OH, so that explains why I saw pink elephants running down the beltway as my heart was pounding out of my chest and I thought about veering in to a bridge!"

If my work-life balance does not quickly improve, I know that my stress levels will soon return to an extremely elevated state. And if my stress levels are extremely elevated, the potential for flare-ups and general rapid health demise, is also extremely elevated. Hence the (continued) need for my ingestion of some serious medication that will make me grow outrageously long nose hair and entertain thoughts of careening my car off a cliff.

Therefore to and forth, my goal, at the moment, is to figure out how to SIGNIFICANTLY reduce the stress in my life so I am not required to be on medication that may kill me faster than the condition its designed to treat.

(Newsflash: I have ONE and possibly TWO co-leaders for Girl Scouts. That's RIGHT. I'm taking ACTION over here.)

I've written about my commuting woes before, ad nauseam. I'm not going to repeat it here. Except to say that the two hours that I spend in the process of commuting each day could and should be better spent doing something else.

Good Lord, I hate sitting in traffic.

My body hates sitting in traffic. Despite books on tape and happy music, I can feel the energy literally slip out of me and my body seize up with stress when there are brake lights and angry drivers on the road. And around here there are MORE THAN ENOUGH angry drivers.

Have I ever shared the personalized license plate that we put on our car?

Since "Be Nice" and "Be Kind" were already taken, we opted for NO HONKIN.

It's received many a thumbs up from fellow motorists.

It always frustrates me to be sitting in a car, when I know that if my circumstances were slightly different, I could be working AT HOME in the comfort of my yoga pants. That I, undoubtedly, would have worn whilst doing yoga in one of the two hours that had been sucked up ON THE ROAD.

After the past few life-threatening months, it should come as no surprise that I'm seriously (Honest to God, seriously) contemplating throwing in the towel. While it is great to be back to work after 10 weeks away and my higher mind is genuinely enjoying the varied projects, my morale has taken a beating over the past 14 months and I'm not too hopeful that things will get better, any time soon. My usually happy attitude is Code Blue.

Quick! Get the paddles!!

Where is Anthony Robbins when you need him?!

It's a bit discouraging because I know that I could continue to do some great things for my company (and I feel like they need me!) but I just don't know if I have the stamina to "hang in there!" as many of my friends and co-workers have suggested.

Particularly in light of my current health situation.

That being said, I'm not sure what I'd do if I stayed home? I mean, would I pick up a little part time job on the side, or would I just go for it and be a rockstar STAY AT HOME MOM? That sounds so romantic and dreamy ... except, the other day I was scrolling through my archives and stumbled upon this post that I wrote.

AH YES. Reality.

That was another (sorry folks, this is cathartic stuff) long and rambling post I wrote when I was five months in to an almost one-year maternity leave and was a bona fide SAHM with four children under the age of four and I forced my husband to stay home from work one day, for fear of what I would do to our children, before locking myself in the broom closet and crying a river of desperate tears.

Sure, times have changed and the children are older now. But it's not like life is DRAMATICALLY simple. Heck, whenever I think for a moment that just maybe things are getting easier, one of our little minions will try and flush a hairbrush.

"Not so fast, Mommy Dear. Just you wait until you see what we're going to stick in our ears tomorrow! Here's a tip: It's a whole lot smaller than an elbow!"

Part of the reason I think I can manage things so well around here, is because Charlie is ALWAYS around to help. And if I just threw in the towel on my career ... well ... onset of panic attack ... he'd need to leave me .... heart palpitations .... so he could go bring in the bacon ... OMG OMG OMG, we're going to crash and burn ... and support our family.

Darn it all.

There really is no perfect answer, is there?

A quick check of the calendar reveals that our triplets will be seven years old in less than two months. One might think I'd have the slightest clue of how to manage motherhood at this point in the game. Alas, no. At this rate, I'll still be debating and whining, "WHAT TO DO?! WHAT TO DO?!" as the children are pulling out of the driveway on their way to college.

SOB!! I can already see the day ....

Hopefully, their ears will be clear and their hearing will still be fully intact.

ninth

My mother, who happens to be the ninth child in her family, is on a mission to buy our children a pet.



Years before I was born, my family had several dogs and a pony. But within five years of my arrival on the scene, we were completely pet-free. Not unlike my own children, when I was a child, I was often begging my mother for a dog or cat or pony or anything alive.

My mother would always tell me NO. Dogs and ponies were too much work and we didn't have the space and cats freaked her out. Quite frankly, the chances were better that my mother would sprout wings and fly than bring a pet in to our family. So I suppressed my longing until I was in my 20's at which point I quickly adopted two cats and two dogs.

(To this day, I'm still in want of a tiny equine.)

Fast forward 30 years, my mother has promised our children that she is going to buy them a pet for their birthday. Funny how that works. Mom would never buy her own child a pet, but she is incredibly excited to buy her grandchildren a pet? Surely this change of heart has nothing to do with the fact that it won't actually live with her. So in response to my mother's generosity, we told her that we'd love to come visit our new pet at HER HOUSE all the time.



Granted, Charlie and I have recently entertained rescuing a dog, but ... the memories of Monty and Molly are still so fresh in our mind and we're hesitant to bring an animal in to our family unless we are absolutely positively confident in our ability to give it the love and attention it deserves. Also? We're really not so keen on cleaning up after another being when the four beings under our care tend to make the largest disasters imaginable on a daily basis.

But the chances are, we will succumb. Because the children desperately want a pet and they're in cahoots with my mother who is very convincing and really wants to see her grandchildren enjoy her gifts, while she is able. Seeing as my roots are in Catholicism, the guilt? It is great.



In preparation for this pet that my mother is going to get for our children, she has been taking them to visit dog parks and the local animal shelter. To see the looks of excitement that dance about our children's faces ... you'd think that their beloved grandmother took them in to a room full of adorable squishy puppies and kittens and said, "TAKE YOUR PICK!"



Ultimately... it makes me genuinely happy to see that my wonderful mother brings our children as much joy as they bring to her. They have a grand relationship, indeed.

eighth

So, here's the scoop.

I had intended to update my blog every day during the month of August and while that doesn't seem like an overly daunting task, these days it is. Not because I lack things to write about but because my doctor has put me on a medication that completely knocks me out at night, so I lack the ability to sit and type without drooling all over the keyboard.

That being said, if I had stuck to my goal of updating my blog every day, today would be the eighth day. Hence the title of this post. Clever, no? My next trick will be to update my blog a total of 22 times between now and next Wednesday.

Oh wait! There are 31 days in August, aren't there?

Okay. Make it 23 times.

(Surely, I'll need a new keyboard by the time it's over.)

Sticking with the concept of EIGHT, I'm posting an eight word sentence that is most fitting for the situation today in Virginia: I Feel The Earth Move Under My Feet.

As in, the earth was moving from a magnitude 5.8 earthquake that totally rocked our house and had the whole family running outside (with a partially clad poop smeared child under my arm) thinking that a gas line was about to explode.

Gas line because earthquakes that SHAKE structures and nearly cause mirrors to fall off walls ... that kind of thing doesn't happen around these parts. Right?

Having lived in California for 20 years, I've been though several earthquakes and as a geologist, I'm always fascinated by them. But today's situation was unlike any California earthquake I'd ever experienced. Today, while the house was rumbling and I was re-thinking our decision to buy an all brick home ... the ground outside seemed completely still. Had this been a California earthquake, I could just imagine that the earth would be rolling like waves on the ocean.

I might have continued to believe this was some kind of freak isolated shaking occurrence if not for the neighbors who were spilling out of their homes on to their front yards, as the windows in their homes looked like they were about to pop out. Within minutes, our telephone was ringing off the hook with friends and family calling from around the country who wanted to know if we were OK because apparently the Pentagon had been evacuated.

For the record: we're fine, our sturdy brick house is fine and although one of our children screamed out of terror, the other three squealed with joy.

Can we do that AGAIN?

No I'm sorry, kids. But just wait! Mother Nature's sending a hurricane our way NEXT!

In other earth shaking news, yesterday was my first day back to work after 10 weeks.

For the next two weeks, I'll be working part-time as I transition back in to a full-time routine. To be perfectly honest (which I probably shouldn't be, it's a major flaw I have) the thought of going back to full-time fills me with dread. As much as I enjoy the work that I do and the people that I work with ... I really don't believe that I can (or should) go back to the way things were. Years ago, I could have done it and would have thrived. But now that I'm the mother of small children, the game has changed. And despite my best efforts, very soon I know that I'll be sucked in to the crazy work hours and unbearable stress and that damn near killed me once.

And once was more than enough.

Besides, today when I walked in the front door from my four-hour stint away ... less than 10 seconds before the big EQ ... I was greeted by our sweet children. Their father was in the midst of throwing in a load of laundry downstairs and was absentee for a whole five minutes.

In that time...

William had ambushed my make-up drawer and had painted on his forehead a huge Harry Potter scar with my long-wear lipstick that is unremovable even with mineral oil. His little brother was wearing his sister's pink leotard which was wrapped around his knees as he was shuffling towards me yelling, "HI PRINCESS MOMMY! THERE'S POOP! WIPE MY BUM!" And the girls had gotten in to a scuffle over a Halloween costume catalogue that arrived in the mail and were ready to choke the life out of each other.

I'm quickly assessing who demanded my attention first when ... WHAMO ... earthquake.

Really. If I'm going to collapse from the crazy, I'd much prefer to do it at home.

seventh

Seventh...

I'm the seventh child in a family of seven children, born to a woman with seven letters in her first name and last (maiden) name and whose birthday is on the seventh day of the seventh month. It should come as no surprise that my mother's favorite number is seven.

Clearly since I was the seventh child, I often spouted off that I was my mother's favorite. It is quite possibly for that reason, my siblings would retaliate by telling me that I was left in a clothes basket on the doorstep and I wasn't biologically connected to the family.

Their trickery worked.

Until I started to look like them.

As if I required more evidence that I am indeed part of this family, I now have it in the form of medical similarities. Auto-immune issues which have long afflicted the older people in my family, are now afflicting me. Funny enough, over the past few years, I've noticed that there have been some quirky things happening with my body, but I just attributed those things to ... well, I never really thought much about it.

Too! many! other! things! going! on!

My return to work on August 1 was delayed because I could hardly move on August 1.

My second attempt at a return to work is today.

In preparation for a re-entry to the "real world" I sat outside in order to get a little Vitamin D and "color" on my face since I very much resemble a zombie. After a mere 30 minutes in the sun (with SPF 50 coating every exposed inch except my scalp), I broke out from head to toe in hives. From what I can tell (i.e., furiously researching the symptoms on Google), this allergic reaction to the sun might be an effect of the Prednisone that is still lingering in my system, four weeks after stopping those cute little devil pills.

My research has yielded that head to toe hives aren't the only Prednisone side effect I've experienced. When I was on a high dosage, I had crazy energy that found me ripping the entire garage apart and cleaning every corner in the house. At 2 AM. As I tapered off the medication, my mood swings were ... erratic and colorful. Like a tornado whispering across a plain.

Then there was the mind-numbing fatigue and over the past few weeks, I've packed on at least 10 pounds and have developed an outrageous case of hirsutism. Luckily, I haven't yet sprouted a beard, but I do have nose hairs so long you could braid them. Of course my eye sight isn't what it used to be, so it wasn't actually me that recognized my cosmetological nightmare. It was my children, with their eagle eyes that excitedly announced that it looked like Rapunzel had taken up residence and was throwing her hair out one of my nostrils.

I recently read that the life span of a human in the wild is 35 years old. Thanks to nutrition and modern medicine, I've surpassed a wild human's life expectancy by five years. But because the chassis of the modern human and ancestral human are approximately the same, you can only outwit Nature for so long. To draw an analogy with a car, once upon a time, not so long ago, I felt like a hot Mustang. Alas, these days, the deteriorating eye sight, memory lapses, dental complications, emotional instability, and intestinal malaise make me feel instead like a nice round AMC Gremlin.

With outrageously long nasal hair.

sixth

Seventeen years ago today ...



Charlie and I tied the knot.

Seems impossible to believe that it's been SEVENTEEN YEARS. Gosh, I was eighteen when I graduated from high school and I thought that I was so wise to the ways of the world. And now, we've been married nearly that same amount of time. It's really unfathomable just how fast the time goes ... especially when you're having fun.

After 17 years, I'm convinced that the recipe for a happy marriage is kindness, respect and affection. And the secret ingredient is most definitely laughter coupled with the ability to ignore a person's inability to (insert quirk here) e.g., affix a role of toilet paper to a dispenser.

MG, thank you for inspiring me and for making life so awesome.

Every day with you is truly better than the day before.

fifth

Every so often, it'll happen that someone asks how many children we have.



And whenever I proudly say "Four!" the thought always crosses my mind that we almost had five. And I'm sure it seems ridiculous to some that I still contemplate this considering my pregnancy didn't continue past the first trimester. But a year later, I do still think about it.

There's a saying that you can't lose something that you never had. But I did have a sign on a test and for several weeks, I had nausea and food aversions. I had a doctor's appointment lined up for when I was supposed to go have an ultrasound performed. But most of all, I had a dream of what that child would be like and how they would merge in to our family. And the truth is, that was lost when I lost the pregnancy.

And it hurt.

Much.

Aside from the health issues and sometimes overwhelming feelings of uncertainty, this has been a wonderfully fantastic year. We've visited with a large number of family and have made several good friendships with neighbors. We've traveled around the area and know all the best Farmer's Markets. Our children are healthy and happy and growing like weeds. Life is good and a large part of the reason I'm enjoying life so much is (undoubtedly) because our kids are at an awesome age where we can do things as a family. We've passed the "baby stage" with our children and honestly? From this vantage point, I don't know if I have the stamina to go back and do it all over, again.

Tomorrow is Charlie and my wedding anniversary.

(Mine and Charlie's?)

(Charlie's and I's?)

(I should probably learn proper grammar if I'm going to keep up with a public blog).

To celebrate the occasion, we took the children out to a restaurant for dinner. Now William, it seems, has been cursed with a TB or "tiny bladder" because whenever he consumes fluids, the child will use the restroom and within five minutes, he'll need to go again. So tonight when he asked to use the restroom for the fifth time in 60 minutes, I stood up to take him.

As we walked in to the restroom, I noticed that a positively stunning 50-something year old woman was walking in, with us. She was perfectly tanned and toned and was sporting a short white dress. William was in the midst of doing the, "I'M GOING TO SPRING A LEAK EVERYWHERE" dance when the lovely woman said with a smile to my son, "It looks like you've got to go!"

Now, I'm not sure what exactly provoked him to do this, but he replied, "I sure DO have to go! Really, really, really bad!" Then he added, "Hey! WANNA RACE?""

Maybe he thought she had said Yes! (and heck, maybe she did and I need to be fitted for a hearing aid) because he rushed in to a stall, closed the door and began the evacuation process. The woman, meanwhile, walked in to the stall next to him and within a few seconds, my son was shouting beneath the partition, "WOW, you really had to go, too! It sounds like a GARDEN HOSE over there!"

Please know that if I'd been IN the stall with my young son, I would have put both hands over his mouth and muffled all sound. But because I was OUTSIDE the stall, the rest is a little fuzzy because I might have passed out. When I came to, lovely woman in the white dress was washing her hands at the sink and William was conceding that she won, fair and square.

If things had turned out differently, our fifth child would now be eight months old. I imagine that they (he? she?) would have brown hair and blue eyes and all of us would be completely in love. I also imagine that our older children would be huge helpers and although two of the four still require help wiping their own bums, they'd excel at changing a diaper.

In my opinion, everything happens for a reason. I may not understand what the reasons are, but I'm comfortable with the knowledge that it simply wasn't meant to be for us to have a baby last December. And considering I'm 40 and Charlie is knocking on the door of 45, I have begun to develop a warm contentment with our family, JUST THE WAY IT IS. But I must admit, I also think about the infinite joy that our children bring to life and how much fun it would be to have another little one in the mix that randomly proposes peeing races to absolute strangers.

It's difficult to say whether our children keep us young, or are accelerating our free-fall in to senility.

fourth

Fourth born ...

You are the baby in our family.

And you know it.

Over the past year, I've really worried about your developmental progress and as a result, we've had you evaluated by numerous resources. Every single one of the professionals that we've spoken to have reassured us that you are developing perfectly fine. But all of the professionals have also agreed that the challenge(s) we face with you surround discipline. Your father and I work very hard to ensure that we are disciplining you as fairly and consistently as we do your siblings, but the fact is ... you're just a higher-maintenance chap.

Recently, I was watching a video clip that I had filmed of your siblings when they were your age and quite frankly, I was stunned. Because my mind is slipping and I don't exactly recall what your siblings could do when they were four-years-old and you're not often around other four-year-old children, I don't have anyone to "gauge" you against. But as I watched your brother and sister sing, "God Bless America" (from the mountains, to the fairies...) and request cake in complete sentences, I realized that with you, there is a definite gap.

Your behavior at four, is much like your siblings' behavior at two and a half.

And at this age, that's a BIG difference.

You talk. But you don't exactly carry on conversations. You are unable (or unwilling) to clearly articulate a story or tell me what was your happiest moment in a day. Whenever I query you about colors, you'll tell me that a lemon is red and an orange is blue. When I sit down to read you a book about colors or numbers - or anything remotely academic - you'll bore almost instantly. One day, I was very frustrated and made you sit down and sort blocks by color. Only when you could see that I was taking this very seriously, did you demonstrate the slightest hint of cooperation.

So it makes me wonder ... do you really struggle with these concepts, or do you like the attention that comes from being the baby? One of the psychologists that we spoke to said that because of the age difference between you and your siblings, and the fact that they are more advanced than you, you've recognized that you can't exactly keep up with them, so you revert to your own game: a behavioral strategy that draws you the most attention.

It's your survival mechanism.

A few weeks ago, it dawned on me that you've never had your own play date. All of the play dates that you've participated in have been held for your siblings, who have been routinely getting together with similarly aged children since they were four-months-old. From the time you were a tiny baby, you'd be brought along to these play dates, and as you grew - the only way that you could "participate" with the kids, would be to chase them. So you'd run after them, and they'd run away, and everyone would be laughing. Except for me.

These days, whenever we get together with other children, I will have a pep talk beforehand with your siblings. And during that pep talk, I'll ask how we can play together that will be kind and polite and make everyone feel involved. And the resounding answer is always, "Don't run away from each other!" But they inevitably forget and do exactly that which I've warned them against because no one remembers anything that I say.

You are very bright. You were potty trained before you were two and are although you only turned four a month ago, you are learning to swim very well without the use of a life jacket. Of course, that means your father and I can't take our eyes off you for a second when you're in or near the water, but we always believed blinking was overrated. Additionally, you'll be starting a new preschool in the fall and are so excited, you ask about it, daily. I'm excited that someone from Child Find will be working with you closely, to continue assessment of a potential behavioral issue and how we can best address and resolve.

You are a very finicky eater. If not for oranges, bananas, apples and strawberries - you would eat absolutely no produce. (Except for the handfuls of fresh spinach that your father stealthily adds to your fruit smoothies.) You enjoy only strawberry yogurt and sandwiches with the crust cut off. Once upon a time - a long time ago, you also loved edamame. But now, you love edamame so you can shoot it out of your mouth.

Forewarning: our entire family will soon be embracing a whole new philosophy surrounding food, so your options for dinner will soon consist of cucumbers.

Or tomatoes.

Your obsession with Buzz Lightyear has been replaced with an obsession for Superman and early every morning, when the rest of the house is still sleeping, you'll tip toe in to our room and whisper in my face, "Hi Sweetheart. Superman is here." Then, you'll climb in to bed with your father and I and curl up next to me for another hour of sleep. It's always difficult to fall back to sleep once you're in bed kicking the curds and whey out of me, so my mind wanders as I watch you doze. Sometimes I contemplate that we need to work harder to treat you like a big boy. But that contemplation is usually defeated by the acknowledgement of passing time.

All too soon, you'll be all grown up and miraculously, 99.999% of the worries that I've had will resolve on their own. So I try not to worry about anything and instead focus on the fact that you actually ARE my baby. You love to be held and cuddle and why would I want for that awesomeness to end a moment sooner than it undoubtedly will?

You are the apple of my eye.

And not a day goes by when I don't think about how blessed I am to have you.

third

Third born ...

You are truly my heart's delight. You are sweet and helpful and from the time you were a tiny baby, you have always had the calmest disposition of your siblings. With that calm disposition comes an overwhelming disinterest in anything other than what your focus is upon. Usually, your focus is upon playing with stuffed animals or plastic figurines. So as I'm running around the house, looking for the shoes that you always seem to lose, you are distracted and oblivious to my efforts ON YOUR BEHALF. Not long ago, I decided to just send you out, without your shoes as a lesson to keep better track of your own things and much to my dismay you exclaimed, "Wow, that sounds great! Thanks MOM!"

Since that tactic so royally backfired, I now start the process of getting you ready a day before we have to be anywhere. I recently observed that it took you 25 minutes to put on a single sock. It might have taken even longer if I hadn't finally snapped, "FOR PETE'S SAKE. WILL YOU FOCUS AND PULL ON THAT SOCK?! IT'S A SOCK!" and then I stood over you, breathing fire while you mumbled under your breath, "Geez. I think SOMEONE woke up on the wrong side of the bed..."

You have such a loving heart that you'll hug nearly everyone you meet. I've been trying to stem this behavior because, take for instance the woman who came by to measure our closets? Even though the gesture appeared to be appreciated, she isn't necessarily someone that we need to tightly embrace.

Aside from your random shows of affection, you are actually the most introverted child in our family. You don't run around mingling with all the children on a playground; instead you will often stick to yourself. You love to have quiet time where you sit in your room, flipping through stacks upon stacks of books. And although you don't really seek out friends, you are often sought out. Because of your introverted personality, it surprises me that you want to be a rockstar when you grow up. You also want to be a veterinarian and a mother. You love babies and animals and have been begging for a new baby AND a pet daily since, I can't even remember when. I've promised you that our family will adopt a dog as soon as you can put on your socks and shoes in under 10 minutes. At the rate you've been going, I suspect we've got at least another few years.

Last summer, you pleaded to have your ears pierced and my mother finally convinced me to let you do it, by reminding me that I had my ears pierced when I was five. I tried to talk you out of it by telling you the story of how my ears were pierced at home by my oldest sister Marylou who held an ice cube to my tender earlobe and then JABBED a needle through it. First one side and then the other (a month later when I was sleeping).

You paid me no mind. Instead, while your sister stood shaking at the trauma you were about to endure, you climbed in to the chair and smiled brightly. Someone carefully colored black dots on each of your lobes, and then two piercing technicians stood on either side of you and simultaneously shot little green flower studs in to your soft baby ears. Oh, how you loved those pierced ears and would show them off to everyone you met!

For a grand total of twelve weeks, you took such pride in those "real" earrings and exercised great care to twist them everyday and make sure I cleaned the backs, every night. And then came the fateful day when my mother sent you a box full of NEW earrings. You were so anxious to try on a pair of ladybug studs, that we removed your little green flower studs and were shocked to realize that one ear was badly infected and the hole closed before we could put in a ladybug on the second ear. Your holes are now totally closed as has any further discussion about earrings. While you had the courage to go through the piercing once, I think it will be quite some time before you summon the courage, again.

Then again, you might be ready next week.

You are growing up so fast both mentally and physically.

You've lost (and swallowed) three teeth, while your siblings have lost none. And although you are the youngest of the trio, you are currently five inches taller than your brother and almost six inches taller than your sister. Moreover, you have at least two inches on any child in your kindergarten class. While your sister is still squeezing in to a bathing suit that she wore when she was three, you are comfortably in a size 10. In recent weeks, you've been raiding my closet for clothes to wear and have found a few shirts that you've stealthily acquired as your own. For a while, your accelerated growth had me concerned and I had you screened by a series of specialists. But all of them have thankfully concluded that it's simply genetics and you are perfectly healthy. And I'm perfectly thrilled that I no longer have to buy two clothes in the same size for girls. Whatever you outgrow, your sister will grow in to within a few years.

Whereas once upon a time, the sight of three virtually identical sized children would generate considerable interest whenever we ventured outside of the house, it very rarely happens that people recognize the three of you as triplets, anymore. When the topic does come up, it always happens that someone will remark, "They certainly don't LOOK like triplets. She is so much bigger than the other two!" It pains me, because I know that you have begun to feel self conscious about your size. Bigger. Larger. In our society, those are such derogatory words to describe a girl. So I have really tried to emphasize to everyone, but especially to you, that you are so lucky to be graced with height. You are beautifully tall and very soon, you will be towering over me and helping your vertically challenged mother retrieve all the things on shelves that she has no hope of grasping without a step stool and tongs.

When you were a baby, there was hardly any hair on your head. Now, you have the thickest most glorious hair I've ever seen. It is dark brown with streaks of auburn and the only thing more shocking to me than your gorgeous locks is the fact that you want to dye it all blonde.

(I assume you get this from your dad?)

For as long as I can remember, you prefer my company over any other. While your siblings will always jump at the opportunity to accompany your father on an errand, you always prefer to stick with me and this makes me genuinely happy because I treasure our time together. Usually, we spend the time giving ourselves pedicures and brushing each other's hair and I'm filled with delight to be your mom. More and more, I see that you have a remarkable resemblance to my side of the family. The shape of your face and nose, the freckles that are dappled across your sweet cheeks and your gorgeous kaleidoscope blue eyes that have literally stopped people in their tracks. Of course, those beautiful eyes have also sent me straight over the edge when you roll them at me, like I might expect ... if you were sixteen.

(It is my most heartfelt wish that we enjoy each other as much then, as we do now.)

Because you are growing so fast, you have an insatiable appetite and are especially smitten with carbohydrates. For Mother's Day this year, you presented me with a handmade card that read, "Dear Mom, I love you more than bread." As your mother, I know that roughly equates to you loving me more than anything in the universe.

The feeling is mutual, my love.

The feeling is most definitely mutual.

second

Second born ...

Whenever I tell you how special you are to me, you melt in to a puddle of love. You are wise beyond your years and have the most compassionate and caring heart ... except for when you don't. God help me, you really do have the propensity to drive me cRaZy. The nagging, teasing, whining, and general button-pushing has escalated and sometimes I wonder if I should wear the garb of the referee that I've morphed in to, or just carry a brick around so I can smack myself in the head.

(Note: I said MYSELF, not you.)

I know that a misbehaving child is a discouraged child. And I think that a large part of the reason you require so much focused attention is because you often feel like you need to compete with your siblings. You, more than anyone else, require one-on-one time. Whenever your father or I go off to the store, you are always the first (and sometimes only) one to volunteer to tag along. Not only do you thrive on this time alone, but your reserves are always replenished and you are an absolute pleasure to be around for at least an hour or two after rejoining the herd.

You have an amazing memory and can recall some of the earliest times in your life with incredible attention to detail. Just today you asked, "Do you remember when we visited our cousins and they gave us fresh beans from their garden?" After some careful thought, I replied, "No, I don't remember that ... when was it?" To which you responded, "Come on! You have to remember! You had on a yellow shirt and I was two!"

Hopefully, you won't so easily recall all the times I've said, aloud, that I need to smack myself in the head with a brick. Or, at a minimum, those memories will be overshadowed with the memories of me hugging you tightly and telling you how thankful I am that you are in my life.

You have an adorable little voice that I think is positively perfect, but because one day you'll need to be able to properly pronunciate R and L, you've been working with a speech therapist for the past two years. More than your siblings, you struggle with reading and writing, but you have an artistic streak that is unparalleled. A few weeks ago, you spotted a dress maker's bodice and have been asking for it, nearly every day, since. Considering I can barely sew on a button, my mother seriously believes that you are the incarnation of your Grandmother Jeanne, who was an accomplished artist and seamstress.

You've concocted plots and illustrated countless books. Most recently, you stapled several sheets of paper together and painstakingly illustrated 40 pages of a New Testament Bible for your Compassion friend, Charity, in Uganda. You are at an age of asking COUNTLESS questions. Where does plastic come from? How do you make water? Why is grass green? Why are there so many cars on the road? What happens when you die?

Then there are the difficult questions that I struggle to answer ... questions like, "Why do you always hide chocolate from your children?"

I'm not sure if the correct answer is because I love you and want to save you from eating junk food. Or, if it's because I'm a stingy soul and don't want you ravaging my stash?

You are our best eater and will try anything. Although we always offer a wide assortment of healthy foods, it is because of you that I've come to realize that not all children have the same tastes and you can't force food upon a child, until they want it. You are our only child that will willfully eat vegetables. You'll devour salad and ethnic foods. You don't eat much, however, and can still fit in some of the clothes that you wore when you were three.

Sometimes, I think you have more energy than the three of your siblings, combined. I'll never forget seeing you on ultrasound, as you flipped around in utero kicking anything within proximity. You were the first to crawl, walk, run, climb and ride your bike without training wheels. I'm wracking my memory and cannot ever recall a time that you've told me, "I'm done playing. I need a break." As for me, I need a break just from WATCHING you run around.

You skip and jump and twirl and practice cartwheels. It therefore, makes sense that you are always the first to crash out, usually less than 10 seconds after you put your head on your pillow. And if anyone is going to sleep in in the morning, it's almost always you. After some deep thought, I've concluded that the reason you are such a good sleeper is because of Bunny. The absolutely wonderful stuffed animal Bunny that you received as a gift when you were a tiny baby and have been fiercely attached to, ever since. Whenever Bunny is in your hand, your left thumb is in your mouth. And as a former thumb sucker, myself, I know firsthand (pardon the pun) that thumb sucking has an incredibly cathartic and sleep inducing effect.

Two weeks ago, you had a pediatric dentist appointment and the dentist told you that when you turn seven years old, you must stop sucking your thumb. By the time you left the office, your eyes were filled with tears at the thought of giving up something that you love so much. So I bent down and whispered in your ear that I sucked my thumb until I was 13 and you don't have to give up your thumb sucking until you are good and ready. You gave me a grateful kiss on the cheek and said, "Thanks Mom. You're the BEST. How do you know everything?"

I then walked in to my own dentist appointment where I was informed that although I was in braces for four long years as a teenager, I still have a substantial overbite that is putting tremendous pressure on my (cracked) back molars and I should really consider braces AGAIN if I have any intention of keeping my teeth. Newsflash: If you suck your thumb until you are 13, there's a good chance you will be in braces when you are 40. ALTHOUGH, with all the fancy orthodontistry these days, maybe they can match the metallic braces to the color of our minivan and hook an iPod up to my headgear?

Okay. So, maybe I don't know everything.

But I do know that you are an absolute gift and I love you an infinitesimal amount more than I ever loved my thumb.

first

First born ...

We call you the Yogurt Monster. Whenever we serve yogurt with a meal, after everyone has finished eating, you'll inconspicuously roam around the table with your spoon in hand and gobble up whatever yogurt remains on plates. Thankfully, your culinary repertoire also includes cantaloupe, strawberries, apples, oranges, watermelon, bananas, spaghetti without any sauce (only butter and a tiny pinch of salt), tacos (with only cheese) and pizza (lacking anything green). You also enjoy pancakes, waffles and ice cream. You love movies, but abhor watching them in a theatre because they are much too scary on the big screen. You also love with a passion all things science (most notably dinosaurs), super heroes, Forest, your sisters and books.

You have the shortest temper fuse and will vacillate between declaring, "THIS IS THE GREATEST DAY EVER!" to "THIS IS THE WORST DAY OF MY LIFE!" over a span of two minutes if something doesn't go your way. Despite that, you are thoughtful and kind and extremely intelligent. Whenever you meet someone new, you strive to firmly shake their hand - look them in the eye - and say, "How do you do?!" Sometimes, you'll struggle behind heavy doors whenever we enter stores because it is so important that you hold them open for the person behind you. When we were on a bus a few months ago, my heart soared when you stood up and offered your seat to an elderly woman that climbed on board.

Academically, you are the variety of child I most definitely was not ... because you are one of those children that just absorb knowledge. You tested out of kindergarten midway through the year and I suspect that by the time you're eight, you'll have eclipsed me in your general understanding of the world and all things electronic. You are brave and daring and will jump off the highest dive at the community pool. However, you will not venture outside alone because you are terribly afraid someone is going to steal you. When you tossed a coin in to a fountain last month, you confided in me that you made two wishes. Your first wish was to meet Zesus (a.k.a: Jesus) and show him your polite manners. Your second wish was to spend an afternoon home, alone, with me. Your second wish was happily granted.

We made muffins and built an elaborate castle out of Legos, restaurant out of wooden blocks and restroom out of magnetic tiles. Because, in your words, "Kings and Queens get hungry too and nature calls for every one!"

Although you have started the "goofy" stage where you tend to act like an absolute clown whenever we're in public, you have a very gentle heart. It's evident every time younger children come around and I see that you take extreme care to share your toys and let them go first. Now, if you could only extend that same love and compassion to your little brother, it would be great. There are moments when I see how well you play together and my heart soars, but those moments are usually short-lived. I know it's not always easy having a living, breathing shadow in the house who likes to ambush all of your clothing and toys and practice his Kung Fu on you, but at a minimum, I'd really appreciate it if you could stop pretending like he is the varmint in whack-a-mole and your job is to annihilate him.

You are the light of my life.

I love you to the moon and back.

over yonder

Has it ever happened to you where you've totally lost track of time?

One day, you're fully engaged in a routine and then suddenly, you're not.

And the next thing you know, you're sleeping a lot, wandering aimlessly around in your pajamas until noon, eating things like carrots and hummus for dinner and watching an obscene number of Netflix movies? And before too long, you don't know what day of the week or month it is and without serious consideration, you might even flub up what year it is?

That's me.

I've been residing in a blissful mental fog. If not for the nagging exhaustion, dizzying spells and inability to do more than tie my shoes without taking a siesta, I'd say that my detour in to la-la land has been a nice venture. Tonight, just as I was about to crash out after a grueling day of ... um, can't rightly remember ... Charlie suggested that I post an update to my blog because several people have sent him e-mails asking what's happened to me.

How incredibly nice is that?

Thank you so much, all you wonderfully kind people!

In response to your inquiry, I really wish I knew what's happened to me.

In posting this update tonight, I realized it's been two weeks since I've even turned my computer on. Which also happens to be approximately the same time I stopped taking any steroids. My doctors (I'm currently up to three) are still running a magnitude of tests because as of yet, nothing has been ruled out. Except male pattern baldness and Addison's.

Although, Addison's not entirely completely because some of the test results are a little iffy and will be retaken over the next few weeks. Along with a few other tests, but hopefully by then things will have cleared up and I'll be training for my next triathlon. (Or, at a minimum, I'll be able to eat an entire bowl of Cheerios without stopping to rest.)

In lieu of me continuing on indefinitely with this sluggish lifestyle, next week, I'm due to resume work after almost - who knows how many? - weeks off. When I saw doctor #1 this morning, (now yesterday ... er, Thursday, it's taken me two three days to write this) she told me that getting back in to some kind of schedule will do one of two things. Either it will accelerate my healing. Or, it will render me unconscious.

Should we start a betting pool?

In other news...

William recently met a little boy who moved to this area from Alabama. Within five minutes of their introduction, my son grabbed him by the hand and ran to me where he excitedly shouted, "Mom! This is my new friend. He speaks COWBOY language!" At that exact moment, I had no idea where this child was from or what my son was talking about. The little boy was just as puzzled as me when William prompted, "Please SAY something!"

He shot us both a confused expression before asking with a thick southern drawl, "Hey. How y'all doin'?"

William had a huge smile on his face when he stuck his thumbs in his belt loops and leaning back on his heels responded with an equally heavy southern drawl, "Well, I'm doing mighty fine. How you doin', Sheriff?"

Since I've lived a large portion of my life in what I consider the Deep South and have been known to spontaneously break in to a drawl whenever I think of grits or sip sweet iced tea, I feel like I've earned the right to laugh at this. So I did. And so did the boy's mother.

(Thankfully, even louder than me.)

So although my official diagnosis isn't yet in ... I think it's fair to say my funny bone definitely ain't broke. Now y'all come back now, ya hear?

I promise to do better staying in touch.

parenthood: it's even better than the pamphlet said it would be

This week:

One of our children dropped my beautiful Nikon camera on asphalt. They didn't tell me that this had happened. No, I discovered it when I picked the camera up to take a photo of a box turtle that was migrating across our back yard and the lens fell off. I tried to re-attach the lens, to no avail, and then noticed that the shutter had a convulsion whenever I tried to snap a photo. I was completely perplexed as to what might have happened, when the child that dropped the camera asked, "Mom, do you promise not to get angry if I tell you the truth?"

It was very hard to keep my promise. Especially when I found out that the estimated cost to repair the camera is $300.00.

This week:

One of our OTHER children was jumping on our bed. This is a no-no, because who is familiar with what happens to little monkeys jumping on the bed? Alas, I didn't know that they were jumping on the bed - because try as I might, there may be a 60-second window of time during the course of the day when my eyes are not fixated UPON them. And wouldn't you know, our children capitalize upon that brief supervisory reprieve to swing like Tarzan on the pull-chain of the newly installed ceiling fan.

AS IT TURNS OUT, a small chain doesn't adequately support 45 pounds worth of child. So, the chain snapped and effectively broke the light component of the fan. Cost to repair the newly installed ceiling fan? $100.00 plus at least an hour, possibly two, of Charlie's time.

Who am I kidding?

It will take at least four hours by the time he picks up the part, a month later realizes it's the wrong part, gets the correct part, loses the correct part and OK, so maybe next year at this time, we'll once again have a fully functional light again.

Of course, if *I* took the incentive to learn how to do this type of repair work myself, we'd need to add two years to the estimated time of completion; and then approximately $200.00 to cover the cost of a handyman, because I have NO idea what I'm doing.

This week:

I noticed that the newly installed closet door in the boys' room wouldn't close properly. Upon closer investigation, I recognized that the entire track was bent. WHAT HAPPENED HERE? I asked, aloud. Charlie came running to inspect and as he did, our son very sheepishly admitted that he was practicing his karate kicks.

ON HIS BRAND NEW CLOSET DOOR.

Estimated cost to repair?

I'll know tomorrow when we receive the quote. But I fully expect there will be at least three significant figures; BEFORE the decimal.

This week:

One of my favorite "recovery" past-times has become putting together puzzles and then, having them framed. As a result of this new hobby, our basement is slowly being transformed in to a gallery of various puzzles. This past weekend, I opened a 1,000-piece puzzle of historic Virginia and began to put it together, with the help of our older children, while seated around our dining room table. It was idyllic.

After spending approximately 20 collective hours working on this puzzle, yesterday, when we had completed at least 900 pieces and were roughly 100 pieces from being finished, I took a very short break to help one of our children blow dry their recently washed hair.

As I stood, waving a blow dryer, my husband appeared in the doorway and said, "Jen, promise me you won't freak out." After I promised 10 times (he obviously didn't believe me), he proceeded to tell me that our youngest son had decided to move our almost-completed 1,000 piece puzzle to 1,000 individual pieces ... ALL OVER THE FLOOR.

Freaking out had been removed from the menu. So as I stood with steam coming OUT OF MY EARS, our older children demonstrated their proficiency with role reversal when they tried to console me by saying, "Mom, it's OK! We'll totally help and just think about how FAST we can put it together, the second time!"

This week:

Each of our children have brought a flower that they had carefully selected especially for me. "Flower" might be too strong of a word because sometimes, what they present - with loving eyes and hands - is no more than a dandelion or less colorful weed.

But quite frankly, it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

Our son picked me a flower when he was out for a walk with his father, at least a mile from our house. Despite the distance that he had to travel, he protected that flower with all of his might until he could get home and give it to me, with the most love and adoration I've ever witnessed. As he did so he said, "Mom, you are the best thing to ever happen to me."

You know, it's a very curious thing, because whatever our children have done ... or dare I say, will do ... is immediately forgiven after such a thoughtful gesture.

May I always remember this sweetness...

May I also always remember that children, despite their craze-inducing ways, are incredibly awesome little spirits. More and more, I am convinced that a child's ability to melt hearts is not only what ensures their survival but is also what endears a parent to them for life.

I'd always heard that there's a cost for raising children. Some costs - like shoes, clothing and food - are expected. But there are other costs: the unexpected costs of a new Nikon camera, ceiling fan, closet door, insert ANY item here ... and the hours upon hours of time spent creating, building or repairing. But in return, we are given something, in surplus, that money could never buy.

Being a parent is truly the best thing to ever happen to me.

It's very important our children always know that.

it's a hard knock life

Not long ago, our children watched the movie Annie.

Shortly thereafter, we met a family that had two daughters. The older daughter was biological, their younger daughter had been adopted from China. This family has done a lot of charitable work in the community and it clearly showed in their children. The girls were gentle and compassionate, and although they were a few years older than our children, they were extremely kind with our "little" kids.

At one point, I overheard one of our children ask the girls how they knew each other. And when I heard them simultaneously respond, "We're sisters!" I could see the wheels start spinning in my children's heads.

Now, I should interject here that we know a lot of people (more than 12) that have added to their families through adoption and our children really seem(ed) to understand the concept. But following this exchange, I was a bit worried because six-year-olds have just the right combination of overwhelming curiosity, excellent verbal skills and immature social graces.

And, they tend to be verrry unpredictable.

A year or so ago, when we were in the grocery store and one of the kids pointed at the man who was obviously not pregnant and inquired, "Do you have a baby in your tummy?" I could divert the question by cheerfully saying, "That's right, love! We have a BABY at HOME who likes to sleep on their TUMMY!" or any number of combinations wherein I could use the words "baby" and "tummy" in some totally irrelevant, but hopefully, distracting context. Then, I'd pass the kids a pack of raisins and all their attention would be laser-beam focused on opening the box.

These days, when I try to divert an awkward question, our children will revisit the topic despite my desperate prayers, eyes bugging out of my head, lip puckering and imaginary throat cutting gestures that I'll make with my hand.

If I try to do some fancy diversion tactic in this day and age, the kids (particularly the girls) will shoot me an exasperated look (roll eyes, lip sneer) and say, "No, Mom. I didn't say that WE have a BABY at HOME. I'm asking if THAT PERSON HAS A BABY IN THEIR TUMMY!"

I didn't think that my children's smack talking would start until they were 12. And it really doesn't seem fair since they've only been potty trained for what? Three years?? How and why did they get so fresh wise, so fast?

Is this the influence of public school?!

So that's usually when I'll just look at my child with a confused expression and jokingly say, "Oh Dear. Why are you calling me Mommy? Do I look like your Mommy? You poor thing. You must be lost..."

Sure enough, my children were not placated with the response that these two girls were sisters. So one of my daughters fired the follow-up question, "How can you possibly be SISTERS? You two don't MATCH!"

(I saw that one coming.)

(I really did.)

The older daughter very sweetly responded, "We adopted my sister from a country called China. That's why she and I don't look alike!" I could see the wheels shift in to overdrive and seconds later, my daughter asked the follow-up question, "So, does it make you sad that your mother and father didn't love you and gave you away?"

Whoa!

I DID NOT SEE THAT ONE COMING.

For a brief moment, I thought that maybe I was asleep, having a nightmare because our kids know better than to ask a question like that. Right??

Then I realized, nope. I'm awake and my six-and-a-half-year-old just asked the most insensitive question to a sweet 12-year old girl. When feelings aren't being hurt, I try not to meddle and let the kids sort things out, themselves. But my heart dropped to my feet as I heard the adopted girl quietly say, "No, I don't think that's it at all..."

Unaware that I had been eavesdropping, my girls were surprised when I swooped out of nowhere and said, "Actually, her mother and father love her so much that they made a very difficult decision to give her to a family that will hopefully, give her a better life. It's the hardest thing in the world to give your sweet baby up for adoption, but her parents must have known that their baby needed more than they could provide." Then I added, "Just think about how lucky she is to have two families that love and care for her so greatly!"

The adopted girl smiled brightly.

Our children smiled brightly.

My heart smiled brightly.

Everything was good.

Fast forward to last night when the girls were in the process of cleaning their rooms. I should probably note that our definition of "cleaning" is inconsistent. In my vocabulary, it means picking things up and putting them away where they belong. In my children's vocabulary, it means standing on top of all the things that you need to put away while making funny faces in the mirror and acting like a monkey.

I'm telling the children that anything remaining on the floor will be bagged up and carted off to Goodwill ... and as one of my girls says, "Yes Miss Hannigan!" the other one rolls her eyes and says, "If you really loved us, you'd give us to a family that wouldn't make us clean our rooms."

Oh, they are SO cute.

I could just pinch them.

But I fight the urge and instead, embrace them both in a tight hug and say, "No way! It's because I love you with all my heart, that I'm teaching you the important responsibility of picking up after yourselves and contributing to our family household. Now don't forget to put away the zoo of stuffed animals you've stockpiled under your bed because next, you need to grab a broom and sweep the kitchen."

As they scowled at me, I gave them a wink and said, "Cheer up, sisters. The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow. MAYBE."

Sadly, they don't think I'm nearly as funny as I think I am.

his and hers

I almost titled this post, "Signs You're Growing Old." Shown below is Exhibit 1: Matching His and Hers Weekly Pill Cases.

It's so romantic and so sweet!

And so borderline geriatric.

Gosh, I just turned 40. I didn't think we'd need this apparatus for at least another 20 years. But between Charlie with his heart issues and me with my various issues, we've got a pharmaceutical smorgasbord across the two of us. We felt the need to invest in these handy-dandy little pill cases when we couldn't remember (for! the! life! of! us!) whether or not we took our wide-assortment of life-sustaining medication, earlier in the day.

I'm not entirely sure if he's kidding or not ... but Charlie's recently informed me he wants a phone, alarm clock and remote control with the JUMBO numbers. Maybe if he's extra good, he'll get those for Christmas.

Or, maybe Santa will just bring him some bifocals.

there will be t-shirts and coffee mugs

A few years ago, while I was out of town serving as an expert witness in a trial, Charlie decided to start his own business. It happened on a total whim. One of his former clients had called to ask if he could help them with a project and my husband thought, "Sure, why not?"

So in a span of about four hours, he set up an environmental consulting company.

At first, I was very skeptical. But over the past few years, he has developed an excellent rapport with his client. These days, he's involved on so many different projects ... I've lost count. Once every few months, he needs to travel on a business trip, but other than those times when he's out of town for three or four days at a time ... during an average week, he'll only put in 15 hours of work effort, usually between the hours of 8 and 11 PM.

The only thing that makes Charlie happier than the fascinating projects he's involved on, and his incredibly flexible work schedule, is the fact that next year, he's on track to make almost as much as me, the "primary breadwinner." Granted, he doesn't have to pay for medical benefits for our entire family, nor does he have a 401K ... but ...

He works 15 hours a week.

For the past few months and especially since my hospital visit, Charlie's been brainstorming different scenarios for our family. Because what if I can't go back to work? What if the long-term work that is available for me, is not conducive with say ... our family life and my mental or physical health?

So while I've wildly vacillated between keeping things status quo ~ or ~ moving to a farm in Montana ... Charlie's been trying to convince me that I need to throw in the towel on the big corporate world, and take the plunge to join his fledgling consulting company.

I've always been resistant to this idea. Because despite the pressures that I've faced with my current job, I truly enjoy the work that I do and I'm good at it. It's fun and exciting. The people are great, the company is great, the stability is great. And long-term, the benefits for our family can not be easily matched. The only thing that would make my job better is if I worked out of the house no more than twenty-four hours a week.

(That's very unlikely to happen.)

So perhaps in a few years, I'll give Charlie's proposal more thought.

In the meantime, when we recently met up with my sister, Eileen, Charlie floated the idea of her joining forces with him as well. You might recall, my sister Eileen is an environmental chemist and was the impetus for my pursuing a career in the environmental industry way back in 1986. With 10 years of consulting experience under my belt, plus an additional 10 years working on the "inside" ... coupled with Eileen's 20+ years of environmental chemistry experience, Charlie's convinced the three of us would dominate the environmental consulting world.

Moreover, my husband has done his homework and he knows that a lot of companies earmark a certain percentage of their work for "MWBE" or "Minority and Woman Business Enterprises" so if he put Eileen and I in the role of President and CEO, we could register as a "diversified supplier" and would undoubtedly (in his words) have a difficult time keeping up with all of the projects that would come flooding our way.

Several years ago, Eileen set up a very small private practice that she dubbed "Pillar Services." Charlie thinks that we should just rename her company to "Pillar Management Services." More aptly: PMS: A Woman-Owned Business. He said our tag line will be, "HIRE US, OR WE'LL BITE YOUR $%*# HEAD OFF!!"

It certainly has appeal. But assuming we do eventually pursue this path, that tag line might need to be softened up a little bit.

I'm thinking, "Please don't make me cry."

Here, have some chocolate!

the water taxi

When a two-person kayak ...

Takes on additional persons ...

A rope and the ability to improvise become necessary.

(It also helps to have very strong arms.)

the hero squad

The adrenal glands are located above the kidneys.

Their function is to work with the pituitary gland and the hypothalamus (within the brain) to produce various hormones. The hormones that are produced include cortisol, corticosterone and epinephrine (to name a few) which are all necessary to control the body's use of fats and carbohydrates; suppress inflammation and support the immune system; regulate blood chemistry, volume and pressure; and help a person cope with physical and emotional stress.

In other words: the hormones produced by the adrenal glands are critical for survival.

As I mentioned a few weeks ago, the normal range for cortisol is ~9 to 25 mcg/dl. During my hospital stay it was noted that mine were <1.

Ruh roh...

This variance is what prompted my consultation with an endocrinologist, two days ago. Her first question was why they checked my cortisol levels when I was in the hospital, because apparently - that's not a very common thing to do. Once I provided the intelligent response of "I dunno..." she deduced that they checked my levels based upon my extremely low blood pressure and the fact that a YOUNG (ahem) and healthy woman was in the hospital with a severe case of pneumonia in June.

Then she told me it was a good thing they did check my cortisol levels and put me on the appropriate medication because I very swiftly could have collapsed and died. I'd tossed that very thought around myself because I tend to do that, but something about hearing those actual words from the mouth of a professional shook me up a bit. Ya know?

She added that it's entirely possible that there was a laboratory error and my results were incorrect and the only way she can positively ascertain whether or not I have an adrenal insufficiency (a.k.a., hypoadrenalism; a.k.a., Addison's Disease) is if she completely taper off my Prednisone and check my cortisol levels again once my system has returned to "normal" approximately two weeks from now.

In the meantime, I asked if she would release me to work because I have GUILT that I've been out for four weeks and I miss some of the big projects that I was working on and I know that work misses me and did I mention GUILT? ... and my doctor said, "Absolutely not! Do you understand that you could have a life threatening condition if not properly diagnosed and treated?"

Oh. You're like really serious about that?

Maybe it's a defense mechanism that I have the attention span of a goldfish and tend to forget things almost as soon as they happen. Yes, I know that my doctor told me twice within five minutes how serious this is. Shudder.

Hey, those are nice shoes!

Are they comfortable?

As part of my "diagnosis" I'm completely weaning off my Prednisone while hoping that my low cortisol levels were indeed a lab error and not an indication that I have adrenal insufficiency that might throw me in to addisonian crisis without the proper medication. Charlie knows all the warning signs and has promised that if I wake up gasping, he won't sleep walk in to a wall, again. Sure, that's what he SAYS, but if I don't ever update my blog again, you can just assume he went back to sleep.

I'm kidding. OF COURSE.

I'm also trying my best to look at the bright side of life. So on that note, how awesome is it that this whole health "snafu" happened during summer?! The timing really is impeccable, SO, THANK YOU BODY for at least choosing to fail me when the kids are out of school and the weather is beautiful.

Also, it's really awesome that Henry's birthday was this past week and he received a whole box of assorted Super Hero costumes from Alex and Kathleen.

Best yet ... THEY FIT!

em & me

We had a special visit with a special someone this week.

FYI: In case there is any question, in the photo above, I'm the one on the LEFT. In the photo below, I'm the one on the RIGHT. Not only does it look like I've aged 20 years, but it appears I've developed the overbite of a (non makeup wearing) squirrel...

I'm happy to report that Emily is doing considerably better, although the road to recovery from a traumatic brain injury is uncertain and long. While we remain hopeful that she will be able to return to college in the fall, only time will tell.

Thank you, again, to everyone who sent along their thoughts, prayers and messages of support. They were passed to my sister and niece and helped to lift their spirits more than I can express. You are an amazing bunch and I'm very thankful that you are a part of our lives.

Now, does anyone know where I can hustle up some acorns?

... and then he was four

On July 4th, our little firecracker turned four-years-old.

It's hard to believe four years have gone past...

Then again, it feels like he's always been a part of my life.

He calls me Princess and Sweetheart.

Countless times throughout the day, he'll ask if he can marry me, kiss me, hug me and dance with me. He tells me that he loves me with all of his heart, and I tell him that I love him with all of my heart.

This drives his siblings crazy because doesn't he know, I'm ALREADY married? And also, how can I love Henry with all of my heart when there are FOUR kids in our family?

What about THEM?

"It's like lighting a candle," I tell the children. "When you take a candle that is burning brightly, you can light several candles, without losing any of the fire from the candle that started it all. That's exactly how it is with love. You can pass love around and always have more to share. And the best part is, the more love you share - the brighter life becomes."

Happy Birthday to our beautiful blue-eyed boy.

Four years later, you still take my breath away.

Thank you for being here and for making my world so bright.

easily lured by chocolate frosted

Last year, our children brought home a book from the library entitled, "The Ugly Vegetables." It is the story of a young Chinese girl and the unusual vegetables her mother grew in her garden patch. Their vegetables were "unusual" because while everyone else in the neighborhood was growing fragrant flowers and plump tomatoes, her mother was growing Kong Shin Tsay and Kuu Gaa.

Needless to say, the young girl was very self conscious and embarrassed about her garden and how it was so different than everyone else's.

Very soon though, when the "ugly" vegetables were harvested and the delicious aroma of the Chinese soup that her mother made wafted throughout the entire neighborhood ... people for blocks were drawn to their home and offered flowers and garden vegetables in exchange for just one bowl of the spectacular soup.

We love this story, because it is a great example of cultural diversity and neighborliness.

As it turns out, our next door neighbors are from China and they don't speak a word of English. As it also turns out, our neighbors have a very extensive garden where they are growing an assortment of different fruits and vegetables. We've met our neighbors in passing a few times. This past year, we brought them an apple crisp and I tried to explain that it tastes REALLY GOOD WITH VANILLA ICE CREAM.

As I'm standing there on their front steps hand gesturing an imaginary scoop and plop, Charlie whispered, "Jen, they have absolutely NO idea what you're saying. Do they even have ice cream in China? I think they eat oranges for dessert..."

They brought us some luscious pomegranates. And we went over to their house again, on the Chinese New Year, to present them with a picture of a rabbit that Elizabeth had drawn.

And .... that about sums up our interaction.

Fast forward to today, when Charlie is downstairs trying to wrap up a report for one of his clients and I'm nearly horizontal on the couch trying to match up socks from a laundry basket that is overflowing with clothes. The kids are outside happily playing in the front yard.

If I haven't mentioned it before, we live in a very quiet neighborhood. Very, wonderfully, peacefully quiet. And the predominant reason we selected this exact location is because it is so very wonderfully, peacefully, quiet. With a cul-de-sac on one end and less than ten homes (predominantly occupied by retirees), on any given day, no more than five cars will drive by our house and two of them are the mailman driving down the road and then back again.

I could hear the children playing outside but then I noticed their voices had disappeared. "Surely they just wandered around the backyard and went down to the creek," I'm thinking to myself. But when several minutes went past and I still couldn't hear them, I went to the front door and looked out. The kids were no where to be seen. So I walked to the back of the house and looked out towards the creek and they were no where to be seen there, either.

"Well, they must be climbing trees," I thought.

So I went outside and walked around, calling for them.

No response.

My heart starts to beat a little faster when my eyes are scanning our property and the kids are NO WHERE to be seen. And there is absolutely NO SOUND which is highly unusual whenever there are four small kids around. So I run in to the house and summon Charlie and the two of us bolt outside and start calling for our little ones.

Echo. Echo. Echo. Echo.

Crickets. Plane in the distance. Birds chirping.

I grab the car keys and tell my husband that I'm going to drive around the neighborhood looking for them and he tells me that he's going to go in to the woods on the other side of the creek.

They wouldn't go on the other side of the creek because there are foxes over there and the kids would be terrified. And surely they didn't just wander off because they know not to do that and we've talked to them ad nauseam about not going in to anyone's house without one of us present and we've read books about Stranger Danger once if we've read them a million times and they know all about not being able to tell if an apple is bad just by looking at it and ...

I'm starting to fight gut wrenching panic.

Our children have vanished in to thin air.

As I jump in to the car and start to pull out of the driveway, I notice that our next door neighbor, over a hundred yards away, is walking out her front door. She is a small elderly woman, perhaps 85 years old. Directly behind her are three of our four children smiling ear to ear and carrying baskets of Chinese vegetables. They are walking out of the house, talking animatedly about SOUP as the woman just smiles and nods. She has absolutely no understanding of what they are saying, nor they of what she is saying.

They're all just chattering in the language of neighborly happiness.

I'm extremely relieved to see (three of our four) children, but also aghast that they went in to a stranger's house without us. For a long moment, I'm conflicted with how to respond. Yes, this is I'm sure, a wonderfully sweet neighbor. But what about all the books we've read?

And the stories we've told about children who have just vanished?

Have they heeded absolutely NO warning?

The kids come running up to me with chocolate ... chocolate? ... on their faces as Charlie goes in to the neighbor's house to retrieve Henry who was trying to climb under the master bed to pet their cat. The children are excitedly telling me how they had a piano that they PLAYED and there were all kinds of small glass STATUES and other FRAGILE things that they TOUCHED and suddenly, they catch sight of my expression and they can see that I'm troubled and oh oh.

They immediately start pointing fingers at each other.

Accusatory glances were shooting in circles, and ultimately landed on Henry who doesn't have the verbal skills to adequately defend himself. Our three six-year-olds concluded that it was their little brother who noticed the cat outside and then followed it in to our non-English speaking neighbor's house and the only reason they followed is because they had to save him.

Of course!

When I asked why they didn't come straight home, they all explained, "Mom, they had CHOCOLATE DONUTS." And best yet, as they were concluding their rescue mission, they took a detour through the garden where they each picked several Sheau Hwang Gua.

Thank goodness our neighbor doesn't speak English because I imagine she'd be offended if she understood our children were gleefully referring to her vegetables as ugly, ugly, UGLY.

U-G-L-Y ... you ain't got no alibi you ugly!

I've decided that although I clearly need to continue impressing upon our children how it is NOT okay for them to ever go with someone without our knowledge, to reciprocate our neighbor's hospitality to my small crew, we're going to bring her another apple crisp.

But this time, we'll also bring her a carton of Häagen-Dazs and two dozen Munchkins.