too many choices

Today, I met with one of my co-workers for lunch and among other things, we discussed what seems to be my very uncertain future. As I was replaying to my co-worker the choices that I currently have before me - and the stress that they are causing - he told me that he once read a book about choices. The premise was that people are happier when they have choices. But in reality, people are usually paralyzed by indecision when too many choices are before them.

For instance, my co-worker recently planned a trip to the Caribbean. To get there, he needed to fly from San Diego to Miami for his connecting flight. And while he was filled with such excitement about planning this exotic vacation, once he went on line and started to book his tickets, he was overcome with dread.

Options upon options were available for flight times; connecting cities; arrivals, departures and ground transportation. There were hotel options. Did he want an efficiency or a suite? Did he want a room facing the lagoon or ocean? Would he like an upgrade or a package deal? And then, once he finally made his choices, he agonized over whether his decisions were good enough.

Here's a little known fact about me: When I go out to a new restaurant, I frequently wait until everyone has ordered because I want to see what they select and why. And maybe what they ordered will be better than what I was thinking of ordering. If I've eaten there before, I will order the same exact thing. Because I am a fierce creature of habit.

Along that same vein, at all costs, I will avoid eating at The Cheesecake Factory because I cannot stand the menu. From what I recall, there is at least one full page dedicated to various salads. Several pages to pasta and the dessert menu is the volume of a telephone book for a small town.

The BEST restaurant I ever ate at, was a small Italian number in the North End of Boston. You just walk in and sit down and they serve you whatever it was that they cooked that day. There were NO choices except whether you wanted to eat there, or not.

Even the most simple things can be complicated by choices. What kind of ice cream would you like? Do you want hot fudge? Whipped cream or marshmallow? Nuts? Peanuts, Walnuts or Pecans? One cherry or two?

Will that be for here or to go?

For as long as we have been a couple, Charlie and I have said that we would like to live closer to family. But seeing as we live in Southern California and we have family in Northern California, Massachusetts and South Carolina - where do we go? Effectively, our choice is any corner of the continental United States. Awesome!!

Add to all that, this year, I am more aware of the passage of time than I ever have been in my entire life. Which means, I feel this invisible pressure to make a choice.

In two months time, I have watched two people that I care about lose their battles to cancer. My babies turn five-years-old in less than a week. Kindergarten is looming on the horizon. Do I send them? Do I keep them home? If I send them, what school will they attend? If we move what school will they attend? Is it as nice as the school just down the street from our house?

I returned to work full time. My husband has been laid off and started his own company. I have been presented with several opportunities to move. To sell our house. To start a new life in a new area - none of which are closer to family. Of course my immediate family is the most important family in my life, but it certainly would be nice to be closer to our extended family.

Currently, the choice is stay in San Diego and continue working and Charlie can establish his company. But the most immediate problem, in my opinion, is that the kids suffer if we are both distracted with work. So while I want to be supportive of my husband in his new endeavor, sometimes when I reach for the words, "I'm proud and support you!" the words that I find are, "What the $%*@ were you thinking? Are you out of your $%*@ing mind starting a COMPANY when we have small children at home?!"

I could quit and Charlie could go full force. But seeing as he doesn't have the revenue stream to support our family - nor any benefits - I believe that would be a bad choice. And if he were to start over with a new company, the income would be less than what I am making now.

We could take the job that was just offered to me and move our family to Los Angeles. But I'd be in an office five days a week. And considering the next home that we buy is hopefully, the home where we will raise our children, I can't rightly say that I'm too pumped about living in LA for the next 20 years. (Sincere apologies to my peeps north on the 5.)

We could sell off everything and move, without jobs, to be closer to family. Or, we could liquidate our 401Ks and travel around the county in an RV while live blogging the whole way. At the moment, we're seriously considering both of these scenarios because we are out of our noggins and on our second glasses of wine.

If I didn't have an amazing education. If I didn't have an amazing career. If I didn't have an amazing husband (who also has an amazing education). If I didn't have amazing children. If I didn't have an amazing family that lives too far away. If I didn't live in an amazing neighborhood with an amazing church and an amazing network of friends. If I didn't have an amazing little house that has lost an even more amazing amount of equity. If I didn't have this incredibly amazing life, the choices that I make - or don't make - would be SO much easier.

In reality, I don't have any problems at all whatsoever.

I'm the luckiest person alive.

I just have absolutely no idea which side is up.

the king has spoken

And what he has said is, "Quit your complaining!"

Because I tend to be obsessive about certain things, I've been checking the comments on my previous post every 10 minutes for the past four hours for some nugget of wisdom and based on the overwhelming input ... crickets ... I guess most people would have to agree.

GROW UP.

I'm healthy. Charlie is healthy. The children are healthy. We have a steady income. A lot of people are a lot worse off. Our 'house' isn't the problem. (At least I don't think it is.)

Heck, I'll stay in a small house forever. It's the working full time and feeling like I am missing out on my children's life, that keeps me up at night. It's the desire that I have to be closer to my family on the east coast. It's the huge job opportunity I received yesterday that would require us to move in the next four to six weeks and have me reporting to an office every day from 8 to 5. It's the feeling like I have very limited options about what to do and if I don't go down this one certain path, I'll crash and burn and take my family with me.

Why am I so afraid?

And how do single parents, or women that work full time handle it all? My God. The kids. The house. The meals. And then I start thinking about school and the homework and the activities and the ....

My head is ready to fall off my shoulders and roll right out the front door.

I'm working. My kids are growing up lightening fast. Suddenly, I feel like I'm missing it all.

All I want to do is sit back and make paper rings with our children.

And then write about it, thereby preserving every memory.

Because wow - that seems so up my alley at this point in life.

Charlie can have the high powered conference calls about petroleum hydrocarbon migration in fractured bedrock. That's what he wants to do, anyway. He is a man. He wants to work. He needs to work. He couldn't be home for two weeks without starting up his own company. Then there's me. I am a woman, I want to stay home and ... MAKE PAPER RINGS WITH MY KIDS.

So what if I have a bachelors and a masters and a highly coveted professional registration and a job that most people in my profession would give their right arm for?

Boo hoo that I absolutely stink at sucking it up and taking one for my family.

(And how dumb am I that I actually tell my boss these very things?!)

Today, when I was working out at the YMCA, I happened to see a woman who had Down's Syndrome. She was flipping through the pages of a magazine and laughing, deliriously. There was something about the Oil of Olay ad that had her in stitches. And then, when she flipped the page and was looking at an advertisement for Gatorade, I thought she'd fall out of the chair. I called Charlie and told him about what I had seen. Here is this woman, laughing about ads in a magazine. From my perspective, she didn't have a care in the world.

When my husband asked what my point was, I told him, "It's the first time in my entire life I'm feeling a little jealous that I don't have an extra chromosome. Seriously. I've never seen Trisomy 21 look like so much fun."

Alright. I'm off to breathe in a paper bag. No more whining. This issue will not be discussed again. Until it is.

what's in you wednesday

In my mind, I wake up at dawn and exercise until my body burns. In reality, I wake up at dawn and lay in bed for an hour, watching the ceiling fan, while thinking, "I should get up. I should really get up."

In my mind, once I've worked out, I come home and have a light lunch of grilled chicken and organic arugula, before doing an hour of yoga. In reality, once I've worked out, I come home and eat a plate of chocolate chip cookies, chocolate covered peanuts, a handful of inorganic grapes, and participate in a conference call about the fate and transport of petroleum hydrocarbons in fractured bedrock.

In my mind, I have such inner strength and peace, I float down the river of life like a delicate leaf, going where ever the current takes me and possessing absolute confidence in my place in the Universe and in the energy that surrounds and propels me. In reality, I flail down the river of life like a wet mangy dog that fights every bend and current, with it's head barely above water, howling as if it is going to drown.

Yesterday, my company offered me a new job. But unlike previous offers, this is the first time I haven't turned them down. I'm currently mulling it over with Charlie. At this very moment, we're actually considering selling the little house that we've lived in for the past 12 years and moving to some place new, outside of San Diego. And while we do complain about things from time to time and say that we would WELCOME change, suddenly, I love our neighborhood more than I ever have and the thought of moving makes me nauseous.

We are both fearful about what the future holds.

Or rather, I am fearful.

It seems "Jen of little faith" is also "Jen of great fear." Charlie is the beautiful leaf serenely floating down the river of life - ready to welcome anything that comes his way - and open to whatever it is that I want to do. Meanwhile, I am the wet stinky dog that is thrashing against the water and barking at it's own shadow. What I really need is for someone to take me by the hand and confidently say, "THIS WAY."

Because what I want to do is severely offset by what is responsible to do.

What I want to do is stay home with our children, teach them, nurture them as they grow and write about it all. The responsible thing to do is work and provide a steady income, benefits and security for my family.

The drawback of one is that there is no income which is important for such things as ... oh I don't know ... food and shelter. The drawback of the other is that I will miss out on a substantial portion of my children's lives because I'm gone all the bloody time.

Of course there is a third option. I could quit and Charlie could work. But everything is so unstable right now, I don't think I could handle the uncertainty.

Does this blog read like a broken record?

Broken record?

Broken eh, you get the point.

Despite so many things that have been happening in and around my life, I'm happy to report that I managed to work out a few times this week. In addition to going to my own YMCA, I went to the YMCA twice with my mother while I was in South Carolina and on one of those days, I participated in a water aerobics class and was put to shame by a group of seniors.

While water aerobics are difficult, they aren't nearly as difficult as trying to decide what I'll do with the rest of my life. Stay or go. Flourish or flounder. Is it possible to give yourself an aneurysm? Because I've got a head ache that just won't quit.

Life is short. Too short. And I can see - so clearly at the moment - that things can change at any moment. Which is why I want to live my life, as much as possible, with no regrets.

So while I try to grapple with my own future, I'll ask you: If you could do anything with your life, what would you do? Would you keep things status quo because you're happy as a clam in mud? Would you sell everything and travel around the world? Would you become a professional photographer - writer - astronaut - or homemaker?

For instance: This is my sister Janet's life dream. She has wanted this ALL OF HER LIFE and now, she has it. Her own little shop with a wood burning stove where she sells wool from her sheep, apple cider and crafts made by local artisans. If I could, I'd move next door and make soap and candles that I'd sell in her shop. Because it sounds fun. Doesn't it?

Leave your comment anonymously, if need be. But please, spill it.

What is your passion?

And how do you plan to accomplish that in your lifetime?

how to be an amazing blockhead

With less than an hour remaining before my plane was scheduled to depart, I grabbed my suitcase and ran from the curb - where George had dropped me off - and took my place at the back of the security line.

Fortunately, the line wasn't too long, but unfortunately, they confiscated my brand new bottle of Aveeno Clearly Radiant Facial Wash. Because it exceeded four ounces.

Once I made it through security, six point seven ounces lighter, I wound myself through the Terminal and directly in to the restroom. From there, I dropped in to the airport convenience store where I purchased a bottle of water and a small bag of trail mix that I planned to enjoy during my flight. All along, I kept thinking to myself how convenient it was that I was traveling so light. Unlike my most recent travels when I was responsible for managing four children - and twelve pieces of carry on luggage (and a stroller and a carseat) - this time, it was just me, my one suitcase and my backpack.

I felt so light, I could fly.

After I paid for my purchases, I walked up to my gate and while waiting to board my plane, I sat down and cracked open a book. "Eat, Pray, Love." I've been trying to get through this book for at least two years and never had the motivation to finish it. But now, with a full day of traveling before me, there were no excuses.

Fifteen minutes later, it was time to board and as I walked up to the gate attendant, I suddenly felt like something was wrong. Yes, I was traveling light. But it felt like I was traveling a little too light. Scanning around me, my stomach dropped to my shoes when it dawned on me that my suitcase was gone.

Yes. GONE.

My mind started racing. The plane was leaving in a matter of minutes, but I couldn't leave without my suitcase. I did bring it, right?

Yes. Yes, I must have because I gave George a bracelet and my facial soap was confiscated. Spinning around on my heels, I yelled to the gate attendant who had her hand outstretched to receive my boarding pass, "I'll be right back! Please don't leave without me!!"

I dodged around the people standing in line behind me and ran through the terminal. Just then, Charlie called and I answered my cell phone while panting, "Oh my heavens, I lost my suitcase!" My husband was alarmed. "What do you mean you lost your suitcase? How could you LOSE your suitcase?" I yelled back, "I don't know! I DON'T KNOW! Apparently, I am unable to travel successfully unless I'm managing a MASSIVE quantity of luggage and several little people!"

As I was sprinting through the terminal, I spotted a small cluster of TSA agents, standing directly across from the Women's Restroom and small airport store. They had their back to the main passage, but I could see that they had lifted something small and black on to the chairs, had zipped it open, and were carefully inspecting the contents.

Once I ran up to them, I could clearly see that they had my suitcase, and hanging out of that suitcase in all of it's glory were clothes and a toiletry bag that was vibrating. To Charlie on the phone I said, "There it is, Hurray I found it!" and to the TSA agents, I declared, "Hi how are you doing? Yup. That looks like my bag!"

Right away, one of the TSA agents, with "Supervisor" on his jacket stepped forward and very sternly asked, "Ma'am, who is on the phone?" When I told him it was my husband, he ordered me to hang up immediately. Charlie was asking "What's happening? JEN! What's happening?" before I whispered, "I've got to go, I'll call you later!" and disconnected the line.

Then I stood there, with my arms by my side, my hand tightly clutching my phone, and a weak smile on my face. Hoping, no - fervently praying - that nothing within my bag could be misconstrued as a weapon. Or worse yet, concerned that someone had tampered with my bag and planted something deadly in the short time it was out of my possession.

The agent sized me up before saying, "Ma'am, this bag has been unattended for twenty minutes." I took a deep breath and responded, "Sir, I am so sorry - I must have left it when I went to either the restroom or store to buy some water." He then asked me a series of questions. "When are you leaving? What is your airline? Where and why are you traveling?"

I tried to summon calm because I didn't want to come off as totally alarmed or trying to hide something. So I carefully answered his questions. "My plane is leaving now. I'm flying American. I am traveling to South Carolina to attend the funeral of my dear uncle who lost his battle to cancer yesterday."

Then I added, just because I felt compelled to do so, "I travel all the time and this is the first time I have ever lost my suitcase. Why, just last month, I traveled with our four-year-old triplets and two-year-old toddler and husband - and all of their stuff - and we made it to the other side of the country without losing a single thing. Not even our minds!"

The agent wasn't listening to me. Instead, he held up a plastic bag of brightly colored bracelets and asked, "What is 'BE AMAZING!'?" For a moment I completely forgot and I stared at the bag of bracelets as if it was the first time I had ever seen them. But then, once my brain recovered, I stuttered that the bracelets were for a fundraiser I was doing, with all proceeds benefiting the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation. I had packed several of the bracelets so that I could hand them out to my friends and family as a reminder that we still have a lot of work to do before we find a cure and to help inspire them to do something amazing with their lives.

For the first time, his expression softened and he said, "I don't suppose wearing one of these is a reminder that you should NEVER leave your suitcase unattended in the middle of the airport. Huh?" I cringed before responding, "No, Sir. It sure isn't."

He seemed to accept my explanation, so he turned around and told the other agents that they could close up my luggage. Even though they had probably identified my toothbrush during their inspection, I didn't feel comfortable reaching over the TSA agents and opening up my toiletry bag to turn off my Sonicare. Still, I felt it was necessary to explain to this group of uniformed men that the vibrating device in my toiletry bag was indeed my battery operated toothbrush.

When I highlighted what I thought would be incredibly obvious to them, the supervisor just smiled at me and said, "Yes Ma'am. That's what they all say."

******

Sorry for the delay in posting a winner on the most awesome block set ever.

The winner - as selected by the generator on Random Org is Samantha Cleys. Samantha, are you out there? CONGRATULATIONS! Please let me know if you'd like the blocks delivered to the address that you provided with your donation, or an alternate.

Thanks so very much to every one who ordered a bracelet and in doing so, were entered in to this totally legal contest. As always, that was great fun. We must do it again sometime.

Also, for anyone who ordered a bracelet since last Wednesday (9/30), I haven't yet had an opportunity to mail those out. I hope to send them within the next few days.

(If few means 10.)

a funny thing happened on the way to south carolina

I'm still in South Carolina and I will be flying home, tomorrow.

This trip has been an amazing adventure for me and I want to record some of the things that have happened so I don't ever forget.

**********

The shuttle driver was supposed to be at the door to pick me up at 5:35 on Thursday morning. When they had not arrived by 5:45, I could feel the back of my neck break out in to a light sweat. To distract myself, while I waited, I did a mental inventory of everything I had packed. For some reason, I remembered that I wanted to bring some of my "BE AMAZING!" bracelets back home, so I could hand them out to friends and relatives.

So I grabbed a bag of 100 and shoved them in to the outer compartment of my bag. Then, I resumed my panic attack. Because my flight was due to leave at 7:30 and I knew we had two other passengers to pick up and it takes at least 30 minutes to get in to the airport without traffic, and security at the airport early in the morning on a work week is nothing short of brutal.

We were going to be late. I was going to miss my plane. I would have to catch another flight. I would never make it back in time for the funeral services that were scheduled to begin Friday.

Commence knots in stomach.

I moved myself outside, to the sidewalk, and tried calling the shuttle company. "I knew I should have taken an earlier shuttle," I said aloud. "Or at least, driven myself." But just then, the shuttle van pulled in to sight. The driver climbed out and he was a large man, with a long beard, thick glasses and tattoos covering every inch of skin from his sleeveless elbows to his wrists. He briskly greeted me and told me to take the passenger seat, while he loaded my suitcase in to the back.

Once he climbed in to the van, panting heavily, he slowly dialed his location in to a hand held device and then, pulling up a tiny screen on his computer, determined that the next pick up was just three houses away. The second passenger was also standing outside their home, gripping their cell phone, clearly poised to call the shuttle company.

When the second passenger climbed aboard, I said good morning and cheerfully asked how long they had lived in the neighborhood. Because, well - I've lived in this neighborhood since September of 1997 and this was the first time I had ever seen this man, living only three doors away. Surely he must be new. But much to my surprise - or rather, blatantly obvious antisocial dismay - he has lived in his house since November of 1997.

Welcome to suburbia living in San Diego.

You don't know me. I don't know you.

While our driver entered his second pick up in to his hand held device and pulled up the third location, we briefly traded stories about our tract homes. (Better known as the ticky tacky little boxes and they all look just the same.) The dysfunctional shower in the master bedroom (he has the same issues we do), poor quality windows (both agree they are totally crappy), total lack of insulation (yes, brrr), and how it's possible that we don't know each other when we've lived three houses away from one another for the past 12 years?

Pathetic, indeed.

I told him that it was now on my list to make sure I knew everyone on my block, and I'd aim to meet someone new, once per month. The three of us concurred that it so easily happens that we get busy with our own lives and in the process become clueless to the people and world around us.

Our shuttle driver slowed to a stop and was pulling out his map. "Alright, let's see where are we going?" he asked no one in particular.

He scrutinized the page for a few minutes and while I watched the green digital minutes tick by on the dashboard, and could feel my mouth go suddenly dry, I reached over to take the map while trying to helpfully suggest, "Maybe I can figure it out?"

Without protest, he handed over the map and grabbed a flashlight out of the glove compartment which he clicked on and passed to me. With a florescent light in one hand, and a ripped Thomas Guide in the other, within a minute I pinpointed our location and another minute later, identified the street where we were heading. Then, I rolled down the window and shined the light on each passing street sign until I could see where we needed to turn right, left, left and right again.

Once we arrived, our third and fourth passengers were standing outside of the house and the sun was visible in the east. While the driver was loading our passengers, I happened to look around the dashboard and noticed a shuttle license and registration. My drivers named was George. He is 5 feet 10 inches tall and weighs 375 pounds. He was born March 18, 1962.

We loaded our final passengers, George slowly recorded in his device that all of the passengers were secure and our trip to the airport commenced.

As we drove out of the neighborhood, I started to make small talk. I was curious, how early does George have to get up in the morning? How long is his shift? How many miles does he typically drive in a week? As we were talking, he informed me that he typically starts his shift at 2 AM and runs five or six shuttles a day. He's run one shuttle already, but he has an eye appointment later in the morning, so this would be his only shuttle of the day. Then he pointed to his coke bottle glasses.

"So, you're going in for an eye appointment?" I questioned. "Are you considering lasic?"

Turns out, George was recently diagnosed with diabetes and the eye appointment is to make sure that his vision has not been impaired. Once he told me that, he added that he is considering gastric bypass surgery, because he really needs to lose weight.

My interest was piqued. "In addition to the bypass, what are you doing to lose the weight?" I asked. He told me that he is seeing a personal trainer and trying to adjust his eating habits. For 20 years, he was a truck driver and in the process of logging more than 2 million miles on the road, he developed an affinity for fast food drive thrus. Now, he is trying to eat out less and eat more fresh foods. It hasn't been easy, but he really wants to make a concerted effort to begin living a healthy life, because his whole life he has been plagued with one challenge after another.

Then he told me that he is a recovering drug addict. He was addicted to cocaine for at least 10 years. He's been clean for 16 years. Just as I was about to tell him kudos!, he told me that his 20-year old daughter, who had epilepsy, died just last month. She had a grand mal seizure while she was strung out on illegal drugs and she never woke up.

While I sat wondering what to say, he continued that in addition to being diagnosed with diabetes, and losing his daughter, within the past month, he was also diagnosed with bladder cancer. Currently, he 'only' has three tumors which appear to be stable, but he requires annual exams for the next three years, and then once every two years for the rest of his life.

Then he softly whispered that this past month has been so awful for him, he's considered turning back to drugs - or putting an end to it all.

He continued to talk and I tried to listen while doing my best to not pass any judgement on this man or what he has been through. Instead, when there was a break in the conversation and he said, "I cannot believe I just told you all of that", I told him that spilling the beans to an absolute stranger can be wonderfully cathartic.

Then, I told him that everyone has a purpose in life and he needs to figure out what his is. For some odd reason, I had no reservation telling this man, "George, I absolutely do not believe that you were created for the sole intent of cocaine and double cheeseburger consumption. I will bet that if you focused just a fraction of your energy on trying to make something positive come out of the tragedy surrounding your daughter's death, you might be able to reach and effect a host of individuals who are going through a similar situation. Feeling like you are all alone, against the world, can be terribly overwhelming. Take it from me. I have four children born in two and half years."

During all of our banter, the passengers in the back are carrying on their own conversations, oblivious to what we were talking about in the front. And when we arrived at the airport, my airline was the first drop off.

As I climbed in to the back to grab my suitcase, I opened the small zippered compartment on my bag and pulled out a large "BE AMAZING!" bracelet. As I handed George a tip - I also handed him the bracelet and I said, "Listen, I hope that you will wear this little band and remember that YOU are in charge of your life. Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, today is a gift - that is why it is called the present. YOU can do anything you set your mind to TODAY, and the only one that is stopping you, is YOU."

As I stood there, wondering when Studs Terkel and Tony Robbins had taken up residence in my psyche, George put on his bracelet, smiled, wiped a tear away from his eyes, and then threw his huge bear-like arms around me, almost crushing my rib cage.

While he was hugging me tightly, he said, "Thanks for taking the time. You helped reading that map and this little pep talk is just what I needed."

When George let go, I looked in to the shuttle and the other three passengers were staring at us, undoubtedly wondering why the driver was hugging me and what he had in store for them.

My neighbor from three doors down called out to me through the open door, "Look at that! You've just met two new people in one day. Now you're set until Christmas!"

And then he said to George, "Dude, I really hope you're not expecting a hug from me."

i'll be gone for a few days

Thank you for all of the beautiful comments left regarding my Uncle Bill. At the risk of sounding corny, the words that I wrote about the man do not even adequately capture the greatness of the man. He truly was one like no other and he will be deeply missed.

I'll be flying out in just a few hours to rejoin my family in South Carolina. (Yowzer, I'm having a panic attack. Darn that they only have 'commuter' planes in to GSP. What the heck happened to the BIG planes on American?) I won't be back until late Monday night and as such, I will have to push back the announcement of a winner for the block set until at least Tuesday. That gives people two extra days to participate in the contest, if they haven't already. (I should probably mention that my small blue bracelet supply is gone. I do still have some small greens - and a lot of small pinks - but the little blues went fast! I promise to order more of those next time. Oh yes. There will be a next time.)

Charlie, the remarkable man that he is - will be home alone with the children, while I am gone. In spite of that, on Sunday afternoon he will, quite possibly, be making his first television debut. The show that he will be participating in doesn't air until January. And that's all I want to say about that. (Except, think ABC.)

Yesterday was tough for me. Between trying to function at work - and field phone calls from various family members - and summarize some thoughts on my Uncle Bill - and coordinate last minute cross-country travel plans, I was feeling a little overwhelmed.

Early in the morning, soon after I received the news, my sweet children were holding my hands and rubbing my back while I tried to suppress tears. They were so concerned for my well being. "What is wrong, Mommy?" they innocently asked. "Why are you crying?"

I told them that Uncle Bill had gone to live with God and they all stood quietly, thinking about the implications of this. Since they lost their beloved dog, Molly, just last year, they vaguely understand what it means when something goes to live with God.

William told me that he was Uncle Bill's angel - which is entirely true - because Uncle Bill even said so, himself. Elizabeth told me that just like Molly, Uncle Bill will always be in our hearts and if we just close our eyes, we can see him any time we want. She then shut her eyes tightly and said, "Hi Uncle Bill! It's me, Elizabeth. I LOVE YOU!"

This made me smile through my tears and Carolyn - who had been studying my face intently the whole time sensed that the mood had lightened. That's when she placed her hand on my cheek and softly whispered, "Mommy, you've got a BIG boogie in your nose. Can I get it for you?"

Laughter. It truly is the best medicine.

And no one serves it up as well as children.

thank you for being my friend

It was 30 years ago last month that I moved in to your home.

I was only eight-years-old at the time and I thought that my sister and I were just visiting South Carolina for a vacation. But when we didn't fly home and my mother and brother drove down from Massachusetts to join us a few days later, I knew that my life was about to change, forever.

Those were the most tumultuous days of my life. But you were solid ground. You made us feel safe and secure and welcome. You helped us to start over again. You showered us with your love and hospitality. You showed us, through your example, how a husband should cherish his wife and family, unconditionally.

Everyone has a story about you and just about everyone will say that you are the most amazing man that they have ever had the privilege of meeting. Children adored you. Adults did, too. You were kind and gentle and patient. You were humble and soft spoken. You had an incredible gift of making everyone feel important and special. And whatever you had happening in your own life, would be put on hold if someone needed your help.

Whenever you would talk with people, you were never distracted. You were always present in the moment. You are who I strive every day to be more like.

You were honest and respectful. You brought laughter in to all situations. You worked so hard and were motivated. You would stand up for people who couldn't stand up for themselves. You defended my family as if we your very own. You had an innate sense of knowing when to lend advice or support, a gentle ear, or a shoulder to cry on.

You saw the good in everything and in everybody. Even though you were given a terminal diagnosis, you never stopped trying. You lived each day to the fullest and you inspired everyone around you to do the same. And up until the very end, you kept your sense of humor. This past weekend, when my mother was visiting and she asked, "Is there anything I can do for you?" you gently laughed and said, "You could trade places with me."

There is little doubt that you are the most successful man I have ever met. But what defines success? Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote,

"To laugh often and much;

To win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children;

To earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends;

To appreciate beauty, to find the best in others;

To leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition;

To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived.

This is to have succeeded."

Your daughter, Margaret, called me at sunrise to tell me that you left us at 2:45 this morning.

But you haven't really left us. You'll never leave us. You'll always be a part of us. When I hugged you tightly last month and told you, through my tears, that I love you, you smiled and warmly said, "I know, Dear. I know you, do. Thank you for that. " If I'd had more control over my emotions, I would have said, "No. Thank you."

Thank you for taking us in and making us feel like a part of your family.

Thank you for looking out for me, and my siblings, as we grew up.

Thank you for taking me pony shopping when I was nine-years-old in your yellow MGB.

Thank you for being a shining example of what I should look for in a husband.

Thank you for being my advocate and friend.

No one lives forever.

But Uncle Bill ... you will forever live in my heart.

Five years ago, my Uncle Bill was diagnosed with nonsmokers lung cancer and given three months to live. When he heard that I was doing the 3-Day Walk, he told me that if not for clinical trial medications that were developed by the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation, he would not have survived for as long as he had.

In recent months, the highlight of my conversations with Uncle Bill surrounded how much money we have raised to fight this dreaded disease. So to all of you who have generously donated to the various events that I have participated in this year, my most sincere thanks for helping to bring joy to one of my favorite people in the world.

what's in you wednesday

Earlier in the year, I crossed internet paths with Lani.

Lani has toddler triplets and she was questioning whether or not she could complete a marathon through The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society's Team in Training. The cause was so important to her, because several people in her life had been effected with blood cancers and she felt like she wanted to do something to honor them, and raise money to combat this brutal disease.

My advice to Lani was GO FOR IT!

She could definitely run a marathon - or at least walk it - and she could definitely do the fundraising. But I didn't know if she was convinced. So when I recently learned that Lani is registered to run the Walt Disney Marathon in January, with Team In Training, I was so happy and proud of this woman I had never actually met.

At the moment, Lani is in full-on fundraising mode for her run. Because she is involved with a number of different blogs, including the increasingly popular Multiples .... and More!


... and Who Knew Reviews, Lani is gaining a lot of publicity for some of the fun giveaways that she is hosting. She currently has a rocking blog party underway. Here's a link to the action:


For instance, if you are in the market for a new double stroller, you could have the chance to win this sweet ride. Not only would your children look awesome in this stroller - you would look awesome pushing it.


I just love it whenever I see people who have a passion to do something great for a cause near and dear to their heart. Like last month, when I was registering for the 3-Day Walk, I noticed that the top fundraisers are recognized on the main web page. Out of curiosity, I clicked over to see how much money the top fundraiser had managed to raise.

Her name is Barbara Jo Kirshbaum.

In the past 12 years, she has completed 100 long distance walks, which works out to 5,120 miles. That doesn't include any of the training walks that she probably put in, to prepare for the event walks that she has completed. Based on my own training regiment, I would suspect that in training, Barbara Jo has probably walked at least four times further than 5,120 miles. So it is quite possible that this one woman has walked a distance equivalent to one lap around the earth, and in the process, has raised over $1,026,000.00 for a cure to cancer.

Did I mention that Barbara Jo is 70 years old?

This year, she is planning to walk in 14 events, including five of the Breast Cancer 3 Days.

One woman, who didn't even start fundraising walks until she was 58-years old, has raised over one million dollars for cancer research, education and treatment. Barbara Jo walks because she cannot walk away and because she believes that research MUST stay ahead of this disease.

Now that is inspiration.

(Am I the only one with the chills?!)

Sorry Good Witch of the North, but you've got nothing on Barbara Jo Kirshbaum. I just figured out who I really want to be for Halloween.
And lucky for me, that should be a much easier costume to sew.

******

What do YOU hope to accomplish in your lifetime?

And if you haven't bought a silicone bracelet yet, why not?

I've got to catch up to Barbara Jo.

And to do that, I need to sell a mere 204,840 more.

the case for chocolate

We've hit a phase where children who have to go potty, will resist going potty until the last absolute possible second. Even more than the girls, the boy is especially guilty of this action.

It is particularly bad if he is engaged with something. You name it - a toy, a book, a game, a dead fly. He will squirm and cross his legs and bounce. But if I ask him if he needs to use the restroom, he'll say, "NO. NO. I'm fine. I'm just .... dancing."

I try to coax him to just go sit and try, but he won't listen. Until another few minutes have passed and his dancing turns in to a full body convulsion and he screams out in a panic, "I HAVE GOT TO GO POTTY!!!" and then his arms start flailing around in the air and he gets hysterical.

"ARGH! HELP! ME! HELP! ME! I HAVE GOT TO POTTY!"

To help encourage the children to use the restroom - before their bladder explodes - I have initiated this little game of asking the kids if perhaps the food that they eat changes the color of their "output." If they have orange juice for breakfast, as soon as I see them start to do the potty jig, I will tell them, "I'll bet that your pee-pee is going to be orange today. Quick, let's go check!!" Or, if they eat blueberries, I'll suggest that maybe it will turn blue. Watermelon surely will make it pink. This almost always works and the kids will excitedly run in and see if perhaps today they will see a new color.

They never do.

(Except for that day they drank their body weight in carrot juice.)

A few weeks ago, we went to a birthday party. At that birthday party was a cake. And on that cake was some themed character, I can't recall who. But it was lavishly decorated in blue and yellow frosting. The kids loved it and ate at least two pieces, each.

The next day we went out to a restaurant for dinner.

While I brought the girls in the bathroom to wash hands before we sat down to eat, they both informed me that they needed to go potty. So they did. As I'm standing outside of their stall doors, fighting the urge to rush in and lift them up and down off the commode in my expedited fashion, I hear Elizabeth yell out, "Oh my gosh! My poop is GREEN!" Just then Carolyn yells out, "Oh my GOSH! My poop is green, TOO!"

Surely the kids are just kidding around I think. But when I go in to help them flush, I take a quick glance and sure enough, their poop IS green. Think Kelly Green. Saint Patrick's Day Green. BRIGHT green.

My first thought upon seeing my children's BRIGHT GREEN poop was that they must be fighting something. Maybe they had some kind of virus?

The girls wash their hands and we rejoin Charlie and the boys at the table. The situation is forgotten until later, when we are walking out to the car. I catch sight of a bright green car zooming out of the parking lot and I remember.

"Charlie, it was so weird, when I took the girls in to the bathroom they both went poop and it was bright green. Like grass. I don't remember ever seeing anything like that before." My husband looked at me with a surprised expression and said, "Really? That is crazy because William went poop and his was bright green, too."

We continued walking to the car, quietly debating why our children's poop was bright green. They certainly didn't seem sick and their appetites were just fine. When I asked Charlie if they'd eaten anything unusual in the past few days he said, "The only thing that I can think of is the cake that they had at the party." I stopped in my tracks and said, "You mean the birthday cake with the blue and yellow frosting smothered all over it?"

He gave me a puzzled look and said, "Yeah. Why?"

The light bulb went off.

"What happens when you mix blue and yellow?"

The kids, who were listening to all of this, yelled out "YOU GET GREEN!"

And THAT is why our cakes will be frosted with chocolate, forever more.

I've since discovered this website, which included a piece written by a guy working towards a degree in biochemistry. He conducted a study while he was in college and recruited several students that would eat various dye-laden food and then record what color came out the other end. My conclusion that the green poop came from mixing blue and yellow was erroneous. It actually had to do with the metabolism of blue dye.

Suffice to say, you can find anything on the internet and the blue Buzz Lightyear cake we had considered for the children's birthday is downright out.

I dunno. There just seems to be something unhealthy and toxic-like going on in your digestive system when bright green poop is produced.

Wouldn't you agree?

why do i bother?

I absolutely love one-on-one time with the kids.

Whenever I have them together as a group, I often feel a little overwhelmed, like I am facing a total mob scene. But when I can have them all alone, it's a completely different scenario. I get to see their personalities in full color and it is such a treat for me.

Yesterday, I took William to the store.

We went to the store because I needed to replace a needle on my sewing machine. I feel so domestic writing that. A needle on my sewing machine. But please don't be fooled in to thinking that I actually know how to sew.

The last time I sewed was about 14 years ago when I made my own Halloween costume. I was Little Red Riding Hood and Charlie was the Big Bad Wolf. The red cape that I made for myself looked like it had been made by someone who was totally blind and lacking hands. And you know, as I'm typing that, I'd be willing to bet that somewhere on this planet, there is a blind seamstress that with their feet, could sew perfect stitches around me.

I pulled my sewing machine out yesterday, dusted off 14 years of lint, read the manual for 30 minutes to remember how to secure a bobbin and then fired it up to fix a cushion cover for our couch. The cover had separated along the seam because it has been repeatedly washed and if I didn't stitch it closed soon, it was just a matter of time before the kids ripped the whole cushion apart. Our kids tend to be a little tough on the furniture.

As I'm sewing, I start to notice that the needle isn't going up and down. And instead of stopping and trying to figure out what might be wrong, I thought that perhaps the material was just thick and I needed to keep depressing the foot peddle.

Harder.

This is a photograph that Charlie snapped off a millisecond before the near tragedy that almost took out my eye when the needle snapped in half and an airborne piece of steel ricocheted off my cheek. (Lesson learned: ANSI rated safety glasses might be something to consider if you have no idea what you're doing with a sewing machine.)

(Does any one else struggle with putting their vacuum away? Although I'm rather fiendish about putting things away that aren't in use, for some reason, I leave the vacuum out a lot. Probably because I don't like the idea of dragging it out of the closet three times a day.)

Not one to be dissuaded, I grabbed the manual - my pocketbook - a band aid - and declared that whoever got their shoes on first could come with me to the store to buy a replacement needle.

William won.

But when it comes to getting shoes on first, William always wins.

(I don't know what it is with the girls and their shoes. Unless I do it myself, it will take no less than 15 minutes for them to accomplish this one seemingly simple task on their own. We're not talking about complicated lacing or buckles. We're talking about sandals. That are marked with arrows so they know which shoe goes where. And even when they finally do get their shoes on, 7 out of 10 times, they're on the wrong feet. Drives me berserk.)

William gets in to the car and comes with me to the store where we buy sewing needles and thread. And on the way out of the store, my young son happens to catch sight of the Halloween costumes and begs that we please walk down that row.

William spots a costume that in his words, looks "bad and scary."

He wants it, desperately, so I pick up the bag and review the contents.

It's a Transformer costume. But interesting to me is that my son has absolutely NO idea what a Transformer is. Still, he likes what he sees and for the past 36 hours, all that he has talked about is going back to the store and buying this Transformer costume. Because when he gets his mind on something, he doesn't let it go.

Last year, he dressed up as Buzz Lightyear for Halloween and for the next three months, he wore that costume almost everywhere that he went. Here he is the week before Christmas with Big Bird and Elmo from Sesame Street, in none other than his Buzz Lightyear garb.

Now, in my mind, I'm thinking that perhaps this year for Halloween, I can coordinate the children's costumes, once again.

Like old times.

When they would let me dress them up in adorable matching outfits.

But try as I might, I absolutely cannot convince my son to be anything other than what he wants to be. I've suggested that perhaps William could dress up as Prince Charming with his two Princess sisters but he scoffs at that idea.

"That sounds like a girl thing. All that girls want to do is spin around and have people clap. Mommy, I am really not doing that. It's goofy."

So tonight, when we are sitting around the dinner table, I broached the subject of Halloween costumes by telling the children the story of the Great Wizard of Oz. With excruciating detail, I created the image in my children's minds of Dorothy and her little dog, Toto. There was a big storm and a tornado. Dorothy was lost. She met the Scarecrow who desperately wanted a brain. She later met the Tin Man who desperately wanted a heart. She then met the Cowardly Lion who desperately wanted C-C-C-Courage.

Together, they voyaged to the Great Wizard of Oz along the yellow brick road.

(Imagine me singing the song. And for the record: I sing about as well as I sew.)

Along the way they met Belinda, the Good Witch of the North and the scary green Wicked Witch of the West with her flying monkeys. As I was telling this story to the children, they were completely engaged, listening to every word, with their beautiful blue eyes fixated on me.

I fully expected that by the time I finished the story, I would have them hook line and sinker.

The girls would be Dorothy and the Scarecrow, William would be the Tin Man and Henry would be the cuddly lion. I would be the the Good Witch of the North (or the Wicked Witch of the West - depending upon how I'm feeling that day), and Charlie would be the Wizard.

Awesome.

Family themed costumes.

So cool.

Wrapping up the story, I tell the children that after a number of distractions and detours, everyone finally arrived at Oz and got to meet the Great Wizard. Each person got to tell the Wizard exactly what it was that they wanted. "I want a Brain! ... I want a Heart! ... I want Courage ... and then there was sweet Dorothy and her dog Toto. All that they wanted was to go Home."

I pitch the idea of costumes to the family and the girls jump on it. Carolyn will be Dorothy, Elizabeth the Scarecrow. They buy in to the idea that Henry will be the lion and William will be the Tin Man. Charlie was distracted by this point with Monday Night Football, but when I asked if he'd be the Great Wizard of Oz he said, "Sure, whatever."

Which means he'll be fine wearing this.


(Certainly after he's had one of these.)

William climbed up on my lap and in a very serious voice said, "So, the Great Wizard will give people whatever it is that they want?"

I smiled and asked, "Whatever it is. Son, tell the Great Wizard of Oz what it is that you want!"

Without hesitation, he said, "Mr. Wizard, I would like a Transformer costume. PLEASE."

The point of this post: I cannot sew. I cannot sing. I cannot convince my son of a single thing.

this decision is an easy one

I would love to start this post out by saying, "WOW, you all really helped me with the tough decision of going {or not going} on my upcoming business trip!" But did anyone take a look at those comments?

Could they have been any more evenly divided?!

Go on your business trip. Disneyland can wait- until next week.

I would go with the kids. They won't be little long.

It's the celebration and not the day that matters. Celebrate early or late.

Your job is just a job. The triplets will only turn 5 once.

Since I have 30 hours before I have to decide, I still haven't made up my mind. Infact, I doubt I'll actually make up my mind until 29 hours and 57 minutes from now. And then, I'll change my mind at least twice more in the remaining three minutes. If you've read this blog for any length of time, my inability to make a decision should come as no surprise.

Although, I think it's important to add that our children get in to Disney for FREE on their birthday. But the catch is - it has to be their actual birthday. Not the day after, not the day before. Birth certificates will be required. And since I'll be on a business trip the week AFTER their birthday, I couldn't go at that time. And since I'll be gone for the next two weeks, I couldn't go the week BEFORE their birthday, since I'll have a load of things to do before I leave. And only crazy people go to Disney on the weekends.

Instead of spending any more precious time worrying about what to do, I'm thinking I should just head out to the store and buy a few Powerball tickets. Did you know that the lotto is up to $170,000,000.00?

170 million.

That would definitely cover a few new pairs of shoes.

(AND plane tickets for the whole family to fly with me to Virginia.)

Too bad I don't believe in gambling.

Oh wait!

Yes I do!!

Look at what my children helped me to accomplish this weekend.

These are just some of the magnificent pictures that they colored for all of those wonderful people who bought a silicone bracelet for our fundraiser. (FYI: The whale does have two eyes. They are just on opposite sides of it's head. And that's not a sun in the sky. It's a red floating smiley face. Not creepy. Cute. Although, I have no idea what that brown thing is in the picture, above. A bug maybe? Definitely not a levitating poop. I hope.)


If you haven't yet entered that totally legal contest, there is still time.

(One week, to be exact.)

If you do decide to enter this contest, not only do you procure yourself an awesome new silicone bracelet, you stand a chance at winning a beautiful set of wooden blocks and ... this is quite possibly the best part ... you get a personalized drawing from our four-year-old artists.

In my humble opinion, there is nothing better in this world than four year old art.

Although, winning a $170 million dollar lottery might be close.

crossroads

I am at a major crossroad in my life.

I've seen it coming.

It's been on the horizon for the past several years. I just felt like by the time I finally got to it, I'd know which way to turn. Alas, I've been sitting at what I perceive to be an intersection, with my blinker on for the past few months while the car behind me is laying on the horn.

Should I go left?

Should I go right?

Should I go straight?

If it wasn't for those tire spikes behind me, I'd throw this ride in reverse and back up.

For more than 20 years, I have worked, at some capacity in the environmental industry. I have worked in laboratories, consulting firms, and for a short stint with a governmental agency. Eight years ago, I was hired on with a major oil company and began what has been a dream job.

But once I had children, something happened.

The passion I once had for my career has been replaced with a passion for being a mom. (And then, writing ad nauseum about it.)

Although I had the advantage of working part time for the past few years, since May of this year, I've been back to full time work. Not because I wanted to, but because I had no other choice.

In the beginning, my workload wasn't very heavy, but with time, it has continued to grow. Over the past two months, there has been a lot of traveling, a lot of meetings, a lot more responsibility than I've had in the past five years, and from all predictions, my workload will only be increasing with time.

Less than six weeks ago, we returned home from our South Carolina vacation and since that time, I have traveled every week on a business trip. I spent one week at a hotel in San Diego for a meeting and then for the next two weeks, I was in Los Angeles at a trial. For the past two weeks, I've been gone to various meetings in Orange and Riverside Counties. Most days I'm gone before 6 AM and don't return home until after 6 PM.

In the middle of October, the same week that our triplets turn five, I am supposed to be at a meeting in Virginia. And the week after that, I'm supposed to be at a meeting in Santa Barbara. And although I recognize my attendance and participation in these meetings is critical for my career development, my attendance and participation in my children's lives is critical, too.

Oh, I know I'll just be gone for a few days.

I'm sure Charlie and the kids will be fine.

But will I be fine?

How will I do, knowing that I'm missing days upon days out of their childhood?

It feels incredibly unnatural to be away from the children for such a long period of time. But therein lies the complexity of this situation. When I'm working, I want to be with the kids. But then when I'm with the kids ... well ... sometimes I'd rather be sipping Chai Tea in a pedicure salon.

I keep waiting for things to get better and slow down at both work and at home, but it's like I'm caught in a vortex of crazy and I'm getting closer and closer to the center while things are going faster and faster. Does it help that my husband is starting up a company at this precise moment in time?

Absolutely not.

Although I do hope that one day he will be hugely successful, that isn't going to happen over night. So, in the meantime and unfortunately at this point in life - despite my fervent prayers for patience and compassion - I'm not the most pleasant person to be around. I want to be an encouraging mother and wife - but I'm frequently the exact opposite. Tonight, during one of my less than stellar moments, Charlie asked, "WHAT DO YOU WANT?"

Do I want to work?

Stay home?

Home school?

Move to a new house, new state, new country?

Sell everything and tour the world in a Winnebago?

Honestly? I don't know.

(Although I do know I'd like to have some trees. Real ones, mind you. Not the kind that you buy in a 5-gallon bucket, plant in your barren front yard and maybe - if you're lucky - in 10 years, will give you 45 minutes of shade during the longest day of the year.)

I don't know if I have the courage to give up my career. I definitely couldn't do it now, since I'm the primary breadwinner. But maybe by next year, that will be an option for me. And if it is, do I have the patience and ability to home school? Do I seriously have the courage to do something totally different with my life?

The time is looming where I will have to make that decision.

This past week I had my annual review. For the past eight years, I always looked forward to my boss calling to tell me that my performance was exceptional and I was in the top third of the company. But this year I could tell that I was slipping. I wasn't carrying nearly the same number of projects and when special assignments would come up, I would run and hide.

Since Henry was born, I just haven't had the same work gusto.

When I return home from a 12-hour work day, instead of firing up my computer and checking e-mail, I curl up and read stories to my children. We eat dinner together as a family. Charlie and I talk while we get the kids ready for bed. I'll spend a half an hour tucking everyone in and saying evening prayers. And then, whatever energy I might have had to continue working has totally dissolved. And so I sit down and mindlessly update my blog and sip wine.

(It's cathartic. And it saves me a fortune in therapy. Thank you blog world. I love you more than you could ever possibly know.)

When my boss told me that my ranking had slipped, I felt genuinely embarrassed. Sure, I suspected it, but once I heard it, it felt like my privacy shade went flapping up and everyone could see I had morphed in to a total slacker. Almost immediately, I began strategizing what I could do to improve my overall ranking next year.

The very next day, I had a meeting with one of my coworkers. She is young and has no children. She is an absolute workhorse for the company, putting in 60+ hour weeks, routinely. She is a top performer who will be relocated within a matter of months to a new assignment.

She is who I was a few short years ago.

She is who I was before I had children.

See, I know exactly what it takes to be a top employee. I've done it for years. But I'm just not willing to do it now, because the sacrifice is too great. Although it has taken a while for everything to come in to focus, it is abundantly clear to me that I cannot be the best employee, the best wife and the best mother.

Something's got to give.

Because I am currently the primary breadwinner, I need to work. But I know that in the next few years, my position will be completely phased out. So at this moment, I have the choice of throwing myself in to my career with hopes of climbing up the corporate ladder and securing myself a new assignment when my current assignment ends. Or, I have the choice to continue treading water until my job dissolves and pray that Charlie's endeavor takes off and SOARS.

(The problem is, I'm not very good at treading water.)

(None of the women in my family are.)

(Whenever we do something, we like to do it well.)

One thing is indeed for certain. My job will not be here forever. But when I look at my small children, I know that they won't be here forever, either. And if I'm not giving them my absolute best, then nothing else I do right will really matter much at all.

(Please Mom, don't blow it!)

We were planning to do something special with the children for their birthday. Originally, we were going to take them on a cruise. But those plans have changed and now we are thinking of taking them to Disneyland. The question is, do I miss my hugely important (my boss's boss's boss's boss [and maybe even his boss] will be there) meeting in Virginia so I can take my children to meet Mickey on their 5th birthday?

I have to submit my RSVP by Monday morning.

What would you do?

the great inquisition

I recently read somewhere that an average four-year-old asks three hundred questions a day.

Times three, for us that would be around 900 questions a day.

Which I honestly think might be on the low side.

"Mom? Mom? Why don't octopuses have bones?"

"Well, octopuses are invertebrates. That means that they don't have a backbone, like you and me and instead they have ..."

"Mom? Mom? Why do birds lay eggs?"

"Well, that's just how their babies are made. They grow in eggs. Other animals, like humans for example, have babies that grow in ...."

"Mom? Mom? What is dirt?"

"Well, dirt is a whole bunch of things. But mostly, it is big rocks that were broken down in to very, very small rocks and sand. There are all kinds of ..."

"Mom? Mom? Where does yogurt come from? Why is tape sticky? Why does the door bell go DING DONG? Why do flowers smell pretty? Why do I have toes? Why is milk white? What is THIS? What is THAT?"

"Well, uh, yogurt is dairy so it comes from a cow, tape is sticky because - I have no idea that's just the way it's made, the doorbell goes DING DONG because there is a small bell inside that is rung when someone pushes the button, flowers are ..."

"Mom? Mom? Stop talking please. You are hurting my ears."

"I am hurting your ears? Oh, that's novel. My ears are still buzzing and I can hear you talking when you are in bed ASLEEP."


"Mom, your ears are buzzing and you can hear me talking when I'm asleep?"

"Yes Dear. That's what I said."

"Really? Are you telling me the truth?"

"Mom? Mom?"

"MOM!"

what's in you wednesday

Last week, I had a meeting in Orange County.

In order to get to that meeting, I had to leave my house at 5:30 in the morning.

My job was to meet with five of my co-workers (three men and two women) and review invoicing and contracting operations for a consultant that does work for our company. We needed to review files. We needed to review procedures. We needed to cross-reference time sheets against invoices against contracts to insure that we were being billed correctly.

This was a full-fledged audit.

Throughout the day, we called in an assortment of consulting staff for interviews in an effort to insure that they understood what they were supposed to be doing. And the people we were auditing were definitely on edge. Because even though they had everything in place - and the findings from their audit revealed that they were fully in compliance - going through an audit is a bit nerve wracking.

My coworkers and I were behind locked doors with boxes upon boxes of information that we needed to scour. And at least once an hour, I, or one of my coworkers, would pick up the phone to call the Vice President of the consulting company, who was the representative delegated to answering all of our questions. And if for some reason he couldn't answer our question, it was his job to find someone who could answer our question, STAT.

Lunch was brought in and while we ate, we worked. But about an hour or so after lunch, I could feel the energy begin to leave my body. At one point, I glanced up at one of my female coworkers, and we exchanged a look that was absolutely undeniable.

Words weren't even necessary.

I picked up the phone and called for the Vice President of the Company.

When he answered, there was a tinge of nervousness, because I have a reputation that precedes me. He knew that he was dealing with a hardcore professional.

This is how our conversation went.

Me: "Uh. Hi."

Him: "Is everything OK?"

Me: "No. It's not. It's really not. We have a rather significant problem here."

Him: "Oh oh. What's wrong? Should I come in?"

Me: "Sir? Where is the CHOCOLATE. There is no CHOCOLATE in this room. There is no CHOCOLATE anywhere in this office. I've looked EVERYWHERE. There isn't even a VENDING MACHINE. I am starting to FREAK OUT. Do you hear me? I am FREAKING OUT. We are under INTENSE time pressures to have this audit completed today. You do realize I cannot leave the premises?! So, how do you expect this audit to go well, under these seriously sub par conditions?!"

Him: "Yes Ma'am. I am sorry. We will have the situation corrected immediately."

A few minutes passed, but no more than five, and there was a soft knock on the door. When I opened the door, there stood the receptionist - and in her hands - was the largest bowl of chocolate I have ever seen. Larger, even, than the bowl I use at Halloween to hold 400 pieces of candy. In that bowl there were Reese's, Snickers and an assortment of gourmet chocolate imported from Switzerland.

I hugged her and kissed her, twice, on the cheek.

Interesting to me, is that myself and my two women coworkers, literally dove in to the bowl of chocolate. There were orange wrappers flying around, through the air, as we inhaled chocolate.

The men? Not at all.

They just sat in their chairs and continued to flip through invoices and time sheets, oblivious to us women-folk, as we got our much-needed fix.

The bout of craziness passed and all of our energy levels were restored. Our brains were able to function normally again, and so we continued the audit, without further incident.

This week, I power walked to Trader Joe's to pick up some critical supplies.


Later in the week, I power walked to another store to pick up more critical supplies. And then, I had to turbo-charge power walk home so my critical supplies didn't totally melt.

Hello. My name is Jen and I am hopelessly - I mean, HOPELESSLY, addicted to chocolate.

Recently, I've come to terms with the fact that I might never fit in a size two. Or four. Or six, even. Because until the day that chocolate stops tasting so darn good, or ceases to bring me an intense amount of happiness and joy, I am resigned to eating it. EVERY DAY.

Sooo. There you have it.

What's your addiction?

the key is consistenc ... OH ALRIGHT

There is no doubt, our lives are just one series of adjustments after another.

Everything is dynamic.

Everything is always changing.

First there were the years of infertility.

Then there were newborn triplets.

Then there were toddler triplets, a surprise pregnancy with 100 pound weight gain, and a home remodel, with every appliance that we own, breaking.

Then there were toddler triplets and one newborn and a poop eating dog.

Then there were preschool aged triplets and one toddler.

There were full time jobs, part time jobs and no jobs at all.

Then there was the tentative, oh my gosh I sure hope this works out because it is costing an awful lot, start up company.

How we handle each passing phase is unique. But it seems that there is always the common thread between Charlie and I. We mustn't lose our mind. We mustn't try to figure it all out at once. We must take it one day at a time. We must do our absolute best to smile, laugh and enjoy the ride.

And whatever we do, we mustn't have more than one glass of wine at night. Because if we do - we might go a little nutso and turn the entire blog pink.

(That's a little love for my upcoming 3-Day Walk.)

Recently, we have been going through a rather difficult patch with Henry. Although his communication skills are exploding - and he is capable of speaking a lot words - Henry has these episodes of extreme frustration where he will throw himself on the ground and scream.

He wants what the triplets have.

He doesn't get it?

SCREAM.

He doesn't want to go in the bath.

He goes in the bath?

SCREAM.

He wants to stay in the bath.

He comes out of the bath?

SCREAM.

He wants to stand on the table.

He is removed from the table?

SCREAM.

He wants to run around with a pair of scissors.

Scissors are removed from his hand?

SCREAM.

He wants to come and sleep with me at 4:00 AM.

I leave him in his crib?

SCREAM.

He wants to be left alone.

You are looking at him?

SCREAM.

Do you see where I am going with this?

SCREAM SCREAM SCREAM.

Henry's screams are ear piercing and they will drive me to my knees in agony.

Because of that, for a while there, I would give Henry whatever it was that he wanted.

I'd actually take toys away from the older kids and give them to the baby. I'd give him a bath at a later time and then, I'd let him stay in the bath for as long as he wanted. I'd stand by the table to make sure he wouldn't fall off. I'd shadow him as he toddled around the house with scissors and do my best to distract him with other shiny objects so I could make the exchange without tears. I'd scoop him up at the first peep and bring him in to bed with me where he would nurse for the next three hours. I actually allowed myself to become a human pacifier.

All told, I created a monster.

Sure he is cute and adorable and oh, so sweet.

Except for when he SCREAMS. Because then, he's nothing but a demon child and it takes all of my maternal grace and loving powers to not toss him in to the garage and lock the door.

For the past few weeks, I've been throwing down the hammer on Henry's tantrums. Whenever he starts to wind up and go in to a SCREAMFEST, I will put him in his crib - or stand him in the corner. But usually, I'll put him in his crib, because I know that he'll stay there. And for anyone that feels compelled to warn me that I don't want to make his "safe place" a spot for punishment, save it.

It's either his crib or duct tape.

Know what I mean - jelly bean?

I am trying to wean. A little here, a little there. I'm not ready to stop nursing altogether, but I'm also not prepared to keep nursing whenever Henry wants. Which - if I abided by his wishes - would be several times throughout the day and ALL night. So instead, I am ignoring his cries when he wakes up screaming at 4 AM.

Funny me!!

I thought that if I just let him scream, he'd eventually go back to sleep because that's what ALL of our other children have done. But that defies the Law of Henry. Instead, he wakes up the entire house. And by 4:45, there are three groggy children standing next to my bed wondering if they can watch Curious George and eat pancakes.

&*%(^#$&^#* PANCAKES.

AT &$%*(^$)%*&^$#(*& 4:45 IN THE MORNING.

You've never seen ugly until you've seen me being woken up two and a half hours before sunrise being asked for PANCAKES and CURIOUS GEORGE.

If only we had a larger house, with one room that I could make TOTALLY sound proof by spraying with insulating foam, I'm sure that I could get Henry on a good sleeping schedule with no trouble. Because he would soon learn that I cannot hear his cries and therefore, he'd just surrender to the beauty that is sleep. But alas, he knows that I can hear him because I think that he hears me praying, "Dear God, won't you please SHUT that child UP?"

(Yes. I do say those things. To God, even.)

The triplets no longer nap during the day. Except for today when Elizabeth took an almost two-hour nap and now, at almost 9:00 at night, she is trying to convince me that I should make her a big bowl of popcorn and paint her toenails red.

I keep thinking that one day we will have this whole parenting thing figured out.

But today is clearly not the day.

And now, I need to sign off so I can go paint my daughter's toes and pour myself another glass of Chardonnay before I scoop my two year old son up and nurse him.

Don't judge me.

Don't you dare judge me.