where dreams come true and people go bankrupt

Our trip to Disneyland was really fun.

But we are now totally broke and will be living off of rice for the rest of the year.

When we began to plan this trip last week, we had originally intended to stay at the Disneyland Resort. But when Charlie called up and found out that a two night stay at the resort and one day passes to Disneyland would be a whopping $1,567.00 (ONE THOUSAND FIVE HUNDRED AND SIXTY SEVEN DOLLARS), we laughed and laughed. Because surely they were kidding. Who charges seven hundred dollars a night for a standard hotel room during a recession?


I'll tell you who: Walt Disney and his little partner, Mickey.

They weren't kidding. They really do charge $700.00 for a standard hotel room at the Resort.

On a weeknight.

In the Fall.

So we made alternative arrangements.

But even with our savvy planning, two nights and one day visit at the Most Magical Place on earth was shockingly expensive. Let's look at some numbers.


Charlie and I had to pay to get in. That was $72.00 each, or $144.00. Henry is under the age of three, so he was free. Since we went on the triplets birthday, they were also free. The 21 buttons that they gave to us were free. (What the heck is up with all the buttons?! Can I smelt them down and make coins??)

Six classic Mickey Mouse ear hats with embroidery, $97.28. While I was forking over five twenties, I tried not to ponder that the material used to create these hats couldn't have cost more than four dollars.

Instead, I tried to fill my mind with how awesome it was that these hats will last a lifetime. Or at least until the children outgrow the youth sizes that I purchased within the next six months. Gah. I should have bought the adult sizes and lined them with cotton balls.


Breakfast at The Inn with Minnie and Friends was $125.00. The chintzy birthday cakes that came in even chintzier plastic treasure chests (two princess and one pirate themed) were $15.00 each, for a total of $45.00. Not including tax.


This "HEY EVERYBODY WE'RE AT DISNEY IN 2009!" family photo was $35.00.


Two salted pretzels and two boxes of popcorn were $18.00.

One Buzz Lightyear toy. One Buzz Lightyear Laser. One box of Monster Inc. figurines. One turtle dude from Finding Nemo. Just a few small miscellaneous toys that we picked up at the Disney Store because it was their birthday (and how could Henry not get something when his siblings did?) $84.00.

Then there were the shuttle passes from the hotel to the park. That only cost $12.00.

One breakfast. One lunch. And two dinners at the hotel. $325.00.

Room service for six hot fudge sundaes with candles. $21.52.

Lodging. $378.00. That included parking.

My calculator is missing or I'd give you a grand total.

It could have been worse. If we had to pay for the kids, that would have added $248.00 to our tab. And, I actually refused the children's requests to buy balloons. They each wanted a Mickey Mouse balloon, but when I found out that helium latex balloons were SEVEN DOLLARS EACH, I had to put my foot down. Like I'm going to pay TWENTY EIGHT DOLLARS for four balloons that will either be let go of, or popped, or drive me clinically insane within seconds. I also steered William away from the foam sword and shield, which saved another $20.00.

And when a woman dressed up as a Fairy Godmother walked up to my children, holding a basket of brightly wrapped papers tied with bows, and offered one to each of my children and in a singsong voice told us that this was a solicitation for the Bippidi Boppity Boutique, where the kids could go in and have their faces painted and hair styled - I considered possibly saying yes, until I caught a glimpse of how much these "makeovers" would cost and then, while my children begged, "Please Mommy, PLEASE!" I once again, said NO.

I'm sure my children would love to have makeup applied and their hair highlighted and spiked, but I'm not paying $75.00 for my five-year-olds to look like they are 20, until they take a bubble bath in a few short hours and all the makeup and glitter goes down the drain.

Other thoughts...

We were there on a Wednesday, middle of the week, school is in session and it was RAINING.

Still, there were lines everywhere. When you consider Disney has a global draw, it should probably have come as no surprise that there was a 45 minute wait for Space Mountain and 70 minute wait for The Matterhorn. But I was surprised.

A bit agitated, even.

Absolutely no one was in a hurry. Everyone went painfully slow. It's almost as if they are doing it intentionally to limit the number of rides that you can fit in on any given day so that you need to come back again. And spend more money. And then, even more money because you'll need to visit the adjacent Park, which requires an entirely separate ticket to enter.

Does it sound like I'm being cheap?

With age, it seems to be getting worse. I've already started scowling at my kids every time we go shopping and whisper through clenched teeth, "You need to get a JOB!" the same way my mother did to me.

How old do you need to be to have a paper route? Six?

While I appreciate that Disney is a business, I don't appreciate feeling like I've been robbed. And it's not just at the Park. Walking through Target yesterday afternoon, my children spotted the new Disney's Snow White movie that has recently been released on DVD. It was $19.99. For a little piece of plastic, $20.00? Oh yes - I know that there are artists and technology and packaging and yadayadayada ... but man, I am in the wrong line of work.

I should be in PLASTICS.

Then there were two separate Disney Princess dress-up doll sets that the girls told me that they REALLY wanted. At $35.00 a piece, that's another $70.00. I didn't buy them, because I just know that within a day of those items being in our house, they would be lost or broken or the itty bitty tiny shoes would be sucked up in to my unforgiving vacuum. But how much do these things really cost to make? I'm guessing no more than pennies.

Even though I don't buy these items myself, Disney is everywhere. It's on toothbrushes, pajamas, cups, plates, cups and underwear. There's no escaping it and kids have gotta have it, like a druggie's gotta gotta gotta have crack.

I'm trying not to dwell on the expense, because we really had a wonderful time. Charlie and I spent a lot of much-needed time talking while we waited in line and since it took us over two hours to meet the Princesses, we got the rest of our lives completely sorted out.

But I think that for anyone who might be planning a trip to the Magic Kingdom, my suggestion is to fill your wallet up to the brink with money, and then just PRACTICE opening it and SHAKING EVERY LAST DIME OUT. And then stand around waiting for the money to reappear. Chances are by the time you're ready to give up, it will finally be your turn.

And almost instantly, you'll forget the misery of it all and just bask in the wonder on your children's faces.

Because it's ALL worth it.

It really, really is.

Now just keep cheerfully repeating that to yourself as you review your bank account statement. Soon enough, you will not only believe it - you'll be ready to plan your next trip.

how we'll be spending our saturday

This is where we spent last weekend ...

And this is where we'll be again, all day today.

If you live in San Diego, please come see us at the La Jolla Cove where we'll be hosting our Fourth Pink Lemonade Project. Charlie baked 300 cookies yesterday and we'll have at least 25 gallons of lemonade, balloons and bracelets.

If the beautiful sights and fresh air blowing off of the Pacific Ocean aren't enough to bring you joy, homemade chocolate chip cookies and pink lemonade served up by preschoolers in a cup size of your choice, will surely put a smile on your face. And if it doesn't ... you might want to check your pulse.

the most important meeting i've ever attended

Yesterday, our amazing trips turned five years old. The very same day, my company had a corporate meeting on the east coast, where my attendance was requested. Since this was a global meeting that only happens once every three years, the decision as to whether or not I should go was a very difficult choice.

Life is all about making choices and quite often, those choices come with a sacrifice. But once you know what your BIG priorities are in life, you can very quickly identify a genuine sacrifice. Those are the ones that might haunt or nag at you, for years to come.

Ultimately, I took advice from the Great Counselor and let my conscience be my guide.

So yesterday, while my co-workers were rubbing shoulders with corporate managers in the Nation's Capital, I was rubbing shoulders with a bunch of cartoon characters and three birthday celebrating five-year-olds who have never been so excited in their entire lives.

And quite frankly - neither have I.

the earth goes around the sun

Tonight as I was tucking the children in to bed, I told them that tomorrow would be the last day that they would ever be four years old. When they wake up on Wednesday, they will be five.

One full hand.

There were mixed emotions about this upcoming birthday. William told me that he was excited to grow up and be a man so he could grow a beard and drink beer. Both girls cried. Carolyn doesn't want to be a giant and Elizabeth wants to be my baby forever. While I held my daughters in my arms, I whispered that they wouldn't ever be giants. But if by some freak chance they were, they would still always be my babies.

But how did it happen that my babies are five years old?

This blog was started when they were 17-months old and they were just entering toddlerhood.

Does it really seem like that much time has passed?

I never realized little people could grow so quickly in five short years.

I'm absolutely certain that I went through these same reflective feelings last year just before their birthday. I'm sure I'll go through this every year.

But aside from their first birthday, this fifth year milestone is hitting me the hardest. Yes, I know the earth goes around the sun and a year passes. But how do they go from newborns to toddlers to preschoolers to ... FIVE ... so darn fast?

Five years from now they'll be TEN. And ten years from now they'll be FIFTEEN. And fifteen years from now, they'll be TWENTY. I'm a whiz at addition. It's the philosophy of all this that brings me to my knees. With each passing year, I see so clearly that the whole adage, "The days are long but the years are short" is painfully true.

These kids are growing up so fast.

Too fast.

Time has never before seemed so short.

Which is why tonight, I prepared dinner with one hand because Henry wanted to be held and I happily obliged, until my left arm went completely numb. And when I put him down and he buried his head in my legs, I rubbed his hair and then scooped him up in my right arm, to hold him some more.

It's the reason that all day today, I intensely cuddled my children by flipping them up and in to my arms and smothering them in kisses until they begged me to stop. It's the reason I snapped off almost 100 pictures while they sat around the table doing something as mundane as eat spaghetti. It's the reason I gave every one two (and the boys three) small helpings of ice cream.

Unlike most nights, tonight I didn't get frustrated that Elizabeth got up from the table ten times to get a napkin. And a spoon. And a fork. And a spoon for her sister. And a spoon for her brother. And look at birds out the window. And climb under the table to pick up the bread that Henry dropped. And the spoons that her siblings dropped. And go potty. Twice.

Tonight, I just reveled in their littleness. Because they are little. They have little arms and little legs and little hands and little feet. And little voices that quite often drive me bat crazy throughout the day, but tonight, those little voices were music. Even when they were screaming that someone touched something about who the heck knows what. Where am I?

Tonight, I kept thinking that five years ago at this very moment, they were still completely dependent upon my body - and now - they are fully capable of getting dressed, putting on their shoes and flushing the toilet. Sure, most days they don't do ANY of those things, but I know that they could if they wanted. And soon enough, I'm sure they will want to do all of those things without any prompting from me. And when that happens, I doubt I'll be able to fling them over my shoulder and smother them in kisses.

How much longer will it be, that I can carry them at all?

Tonight, I didn't care that the house was flipped upside down from their riotous playing. I didn't care that I would have at least an hour of cleaning up before I could go to bed. I didn't even care about the multiple piles of laundry that were generated this afternoon.

Tonight I just sat and reflected over the past five years and I sent up the most heartfelt prayer I have in a long time. It went something like this, "Dear God, I know that you can't slow down time, but in lieu of that, could you please slow me down so that I can enjoy all of these awesome moments that much more?"

Tomorrow, I'll be heading out of town for a few days. I had been really torn about what to do, because my career obligations were pulling me in one direction, while what I perceived to be my family obligations were pulling me in the exact opposite direction. After a lot of genuine reflection, I finally made a decision. While it seemed like a very difficult decision to make at the time, I now see that it was the only decision I could have made.

And well. Now that my introspection has come to an end and I'm looking around at the absolute disaster our children have created and which I am responsible for cleaning up, because otherwise it will grow ten times worse overnight, I'm going to send up another heartfelt prayer for one of these Dr. Seuss contraptions to appear out of thin air.


Mercy these children can make a mess.

Perhaps I need two.

Amen.

extraordinary dads

A few weeks ago, I was contacted by the producers of a popular television show.

It seems the producers were looking for a family with triplets. Or more specifically, they were looking for a father of triplets. And not just any father, an extraordinary father.


A father that can handle the day to day life with high order multiples.


A father that doesn't crack under pressure.


A father that keeps his cool and makes the whole thing look ... easy.

And well, the producers found me through my blog and asked if my husband (and any other extraordinary triplet dads that I might know) would be available to sit down and talk with a father of triplets who lives in the area and who desperately needs support from other triplet dads. Because I had just registered our triplet mom team for the 3-Day Breast Cancer Walk, I wrote the producers back and said,

"Your timing is great re: interaction with triplet dads since I'm currently training with four of my fellow triplet moms for the 3-Day breast cancer walk in San Diego. It's a course that will take us 60 miles over three days and have us camping in tents at night. While we are out walking - all of our husbands have committed to staying home with the children. Maybe we can get the triplet mom to join our 3-Day walk team - and the father, who desperately needs help from other dads, can join rank with our extraordinary husbands? Provided the idea of being home alone with his children for three days doesn't send him in to cardiac arrest..."

They didn't bite.

Instead, last weekend while I was home in South Carolina, Charlie met up with two other triplet dads, whose wives I know (Jessica is actually on my walk team), and the three of these guys sat down and chatted for over an hour with one of the most popular television stars around. Since I wouldn't be at the filming, I asked Charlie what kind of advice he was going to give this father.

My husband, totally straight faced said, "I'm going to tell him that he needs to step up to the plate and be a man. I'm going to tell him that he has the ball and he needs to run with it. I'm going to tell him that he needs to completely share the parenting responsibilities with his wife - and the first time she ever asks him to do something, he needs to totally blow it, so she never asks him to do anything, ever again."

He was just kidding. Of course. Although, that does kind of explain why he put the triplets to bed without their diapers once when they were four months old.

Anyway. Last weekend, Charlie (Derrick & David) met with a celebrity.

Do you recognize her?


How about now?


Or now?

The triplet dad that Charlie, Derrick and David (and Jo Jo) sat down with is named Mark. He and his wife just moved to San Diego along with their three year old triplets and five year old. From what I understand, they are really struggling. The five year old came first (obviously) and life with one child was a bowl of cherries. But then came along triplets and all hell broke loose.

(I don't know what their problem is. Life around here is always peaches and cream. Oh. Wait a minute. HENRY! HENRY!! GET OUT OF THE TOILET!! ELIZABETH, DOLLY'S HAIR WILL NOT GROW BACK IF YOU CUT IT OFF - PUT DOWN THE SCISSORS!! GRACIE GOOD GOD WHY IS THERE LIQUID SOAP ON MY CAMERA?! WILLIAM! WILLIAM?! WHO ARE YOU CALLING?! GET OFF THE PHONE!!)

Ahem.

Charlie said that Mark's biggest concern is that once he became a father, he began to lose his identity as a husband. It seems his whole life now revolves around the children. And whenever he has quiet time with his wife, all that they talk about are the children, children, children.

Who is he?

Who is she?

What happened to them?

My husband, along with the other triplet dads, spoke about the importance of taking time away for yourself - and for your marriage. You must make it a priority to have that one - on - one time with each of your children, and especially with your spouse.

When Mark further stressed that he feels like he and his wife have nothing to talk about outside of the kids - my husband suggested ON CAMERA that they drink more wine.

See, my advice would have been make sure you laugh with your spouse, every day. If you can can find humor together, you can handle just about anything. And also, eat a bowl of ice cream while sitting side by side at the end of a long day. It really helps and seeing my hubby drizzle hot fudge makes me love him that much more. (The key is moderation. Everything in moderation.)

(I'm so glad Charlie didn't grab the camera and take a photo of me licking every last molecule of hot fudge out of that bowl. Oh Mercy. Not a drop can ever go to waste.)

The show is scheduled to air on ABC Friday, January 15, 2010.

But something tells me, my husband's pearl of wisdom about throwing back another glass of vino to help facilitate better communication, isn't going to make it on the air. Regardless, I hope it comes across that my Charlie is not only a rockstar dad, he is a rockstar husband.

I definitely hit the jackpot in the spouse department.

our new morning soundtrack

Our house is always filled with music. In the morning, as soon as we wake up, we'll turn on the stereo and throughout the day, we'll listen to an assortment of music. Classical. Rock. Blues.

A couple years ago, I posted a video of the girls dancing to what was then, our favorite music to start the day. While I don't have a video to accompany these photos, here are a few pictures that William (my budding photographer) snapped off as Elizabeth and I got up and got ready to start our day, today.


Can you guess what song we were listening to?


It's no wonder our children have such awesome dance moves.

They are learning from a master.

My singing isn't so bad, either.

Although from the expression on Elizabeth's face (and Carolyn who is belting from the other side of the camera, "MOMMY! STOP SINGING!!") my children might tend to disagree.

My Uncle Bill

Two weeks ago, my mother asked if I could please help her write down a few thoughts about my Uncle Bill. When I arrived in South Carolina last week, mom asked if I could please finish writing down those thoughts and deliver the Eulogy at his funeral mass this past Saturday.

As it turns out, Eulogies typically don't happen at funeral masses. But because my family has attended this church for a long time, and because my Aunt Ann was a part of the service (and made connections with the organist who then talked with the Priest), an exception was made.

Below is the Eulogy that I delivered after the Homily. This is the Eulogy that took me almost 10 hours to write and when I collapsed in to bed at three in the morning - seven hours before the Funeral Mass was scheduled to take place - clear as day, I could hear my Uncle Bill say to me, "Thank you, Dear."

I love that man so much and it was my great honor to have the opportunity to tell everyone how much he meant to me. Or rather, how much he means to me. Because even now, I can feel his strong spirit surrounding me.

*******

Writing this Eulogy for my beloved Uncle Bill has probably been one of the most difficult things I have ever done. Because there are so many things to say. And yet, none of the things that I say could ever capture the greatness of the man that we are gathered here to honor, today.

Uncle Bill.

You were a terrible driver.

My mother told me when I was a child that I should never drive with you and if I must, I should always sit in the back and never forget to wear my seat belt.

Albeit a danger on the road, you were a lucky man. To not only walk away from your countless car accidents unscathed, but to have lived such a full and rich life. I do not know of anyone who has given so much love - and received so much love - within their lifetime. I do not know of any man that is so adored by his children and grandchildren that they would consider building their own homes in their father's front yard.

(For those that don't know - my cousin Margaret's house is a few hundred feet off her parent's house. Smack dab in the right field of their front yard.)

To me, you were a constant source of entertainment. My favorite story that you ever told was the one where your mother, who on one particular day, was so angry at you and your brother, Joe - that she tried to throw a pot at the two of you as you ran up a flight of stairs. But instead of hitting you, the pot ricocheted off the wall struck her in the head and knocked her out cold. And rather than stick around to see if your mother was OK, you opted to hide because you knew that if she was angry before she gave herself a black eye, she’d be even more cross when she resumed consciousness.

To your children you were their mentor, coach and confidant. May I ask: How many fathers bring flowers to their daughters in high school on Valentine‘s Day? How many fathers would get excited over baking a rhubarb pie with their teenager? How many fathers have the privilege of working shoulder to shoulder with their grown sons? And how many fathers have such respect and decency, that they will tell their sons, when they are on a job working hard - talking hard - and getting dirty, that all of their work is to stay on the job, because as soon as they get home, they are in the company of women?

There was never any question that your family was the most important part of your life and because of that, you were committed to the success and well being of your children’s children.

You were not only “Father” to this family. You were a GRAND father. You have helped to shape and nurture your grandchildren’s lives, solely because you were a critical part of them. Like a dandelion’s seeds will blow in the breeze and spout new life in far reaching places - so the positive impact that you have had on your grandchildren has taken root to bloom and grow.

But the love and dedication for your children and grandchildren was eclipsed by the adoration and devotion that you had for your wife. Your Amazing Grace.


You were her dashingly handsome teenage sweetheart. She was your beautiful girlfriend. Your relationship was unlike any other, a match truly made in heaven. Your marriage of 56 years is what every marriage should be.

The way that you would put your arm around her, the way that you would gently hold her hand, and to see your face light up like the Fourth of July whenever she walked in to a room or spoke, was magic for everyone to see. When I once asked your advice on where you would live if you could live anywhere, you told me, “Your Aunt Grace sometimes gets a little irritated with me. But I‘d be happy wherever I was. So long as she’d allow me to be by her side.”

Uncle Bill, it was just the way that you lived your life. You were a beacon of eternal optimism, hope and strength. You harnessed the power of mind over body. Last year, when your dog Ruffo knocked you down and broke your hip, you didn’t cry out for help. Instead, when the first person called, you answered your cell phone, “Hello, Bill Finnell” as if nothing had ever happened. And when you heard that it was your daughter on the other end, you very casually asked if she had a pair of crutches you could borrow?

Lest anyone forget you were given a three-month life expectancy almost five years ago. You told the doctors that they had their work cut out for them and boy did they ever. You absolutely loved your life and because of that, you never gave up. When you were told that you would be growing weaker, you began getting up at three in the morning and working out so that your body would be as strong as your mind, for as long as possible.

But how is it possible that you were able to travel to California, just four short months ago?

I believe it was because there was nothing more important than for you to be present and support your daughter as she completed her first marathon. So you climbed aboard a plane, and flew 3,000 miles across the country (and back again) - took a cab - a train - and a bus so you could be there, waiting for us, as we hobbled across the finish line. Make no mistake: if you hadn’t been there, I would still be on the course. But I told myself, “If Uncle Bill can get himself to the finish line, by golly, I can too.” And that is where I found the strength to continue.

Then again, you have always given me the strength to continue.

Consider, 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 I was just visiting South Carolina on vacation before the new school year resumed. But when I didn't fly home and my mother and brother joined us from Massachusetts a few days later, I knew that my life was about to change, forever.

Those were some very tumultuous times. But you, Uncle Bill, were solid ground. You took all of us in, under your wing, and 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 encouraged us. And you showed us, through your example, how a husband should cherish his wife and family, unconditionally.

Children and adults adore you. You were humble, gracious, patient, compassionate and kind. But if you saw something wrong, you were not afraid to speak up. Like the young man that you watched a judge try to sentence to jail because he could not afford to pay his fine. You not only spoke up, but you paid his fine and then told that young man, an absolute stranger to you, that the best way he could ever pay you back, would be to go forth and do something positive with his life. You believed in people and in doing so, you helped people to believe in themselves.

You had what can only be considered a God-given talent of making everyone feel special, like they were the most important person in the world. And whenever you would talk with someone, you were never distracted. You were always present in the moment. You nurtured relationships and created strong bonds and in doing so, you were an absolute gift to those who you cared about.

Uncle Bill, you are who I strive to be more like, every day.

You were a man with a dream and you lived that dream. There is no question you are the most successful man I have ever met. But what really defines success? Is it money or possessions or fame? In truth, it is none of the above.

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."

Uncle Bill, you have done all of those things and more.

So you have not only succeeded in life, you have thrived.

Your daughter Margaret called me at sunrise on Wednesday to tell me that you had left us. But Uncle Bill, you haven't really left us. You will never leave us. You will always be a part of any one's life that you have touched. When I hugged you tightly just last month and told you that I loved you, you smiled and warmly said, "I know, Dear. I know you, do. Thank you for that."

Uncle Bill, if I had been emotionally able, I would have said, "No. Thank You."

Thank you for the goodness that you always showed to me and especially, the kindness that you always showed to my mother. Thank you for taking us in and making us 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 my friend and my motivation. Thank you for being at the finish line.

No one lives forever. But Uncle Bill, you will forever live in my heart.

Finally. I know that Uncle Bill would want for me to tell you: Thank you, to each and every one that is gathered here today. Thank you so very much for coming to remember him, for being here to support his family, for sharing in his life and for being his friend.

Now go forth and enjoy your day.

Go forth and enjoy your life.

Put the ones you love, before all else.

And if anyone ever tries to hit you in the head with a pot, run like the wind.

i am SO glad that i went

It wasn't until late Wednesday night that I made the decision to fly back to South Carolina for my Uncle Bill's funeral. Even though my cousin Margaret had called (twice) and told me that she (really) wanted for me to come back, I was sitting on the fence until I talked to my mother.

My mother is Aunt Grace's sister and they are only a couple years apart in age. They have an extremely close relationship and as such, my mother has always been close with Uncle Bill.

Mom was the maid-of-honor in their wedding, 56 years ago. She visited them when they moved away from Massachusetts and lived in Georgia. And then Florida. And then South Carolina. And when my parents divorced - Uncle Bill was a pillar of strength for my mother.

When I talked to Mom on Wednesday night, I could just hear it in her voice. While I knew that my cousins and Aunt Grace would be surrounded with friends and family and have the support that they needed, I really worried about my mother.

My mom never wants to put any one out, so I expected no less when she told me during our conversation, "I'm just fine. Please don't come. I hope you're not planning on leaving Charlie and all those babies." But something told me I needed to go. So I got the nod of endorsement from my husband and booked the ticket that would have me departing less than 10 hours later.

Uncle Bill and Aunt Grace have a beautiful home in the country and they have always derived inspiration for decoration from the Biltmore House, in North Carolina.

Growing up, I remember that they decorated their house so beautifully for all the holidays, but especially at Christmas. When December would roll around, Auntie would place live trees in various rooms and each window along the front of the house was adorned with an evergreen wreath. While the adults would bake, the kids would be sent hunting in the woods for holly, mistletoe and pine cones. When finished, their house would look like something from a magazine and smell like something from a gingerbread dream. Uncle Bill would walk around - the King of his Castle - beaming at the beauty of it all. He was always so proud of his home.

That's my memory.

Because having their house look beautiful was always so important to Aunt Grace and Uncle Bill, my mother picked up four pots of mums that she wanted to use in decorating the front step.

When I drove over to drop the plants off on Friday morning, I decided that we needed just a few plants more. So I asked my cousin Lisa to come with me for a major dose of retail therapy.

First we went to Home Depot where we bought 18 more pots of mums. (Did I mention I have a problem with moderation?) Then we carefully selected 21 pumpkins. Five big ones to represent the five children of Aunt Grace and Uncle Bill and 16 little ones to represent their 16 grandchildren. Because I'm all about symbolism.

From there, we headed over to Pier I Imports where we bought candles and centerpieces and garland and a vibrant wreath for the front door. And then, we went to McDonald's where we ate our weight in french fries and chocolate milkshakes. And for the first time in two days, the grief that had clutched us, lessened. Just a little bit.

The funeral mass was on Saturday and this was the first time I had been in to a Catholic Church in ... 10 (15?) years. My cousin Lisa's children, Matthew, Stephen and Kathryn were the altar boys and altar girl and it was so special to see them up there helping with the service.

Several more of Uncle Bill's grandchildren served as pallbearers and as they proceeded in to the church, while my mother's other sister, Aunt Ann, sang an absolutely beautiful rendition of "Amazing Grace", I dissolved in to tears. The whole experience was surreal.

Fortunately, it was just a matter of time before I was distracted with the formality of the Catholic Church. Kneeling. Sitting. Standing. Kneeling. It didn't seem like anyone was doing anything in synchronicity. Some would be sitting. Others would be standing. While a handful were on their knees, looking around confused.

My mother tried to kneel at one point and then yelped over the pain from her new knee. During all this, there were recitations the congregation was making. The priest would say something, the congregation would respond. I kind of remember this from my days in Catholic school, but not enough to preclude me from stealing a glance at my mother to see what I should be doing.

At one point, my cousin, Sue, who was in the pew directly behind me, leaned forward and said, "So, Jenny! I can't wait to see what happens with you and Marylou!" When I turned around and gave her a curious look, she continued, "I READ THE BLOG, YOU KNOW!"

Unbeknown to me, it seems a lot of my family does and I should probably watch what I write a bit more. (Hi There! Why haven't you donated yet to my 3-Day Walk?!)

(Or better yet, donate to my friend, Debbie. She still needs to reach her minimum. It all goes to the same place and it is all very much needed.)

(Except you - Uncle Bernie. And you - Peggy. Please send me your e-mail and mailing address so I can forward you a tax receipt.)

Here I am collecting a donation from my Uncle Bernie. Not only was he the youngest Sergeant Major in the history of the United States Marines, he ejected from a plane just before it crashed off the coast of Coronado Island in 1945.

Who says REAL MEN don't wear bracelets?

(You tell Uncle Bernie that and he'll kick your ass to Guadalcanal.)

While I'm on the topic of real men ... here are two more.

This is my new stepfather Jim and my Uncle Paul watching a baseball game.

Of course the Red Sox were playing.

The service was as beautiful as it could be and I felt incredibly honored to read my Uncle Bill's Eulogy. Because several people have asked me for a copy of it and because I don't have everyone's e-mail (or mailing address), I plan to post it here in the next day or so.

If not for my mother's distraction of telling me I needed to genuflect at the tabernacle before I stepped on to the altar (WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?!) and my cousin Anne Marie's promise to make me fudge with nuts (I'm still waiting, Anne), I never would have made it through my reading. So thank you for helping to keep my mind occupied with doing things correctly and savoring homemade chocolate.

Later that night, as a gorgeous full moon raised above the country fields, I convinced my cousin Margaret to go on a midnight flower run.

See, my theory is that although fresh cut flowers are beautiful, once those flowers start to wilt and die, it triggers a whole different type of depression. And because my Uncle Bill is so adored by so many - his home was filled to the brink with fresh cut flowers.

So once the family had enjoyed the flowers for a full day, we loaded up several baskets in to the back of Margaret's husband's truck and we drove around, dropping them off on the doorsteps of the people who had done so much to help the family over the past few weeks.

It felt great and we laughed like crazy, depositing these gorgeous arrangements and RUNNING as fast as we could before the unsuspecting recipients opened their doors.

The weather forecast had predicted rain all weekend, but that didn't happen. Instead, we had the most spectacular Fall weather I have ever seen.

Which was quite fitting, since we were there to honor one of the most spectacular men I've ever had the privilege of knowing.