favorite thing friday

Last year for Christmas, I bought the children a set of eeBoo Good Manners flash cards.

I saw them while I was strolling the aisles of our favorite toy store, and since flash cards are something that we use quite often around these parts, I couldn't resist.

Whenever we sit down to eat, I've found that it really helps to keep children at the table when I read to them. So during meal times, I will ask the children to pick out a book or flash card set that they would like for me to go through. More often than not, they will select their Good Manners flash cards. And more often than not, they ask that I go through the deck twice.

This one's their favorite. They love that spider.

It's my opinion that good manners are so important. And although our children are still young, I think that there is no better time to start - than now - with teaching and enforcing politeness and common decency. Which is why I love these cards because they review such topics as meeting new people...

I am forever telling our children that you can tell a lot about a person by their handshake. TIGHTEN THAT GRIP. SMILE WHEN YOU LOOK IN THEIR EYES and say, "It's PLEASURE to meet you!"

They cover topics on public transportation...

And interfacing with the general population.

Of course the kids don't yet recognize the subtle difference that if someone opens the door to their own home on say, Halloween night, that's not a free license to walk in and pick up their dog and criticize the canary.

We're working on it.

The manners cards also cover meal time...

At our house, the kids will typically say, "OH NO. I just know I'm not going to like this."

Usually, they're right. But they'll still almost always put their napkin on their lap and they'll say, "Thank you for the meal. That was wonderful of you!" once they finish.

And that gives me a little hope for the future.

just call me poppy seed

Today is Charlie's birthday.

Yesterday, I left for a meeting at 7:00 in the morning and didn't return home until 7:00 at night. By the time I came back the kids had already been in bed asleep for almost an hour. So it should have come as no surprise when we were awoken this morning by our three five-year-old children who stormed in to our dark bedroom yelling, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY DADDY!"

Then as they jumped around our bed excitedly, they asked, "Do you want your presents now? DO YOU WANT YOUR PRESENTS NOW?!"

I rolled over and noticing that it was 5:00 AM muttered, "You know what would be a GREAT present? If you guys all went back to bed until the sun came up!"

Of course they didn't.

They ran around the house chattering up a storm and I gave the birthday boy a kick under the covers and said, "THIS is what happens when you put the kids to bed at 6:00 PM."

The kids came in to the room again, a few minutes later, with their little arms weighted down with wrapped presents. These were presents that they had picked out themselves, directly off of our own shelves. Before I left yesterday morning, I told the kids that tomorrow (today) was their Daddy's birthday. So while I was gone, they asked their father which books of theirs were his favorite, and then they wrapped those books in Christmas paper - tied with a bow.

(Isn't that adorable? So, so cute.)

This afternoon, the kids were due for their five-year checkup. During their four-year checkup last year, they were supposed to receive their Kindergarten round of vaccinations, but when the nurse came in to the room carrying three trays full of shots - the kids went in to absolute mass hysteria. They were climbing all over each other and dove underneath the table and desk, with their arms and legs wrapped around whatever they could reach, SCREAMING.

Even though their vaccination records had already been stamped and the syringes were full, the nurse decided that we'd just wait until NEXT year when they turned five. This would suit everyone just fine since we weren't planning to start them in Kindergarten until 2010.

So, today was the day.

The day that each of our five-year-old children were due to receive their annual eye and hearing exam and their much-dreaded Kindergarten suite of shots. A total of four inter-muscular shots each. But a total of six needles, because they needed to have their finger pricked for a hemoglobin analysis and a tuberculosis shot in their forearm.

Instead of bringing them all in at the same time, as we have always done, today at the request of our pediatrician, we had their appointments staged throughout the afternoon. Each child was separated by 30 minutes, so that no single child would need to experience the TRAUMA of the shots, until it was their turn.

Still, everyone knew what was happening. Because I believe it's important to let kids know what's going on, I told them ahead of time that they were getting shots and afterwards, we were going straight to the toy store so that they could pick out a nice little present for themselves. Elizabeth, being the great thinker that she is said, "Mom, I have a really good idea. Why don't we just go right to the toy store and skip the shot stuff altogether?"

Wouldn't it be awesome if life worked out that way? Say, I have another great idea!

Why doesn't my company just send me a check and I skip the work stuff altogether?

When it came time for the shots, it was like a scene from a horror movie. The nurse appeared with the band aids she'd be using to cover the injection sites, taped to her shirt, so that she could just grab them and stick them on. But as soon as the kids saw the VOLUME of band aids they went absolutely, positively INSANE.

You've never seen such screaming and body thrashing in your life. Charlie had three of the kids in the lobby and I had the shot recipient, squeezed between my legs with my two arms holding them down. When it was Carolyn's turn, they had to bring in a second nurse who laid on top of her, while I covered her eyes. And even with the additional manpower, after FOUR pricks, they were still unable to administer the TB skin test and one nurse was kicked in the face.

People in the lobby outside of the pediatrician's office heard the screaming and put down their magazines to inquire, what was going on in there? I wouldn't doubt if people orbiting the earth in a shuttle heard it.

And then after all that insanity, the nurse who had administered Carolyn's shots had the audacity to inadvertently throw out the hemoglobin slide. I saw it flip in to the trash when she dumped her tray of used supplies and I actually dived in after it. Because there was NO WAY I was going to put myself my daughter through the torture of receiving another injection. As the nurse was carefully removing items from the trash to expose items at the bottom, I grabbed a pair of purple latex gloves off the wall and pulled the entire bag out of the trash can and began searching desperately for the itty bitty slide. Which I finally found, once I dumped the contents all over the counter.

When we were finished at the doctor's office, Charlie went to go run a few errands, and I took the kids to the grocery store to pick up - among other things - a birthday cake for their father.

Since I only needed to buy four items: taco shells, crackers, eggs and cake supplies - I didn't make a list. But since I haven't been shopping with all four children by myself in about four months, I really should have. Because OH SWEET MERCY. Shopping with four small children is quite possibly more painful than taking five-year-old triplets in for their immunizations.

While we were at the store, I realized that dinner was in approximately two hours. And there was no way we could make it to the toy store, for the presents that I had promised the children and get home in time to prepare dinner and bake a cake. So I opted, instead, to let each child get a balloon. Because, why not? It was Charlie's birthday after all and we could use them to decorate the house. Besides, what preschooler / toddler mix doesn't love a balloon?

Sure, preschoolers and toddlers love balloons!!

But you know who really doesn't love them?

The mothers of preschoolers and toddlers. Especially when the children that are holding them are so distracted looking at their balloons floating over their heads, that they walk headlong in to each other, random customers, and a seriously unstable bread display.

(That's not adorable. Not at all even close.)

By the time I grabbed the items that I could recall and made my way to the check out, I had major static electricity buildup all over my head because Henry's latex balloon had been held at my face level for an entire lap around the store. As we're standing in line, the kids are telling everyone around them that they are FIVE YEARS OLD and they just had SIX SHOTS IN THEIR ARMS and today is THEIR FATHER'S BIRTHDAY. And that's when I realized I forgot the cake supplies, which were undoubtedly, the most critical items on my mental list.

So I had to pull my cart out of line and go buy cake supplies. Of course I would have just bought a pre-made cake but there was no one at the bakery counter and my children were starting to dissolve before my very eyes. Henry was screaming his crazy-I-have-no-idea-what-is-plaguing-you-but-PLEASE-GOD-make-it-stop-scream and two of the triplets were pretending to be jaguars and were crawling across the grocery store floor on their hands and knees while the third one had to use the potty NOW.

Once I got back in line, I happened to see on the cake box that I needed eggs. And that's when I remembered that I didn't have eggs. So I pulled the cart out and ran to the dairy section at the far back of the store, while children and their bobbing balloons struggled to keep up with me. As fate would have it, once I got to the dairy section, I couldn't even remember what I was there for and stood staring at the shelves, hoping that one of the items would trigger my memory.

(It took several minutes.)

By the time I got back in line, again, I was breathing hard - covered in sweat - my hair was all over the place and I just sensed that eye makeup was dripping down my face.

As the clerk was ringing up my purchases she asked if I had found everything OK. And that's when I realized that I had also forgotten to purchase crackers. So I told her, "Actually I forgot one item and I'd really appreciate it if someone could just grab me a box of crackers - ANY CRACKERS WILL DO - because if I have to get out of line one more time, I will go ..."

She smiled and said, "Let me guess. Crackers?"

Yeah. But I probably would have thrown a fruity adjective in there.

what's in you wednesday (with an edit at the end)

There are so many ways I could start off this post.

I could start off by writing about the awesome article I read in the December edition of Runner's World magazine about the truck driver, Jeff Clark, who discovered the statistic that the life expectancy of an over-the-road trucker that sleeps in his truck is 61-years-old. Instead of becoming another statistic, Jeff traded his life of eating cheeseburgers and drinking Mountain Dew for raisins and running. Thus far, he has shed 30 pounds, finished six marathons, and is encouraging other truckers to do the same.

Or ... I could start off by writing about another awesome article I read in the December edition of Runner's World magazine about two teenage boys, Phil Carlitz and Andrew Hudis, who organized a marathon in a remote province in Thailand to raise money and awareness for a group of refugees. The article goes on to say, "This past July, they traveled back to oversee the Rustic Pathways Tribe-to-Tribe Marathon. They had hoped for a few dozen runners, but 500 people—including people from Australia, Japan, England, and the United States—raced in the marathon, half, and 5-K. About $10,000 was raised for the orphanage. "In a country where a shirt costs 60 cents and you can eat for a quarter, that money goes pretty far," Hudis says. "We are putting 25 teenage refugees through high school." Just as important, the race raised awareness about the plight of the Karen people."

Or ... I could start off by writing that yesterday morning, I discovered a bag of Halloween candy that we had purchased but had never handed out because it had been lost in the back of my closet. Since it was early and my crazy mid-afternoon craving hadn't kicked in, I threw the bag out. But last night, I seriously contemplated digging the bag of candy out of the trash and eating one or two (but not more than 15 pieces) because I was feeling desperate and those little bite-sized Snickers are SO cute.

Since I've returned to work full time, I haven't been exercising at all as much as I had been. Add to my lethargy a dose of gluttony and since I've almost completely weaned Henry, my little fat vacuum has all but vanished. Suddenly, I've got a layer of insulation that wasn't there two months ago and cute wittle Snickers bites with a chaser of chocolate milk very well might help my depression.

But that's when I read the articles about Jeff and Phil and Andrew.

And that's when I remembered that if I don't put myself FIRST and make time for my exercise routine EVERY DAY, it isn't going to happen. See, I know that life gets busy and I could (and have) come up with a million good excuses not to workout. But I know that the more I exercise, the more compelled I am to take good care of myself. In contrast, the less I exercise, the more compelled I am to sit around and try to rationalize why it is perfectly acceptable to dig candy out of the trash.

So tomorrow morning, and every day for the next week, I'm going to get up and TRY to run for 30 minutes, before we eat breakfast. And next Friday, I'm going to go on a 3-Day sixty mile walk. And I'm doing these things because I want to be healthy and strong and do something good for humanity and be a positive influence for our children. And also, because I don't want to feel a roll of flab flop over my pants and worry that they'll split up the back when I bend over to tie my shoe.

Please do share. What are you doing to take care of yourself?

*****

Edited Thursday morning: Do not make me call you out. Because I will. I know who you are. That's right, I'm looking at YOU...

Heidi

Erika

Carrie

Susie

Jo

Cynthia

Karen

Oh, look and look a MAN! Come on Jon, what are you doing to take care of yourself?

How's the running going?

random questions on a tuesday afternoon

Is it possible to live off of yogurt alone?

My boy - who discovered our Christmas supply and has not taken off his Santa hat for the past two days - believes that YES, it is.

It sure would make my life easier if I could feed the kids yogurt three times a day. If there is fruit in the yogurt, does that cover two food groups? And if I gave them a side of Goldfish, would that make it three?

Why is it that before our children were potty trained, whenever they got near the toilet all they wanted to do was flush it. But now that they actually know how to use it - they never flush anymore? Has anyone with children ever installed an automatic toilet in their house?

Why is it that whenever I ask the children to go wash their hands, they will protest and put up such a fight, you'd think I was asking them to soak in hydrochloric acid. But when I finally get them to the sink, I have to drag them away because all they want to do is splash in the water and make bubbles?

Why do I have such an inexplicable craving to inhale eat chocolate every afternoon at 2:30 PM? And since I am well aware of this fact, why did I think it was a good idea to throw out all of *our* Halloween candy? Is it wrong that I have an inexplicable craving for a glass of wine every night? If it is - DON'T TELL ME.

How is it possible that my 3-Day walk is in TEN (10) days and during my first 'workout' in more than a month, this past weekend, I hurt my sciatic nerve to the point that I yelp every time I sit down, stand up and roll over? Mommy - where are you?

Why do I have to repeat any request no less than fifteen times, or approximately five times per five year old child? WHY? WHY? WHY? WHY? WHY?

Why do people 'heart' things? Why don't they just say that they 'love' something? It's not like they are shortening up the word, since heart is actually longer than love. Would somebody please explain?

When will I learn my lesson that I cannot donate items to Goodwill when the children are in the house? Why must they go through the various bags and pull out broken toys and try to tell me that although they haven't looked at the toy for over a year, that they heart LOVE it and want to play with it EVERYDAY? Why won't they wear the clothes that fit them and instead, insist on wearing pajamas to bed that they outgrew almost two years ago?

Why is it that my children go to bed so easily when they are well rested - and yet they fight me tooth and nail when they are overtired? How did I get three babies to sleep through the night when they were four months old, and I still can't get one toddler to sleep through the night at 28-months old? Did I dream it - or did I really take a SCREAMING Henry outside last night at 2 AM and threaten to lock him in the car if he didn't stop wailing and wake up the entire house?

Why do people think that getting sick as a child builds your immunity as an adult? I was a child. I was sick. Now as an adult, I catch all the same viruses that my children do. Where's MY immunity? Why does the right side of my jaw get a crazy insane twangy feeling every time I eat something sweet? Or tart? Or salty? Why am I such a freak that I think it might be terminal? And where on the earth are my girls two left shoes? They are still missing.

Why is it that women have a sense about the fashion condition and safety of their children that men seem to lack? Why is it that Charlie doesn't even notice when the kids go out in public wearing galoshes, a bathing suit top and a velvet skirt AND even though I wasn't in the room, I sensed that our toddler walked past my husband, directly under his nose, as he stood in an open doorway talking to a neighbor and took off running down the street?

Why is it that I have no clue how to use our stereo after almost three years and if my husband doesn't turn off the speakers that are wired in to different rooms before he leaves the house, they will stay on all day? Why does he get so mad at me when I just disconnect all the wires from the back of the receiver because I have a conference call and cannot have CLASSIC VINYL piping through every room?

Is (or are?) there more than one of these trucks? If not how is it possible that I have seen the same one the past four times I've driven to Los Angeles on the 405? Is it just coincidence that I'm in close proximity to the same vehicle driven by a retired ... uh ... marine? prisoner of war? poet? taxidermist? that enjoys cruising up and down one of the busiest freeways in California?

What EXACTLY is he trying to tell us?

And do you think those rocket launchers on the side are just for decoration?

soul food: finding the faith

With very little exception, Charlie and I have been going to church every weekend.

Now, I feel it's important to note that we're still not at the point of believing everything that we read in the Bible. Nor do I think we ever will be. And the next time gay marriage turns up on the ballot, so help me, I WILL vote the exact same way. And depending upon where we live, we might stick another sign up in our yard.

But it is my belief that even if my actions are wrong (which I fully believe they are NOT), God will love me, anyway.

So that being said, I'm really going to try and make a (better) concerted effort at writing down some of the services that we've been attending (under the Soul Food label) - because I've got a stack of around 30 sermons that I want to share and I'm starting to run out of space in my organizer.

Besides, I've found that writing down my notes from the service, really helps to make the point stick.

As I may have mentioned before, one of the things that I really appreciate about "our church" is that they will do series for a particular topic. Right now, the series is on "Dangerous Church: What Could and Should Be." The premise here, is that our church is DANGEROUS. What does that mean, you ask?

Well...

A Dangerous Church Believes:

1. Ordinary people want to find God.

2. God loves everyone and wants to be found.

The Council at Jerusalem: Some men came down from Judea to Antioch and were teaching the brothers, "Unless you are circumcised, according to the custom taught by Moses, you cannot be saved."

The passage goes on to say that Paul and Barnabas (not sure who he is, I'm still new to this) had a dispute with the concept that you had to be circumcised to become a Christian and went to Jerusalem to see what the apostles and elders would say about the question. When they arrived, they were welcomed and reported everything God had done, through them.

Then some of the believers who belonged to the party of the Pharisees stood up and said, "The Gentiles must be circumcised and required to obey the law of Moses." The apostles and elders met to consider this question. After much discussion, Peter got up and addressed them: "Brothers, you know that some time ago God made a choice among you that the Gentiles might hear from my lips the message of the gospel and believe. God, who knows the heart, showed that he accepted them by giving the Holy Spirit to them, just as he did to us. He made no distinction between us and them, for he purified their hearts by faith." Acts 15:1-9

OK. So what this story goes to show is that the Gentiles - (who I learned aren't Jewish - see I told you I had a lot to learn) had to become Jewish BEFORE they could become Christian.

Great News! You can be a Christian!

(But, first there's going to be a little operation.)

THIS is an obstacle. You cannot get to God without going through this door.

(Ding Dong! Snip. Snip.)

If you are laying rules and regulations on people, you are testing God.

I loved the analogy that our pastor gave of a ladder.

Imagine taking out the first five steps on a seven step ladder so that the only steps that remain are the two at the top. And let's just imagine that God is at the very top of the ladder. How are people on the ground - supposed to get to the top - if the first five steps are missing?

The theory is that rules and regulations were put in place, by man, to keep people from growing closer to God. Because if everyone is able to climb up that ladder, than everyone gets closer to God, and well - suddenly you've got overcrowding.

Who wants to stand on a step (or go to a church) with 5,000,000,000 other people?

Definitely not me.

(No seriously. I don't like crowds.)

3. A church's #1 purpose should be to remove obstacles that keep ordinary people from God.

A church should definitely not make it difficult for ordinary people to connect with God and form a relationship.

Now then, why do you try to test God by putting on the necks of the disciples a yoke that neither we nor our fathers have been able to bear? No! We believe it is through the grace of our Lord that we are saved, just as they are." Acts 15:10-11

It is my judgment, therefore, that we should not make it difficult for the Gentiles who are turning to God. Acts 15:19

The men were sent off and went down to Antioch, where they gathered the church together and delivered the letter. The people read it and were glad for its encouraging message. Acts 15:30-31.

(Especially the MEN who heard, you don't have to that little operation to join the club. Yippee! The skin stays! HALLELUJAH!)

4. Every follower of Jesus is on Assignment.

OK. Hold the criticism, but I - personally - have a very difficult time whenever people talk about following Jesus. While I totally agree with the principle, the words themselves always make me uncomfortable. When I lived in South Carolina, I was asked weekly, if I had been saved and accepted Jesus as my Savior. (Always dreaded that question. Always saw it coming.)

Why is it that I can talk about God all day, but I get so skittish about Jesus? Why does his name have such a fanatical stigma? It wasn't very long ago, one of my co-workers and I were talking about religion and when I asked if she was Christian, with a straight face she said, "No. I'm Catholic."

Wha?

Did I miss something in Sunday School?

(Or maybe she did??)

Our minister said - and I fully believe - that it's because so many churches bring in weirdness that most people stay away.

Quick show of hands for anyone who has been to a church where the minister directs the congregation to turn to a passage in the Bible - and everyone, except you - seems to know exactly what to do?

Instead of feeling like you are connecting with God, you feel totally unworthy, like an outsider - looking in on people who are a deep and spiritually mature group and in order for you to belong, YOU HAVE A LOT OF CATCHING UP TO DO.

(You HEATHEN!! What are you doing here in the Holy House of God?!)

I'll raise my hand. BOTH hands in fact.

Our minister further gave an example that when he was young, he was exploring different churches in his area. He went to one particular church where he had to write down his name in a guest book when he entered.

Much to his absolute HORROR, midway through the sermon, the minister had the guest book brought up to the pulpit and he read aloud our minister's name. He asked him to stand, tell the church what brought him there that that day, how long he had been a Christian, whether or not he tithed and his stance on sexual purity, and a host of other questions that made him feel like RUNNING out of the church as fast as he could.

(Nothing like being put on the spot to make you never want to come back ever, ever again.)

While we're on the topic...

Although I'm a little embarrassed to admit this in front of my very large and very devout Catholic family, especially since I went to Catholic school for three years and was baptized Catholic and received my First Holy Communion, I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing whenever I go to a Mass and I can barely get by just watching the rest of the congregation.

I'm so distracted with sitting and standing and kneeling and "Also with you(s)" that I totally lose track of what's going on. For those that don't know (and I'm sure my whole family knows by now), I got in to trouble because I received communion when I was in South Carolina last month during Uncle Bill's Mass. (Not REAL trouble, but knowledgeable others asked me WHAT WAS I DOING?)

You think I would have known better (having gone to Catholic school for three years and being baptized Catholic and receiving my First Holy Communion) but I didn't. So I did. Because the Spirit totally moved me. (In the complete wrong direction to the front of the line, apparently.)

By no means am I saying that the Catholic church is weird.

I just ... I just ... I just have no idea what I'm doing whenever I go.

Quick. Moving on.

Look! It's MIKE WAZOWSKI!!

THE POINT IS (to #4, above): Everyone is on a mission to take the focus off of us and help others find God. While keeping in mind that every church - home - business has a culture. You need to find a church that fits YOU.

So, where is there a culture that best fits you?

It's important to keep in mind that your assignment is not to try and change the church that you attend, but rather - find a church where you best FIT.

More than 80% of people in the United States were not in church this past weekend. Because, at least 80% of the people in this country do not believe that church can help them and it would just be a waste of time. Also, who wants to go to a church that tells you what you need to CHANGE about yourself before you can belong?

Definitely not me.

(No seriously. I sometimes don't respond well to criticism. Just ask my mother. Or husband. Or sisters.)

(It's important to point out here, that after one lap around the park, Carolyn decided that she needed her training wheels back ON.)

A lot of churches are like a ladder that are far too good at removing the rungs that will get you to the top - and ultimately, closer to God. But, if you can find a church that makes the connections easier - people will feel like they can connect and WANT to connect and the next thing you know, they BELONG.

Does this sound like a commercial?

Well it kind of is.

After almost five years of attending this particular church pretty religiously (pardon the pun), we still haven't joined.

HOWEVER, this church has been so amazing for us, our family, our marriage, our little Henry who wouldn't even EXIST if not for a particular sermon, our lives in general (TRUST ME, I'd be a lot worse off if not for the church) - and we've had such an incredible time splashing around the shallow end of Christianity, we are fully anticipating that very soon, we'll be taking the plunge in to the deep end.

For us, that's very BIG news.

But much like my daughter, I'm not sure that I have the faith to just GO FOR IT, because I'm afraid I'll wobble and look silly and ultimately, crash HARD. And then, people who are so much more experienced than me, will feel compelled to tell me that I'm doing it ALL WRONG, instead of just giving me a high five and saying, "WAY TO GO!! STICK WITH IT!!"

See ... the fact is, I am getting closer and feeling a lot more comfortable.

Because every time I go to church, I feel like I am riding on a cloud with the most awesome Superhero running beside me.

namaste

Much like clouds turn black and winds start whipping up dirt and debris before a big storm hits, so it is with me and my emotions. But once that storm passes through and the torrential downpour washes away all the dust, the landscape is clean and refreshed.

I'm not at all proud to admit ~ although I am extremely thankful ~ that my husband can see the storm brewing within me before it hits, and he has become exceptionally good at ducking for cover. (Figuratively speaking, of course.)

When Charlie is having a tough time, he takes off for an afternoon bike ride and returns a new man. But that doesn't work for me. I can feel it building, building until my head explodes. The problem is that for the past several weeks, I've been having explosions, a lot.

Until - we went to Disney on our family vacation and we made a decision.

Finally, we had a plan and it was such a relief.

But just as we were starting to get excited about it, our plan totally tanked. When I considered the real estate loss - and the depressed job market - and my current schedule of seeing the children only briefly before I left for work in the early morning and kissing their sleeping cheeks when I returned home late at the end of a long day ... I started flipping out. Repeatedly.

Now that I'm on the other side of my flip out, I can see that I was being terribly selfish. MY plans weren't working out. Obviously, I wasn't getting what I wanted, so damn it all to hell with a side of coleslaw.

And ... that's just about the time God decided to step in with a heavy-dose of perspective.

Because this afternoon, when I came home early from a meeting, I noticed that one of our sponsored children, through Compassion International, had sent us a letter. Little Elvis lives in the mountains of Peru. He is five-years-old and was writing to ask us for prayers because the swine flu is sweeping through his village.

While I know that people die from the flu every year, the H1N1 strain has me really concerned. More than 25 people have died from it in San Diego since June, including a five-year-old girl who died last month.

We'll be taking the children in to the pediatrician next week for their five-year checkup. I plan to have them all receive the H1N1 vaccination at the same time. We're very fortunate because that vaccination is available to us. But it dawned on me today that even if our children fall ill this year, we are incredibly blessed to have clean water, electricity, Puffs Plus with Lotion, Tylenol, Gatorade, Jell-O and an excellent children's hospital less than 30 minutes a way.

Our friend Elvis lives in a tiny shack with his parents. His father earns in a year what I earn in an hour. When our children are sick, I can put them in the car and take them to the hospital. If Elvis or someone in his family is sick, it might take them days to see a doctor. But the most sobering thing is that of the four children we have sponsored, Elvis is the most well off by a long shot. Our children in Africa, Bangladesh and India are even poorer.

They have dirt floors in their homes and tin roofs that leak.

Huh. What is it again that I'm so mad about?

I'm having a really tough time remembering...

Sometimes, I think that the best thing I could with my life is get rid of everything and go on a mission trip. What an awesome learning experience for our children about what the really important things are in life and yes, Anita, I very well could be bipolar.

(Goodbye! Goodbye! I'm traveling around the world to deliver rice to remote mountain villages accessible only by llamas**. I promise to write!!)

So many of us are shielded from the world when we sit in the comfort of our own homes with electricity at the flip of a switch and clean water at the turn of a knob. Instead of recognizing and reveling in how lucky we are, we bemoan our circumstances.

At least for me, it is so easy to get caught up in having the houses - and cars - and 401Ks with matching contributions - and fancy new digital cameras. Which surely, those things are important - but relatively speaking - they are definitely not critical for survival. Especially when you are reminded that there are millions of people in the world who have absolutely nothing. Except their faith. Which I could definitely use a bit more of these days.

After reading your insightful comments (and e-mails) on my last post, I'm less inclined to run off and see a therapist, and more inclined to send each and every one of you a co-pay along with my most sincere thanks.

Truly, this blog is better than therapy.

If anyone is interested in learning more about Compassion International, I have added a widget to the top left corner of my blog. I have found it to be a wonderful organization that I would highly recommend.

Our children adore the new friends that they have made and I really appreciate that they are having such great exposure to cultures different than their own, while picking up an excellent lesson in caring for others.

*****

EDIT: ** If you see that I spelled something totally wrong, please speak up!

Llama is two "L"s not an "I" and an "L". I'm not sure why I thought it was pronounced Ill-lama ... and not L-lama but when I'm writing a post at midnight, sometimes I don't pay very close attention to spell check. So when my husband points out the error, my husband who once spelled his own daughter's name wrong ("What you mean there's a Z in Elizabeth? I thought for sure it was an S!"), it feels like I've been walking around a cocktail party without realizing that the back of my dress was tucked in to my pantyhose.

I actually witnessed something similar to that once. I was at a concert and the poor woman had seats on the VERY front row. Just before the curtain came up and the lights were dimmed, she walked from the back of the PACKED hall to the very front, with her dress snuggly tucked in to the back of her hose. She was flocked by a group of women just before she sat down - and her reaction was awesome. Instead of passing out from embarrassment, she gave the audience a smile and a curtsy and then pulled the dress out before briskly walking back to the restroom.

Now, if that ever happens to you - you'll know what to do. Or you could just check your dress before you leave the bathroom. Or ... in my case, pay better attention to spell check.

(Smile. Curtsy. Dash back to the "edit post" button.)

divert your eyes

Do you want to know what I think?

I think that divorce is one of the worst things that can happen to a family. It's difficult for me to share that, because I know how much it pains my mother that she and my father divorced. And while I undoubtedly believe that my mom did the right thing leaving my dad when she did - all these years later - I've got some scar tissue that is terribly ugly.

There are five girls in my family. Of my four sisters, three of them have divorced. One of them twice. I also have two brothers. One of my brothers is married. My other brother, who is closest in age to me (and whose birthday is this weekend), has been with the same woman for almost 30 years. They have three children together. A set of twins that are nine months younger than our triplets and a little boy, who is five weeks older than Henry.

As much as my brother and this woman love each other, my brother will not marry her. I have no doubt that they'll spend the rest of their lives together, but he sees absolutely no value in the union of marriage. You can't change his mind, so don't even try. And whatever you do, don't put his decision or his family down, at least not in my presence. Because I think that out of the seven siblings, he has the best outlook on life and the happiest relationship of all.

As for me, I think that the year that my parent's divorced was the most tumultuous year of my entire life. That was the year that I was living in Massachusetts and my mother was living in South Carolina. Every weekday, I would jump on a bus after school and go to an after school program. When I think back to it now, it was really an awesome arrangement. There were arts and crafts and sports and games. But when I was a child, I didn't appreciate it.

All I wanted was to go home and play at our house, like all my friends did. But since no one was home and I was only nine, that wasn't an option. When my father would pick me up, we would drive home and have dinner. Then we'd watch a little television and I'd eventually make my way to bed after watching my father do the books for his drugstore.

Even though I had two older sisters and an older brother living there with me, and people were always coming and going, it felt lonely in that big house. And I was totally out of place.

One afternoon, instead of going to the after school program, I went home with my friend, Julie. She lived just down the road from us and we rode the bus together every morning. But on this one particular day - her mother came and picked us up from school. I remember her mom drove an AMC Pacer with faux wooden siding, which at the time, was the coolest car on the road.

(Or so I thought.)

(Clearly I was mistaken.)

We went back to Julie's house and while her older sister, Laura, showed us how to fold a dollar bill in to the shape of an accordion and letter M (a trick that I can still do to this day), their mom baked cookies. I can remember, so clearly, that the four of us were huddled in the kitchen on that cold afternoon, while trees blew outside and scratched against the windows of the house.

Soon, the girls father came home and after greeting his family and kissing his wife, he retired in to the family room to light a fire and catch the evening news. It was a warm and comfortable environment and I felt totally at peace. And also, a little envious that I wasn't a part of this intact family.

When my mother came to visit a few weeks later, I introduced her to my friend Julie and her family. When Julie and I were off playing, Julie's mom confided to my mom that it was her opinion, I was a very sad little girl and I really needed my mother.

How astute.

It's funny how something someone said 30 years ago, can stick with you. I've been thinking about Julie's mom a lot during these past few months. Mostly, I've been thinking that she was totally right in her impression of me. I've always had this 'vision' of what a family should be. And since I sadly didn't obtain that 'vision' when I was a child, it was my driving force in to adulthood. Without even realizing it, I developed a plan.

First, there was finding the right husband. A good man. A kind and gentle and intelligent man that knew how to laugh and would make a wonderful father. Second, we would build a home. A warm, inviting home with good lighting and comfortable seating and lots of live plants. Third, there were the children that we would welcome in to our world. God willing, there would be a lot of children, born to me when I was young. Ideally, I would be twenty five years old, plus or minus two years.

But when that third part didn't happen, it rocked me to my core. I looked around and everywhere, people were having babies. Neighbors, siblings, friends, cousins. They were popping them out like candy. And once again, I felt so envious, desperately wanting something that I couldn't have, despite my best efforts. And while it's difficult to admit this, I think it's important to note that the challenges we faced with trying to start a family didn't just put a little stress on our marriage, it almost destroyed it.

Because I was almost destroyed.

The emotional roller coaster of fertility treatments and the mental anguish when cycle after cycle (after cycle after cycle) didn't work were bad enough. But add to that the financial desperation that came with shelling out thousands upon thousands of dollars. We had the perfect recipe for marital disaster. With a side of hurt and resentment.

But then, finally, our long awaited babies arrived and everything we had gone through to get them, was washed away. That time following their birth was the most terrifying and glorious and surreal period of my life. For the first time, I wasn't on the outside looking in on something that I wanted. My dream was being realized.

Until. It was time to go back to work full time. And since then, things have started to go topsy turvy in my world. There is no balance and everything's flying out of control.

If I can be honest (and I can because this is my blog), things aren't so good right now. Just a few days ago - they were good. But then we heard from the Realtor who told us that moving at this juncture, was a very bad idea and the best bet is to stay put until the market recovers. And then Charlie heard from a company (or two) that employment opportunities which were open are now filled. By people who actually live there.

So now I'm mad that I only intended to stay in California for six months and 19 years later, I am still here. I'm mad that our house has lost hundreds of thousands of dollars in equity in 33 short months and we've paid hundreds of thousands of dollars in principal over the past 12 years. I'm mad that when the two of us were younger, we weren't more disciplined and instead of funneling money in to our mortgage, we funneled money in to three brand new cars.

(stupid) (stupid) (stupid!!)

I'm mad that Kindergarten is just around the corner and I have no idea where we'll be nine months from now. I'm mad that we don't have a concrete plan in place and WHY don't we have a concrete plan in place? I'm mad that I feel like the decision about what to do is on my shoulders. I'm mad that it I quit my job tomorrow, and Charlie started a job tomorrow, it would take him a few years to reach the level where I am right now. I'm mad that I'm at this level and he's not, given that he is smarter than me.

I'm mad that I might have to work forever. I'm mad that my employer forced me to return to work full-time. (I'm actually really mad about that.) I'm mad that my job has such outstanding benefits, it's very difficult to give up. I'm mad that I feel stuck. I'm mad that from this perspective, I don't see that I'll ever be able to stay home and bake cookies with my daughters on cold afternoons and show them how to make birds and the letter "M" out of dollar bills. I'm mad about what I'm missing and what I will miss if this keeps up. I'm mad that I'm not doing anything - fast enough - to fix this. I'm mad that I am immature and unable to adapt to my current life conditions.

I'm mad that I haven't picked up my camera in days. I'm mad that I'm missing out on moments with the kids. I'm mad that although I'd like to be home, I'd probably go crazy in a single afternoon and my eerily patient husband is undoubtedly the better candidate to be with the children all day. I'm mad that Charlie is such a good man and why would I ever be mad at him? I'm mad that I'm not more like him. I'm mad that my childhood wasn't perfect. I'm mad that I'm so far away and my parents are growing older and I might never be close enough to just drop in with them for an afternoon visit. I'm mad that because of the divorce, I've missed out on so much time with my parents. I'm mad that my parents aren't getting a better chance to know my children. I'm mad that I can't quit my bitching and be graciously content and abundantly thankful for what I have. Right Here. Right Now.

I'm mad that we only get one chance at life.

I'm mad that I'm mad and I can't stop being mad.

(Check it out. This is what I totally look like.)

But mostly, I'm scared.

I'm scared that my unannounced emotional eruptions are seriously harming our marriage. I'm scared that Charlie, is sick of me being an absolute pain in the ass and is starting to tune me out, completely. Because I am being an absolute pain in the ass. But he is, too. (Although I'm not really sure of that.) (It's quite possibly all me.) I'm scared that moments after leaving the tranquil environment of church, I can't even talk about 'these issues' with out getting upset. I'm scared that divorce happens every where - all the time - especially in my family and I don't want it to happen to us. I'm scared at what this stress is doing to me - to him - and to our precious children and at this point, I honestly don't know what to do.

I'm guessing a therapist is in order.

And some heavy-duty doses of Prozac.

what's in you wednesday

We've got about a three hour deficit in time everyday.

What that means is that since the triplets no longer nap during the day, we no longer have any down time during daylight hours. The kids typically wake up around 6:00 every morning and go to sleep at 7:30 or 8:00 every night. And if there is one thing I have learned during parenthood, it's that when your children are conscious - you need to be conscious, too.

Fully conscious of them - where they are - what they are doing - and whether or not your camera is located out of reach. Otherwise, you will be forced to look through hundreds of pictures of them taking photos of each other, their stuffed animals and MIKE WAZOWSKI!

Assuming 24 hours in a day - since the children are usually awake for 14 hours a day, we have approximately 10 hours of "free time" when children are otherwise constructively occupied (aka: sleeping). Considering we are supposed to be getting somewhere between 7 or 8 hours of sleep ourselves, that leaves approximately two to three hours a day for personal time and/or couple time.

Most days we spend at least an hour, at night once the kids are in bed, cleaning up the unbelievable disaster that is created during the day and doing load after load (after load) of laundry. And still, we can't seem to get on top of it all until the weekend. (No, I don't want to hire a maid. I've already explored that option. I'd much prefer an elf. Preferably green.)

As anyone who knows me knows, I've been working like a mad woman for the past several weeks and while I keep thinking that I see the end in sight, it's just a mirage. That end-of-the-year budgeting and invoicing and field inspection visits that I need to conduct are keeping me busy day and night and hey, look at that, I just picked up an additional 16 projects two hours north.

The house is a wreck, the kids are growing like weeds, I feel like I'm missing a bulk of their life with all of my traveling and full days and quite frankly, this new work arrangement really SUCKS stinks. There. I finally said it. Out loud.

Today, I wanted to write that I've been exercising and eating well and getting ready for my 3-Day walk that is only two weeks away. I also wanted to write about our plans to quickly sell our house and move back to South Carolina by the end of the year. As in ... this year, within the next eight weeks. Because Charlie wants to go, life is short, I miss my mom, I miss the dogwoods and seasons, I will never have these days back again when the children are small and I don't want to live out my days wondering what could have been.

Hallelujah.

Amen.

I wanted to tell you that I have an insatiable desire to be home with our children and I am fully prepared to give up my hard-earned career to do so. I wanted to tell you that although there are a lot of highly educated women in the work force who are also mothers, and might disagree with me, I personally believe that there is something in the genetic makeup of a woman that undeniably pulls you to your children, once you have them.

I believe that as awesome of a job as my husband does raising our children when I'm off working, I want to do better. Because I want it to be me at home, not him. And, I believe that Charlie would be a much more devoted and engaged full-time employee than I could ever be, because he wouldn't be distracted with whether or not the girls brushed their hair and the boys are wearing clean socks when he is sitting in a meeting discussing a multi-million dollar groundwater remediation strategy.

I wanted to tell you that when I turned down a position recently, to manage the environmental program at one of the largest refineries in the country, I was subsequently offered a promotion and raise to take the job. But I still said no. I was so excited to announce that I would be resigning from my position as senior environmental engineer and accepting the role of full time stay at home mom, soccer and swim team practice chauffeur, arts and crafts mentor, peanut butter and jelly sandwich maker extraordinaire - effective December 1.

The fact that we made this decision has brought us such a tremendous amount of relief and satisfaction. In body, mind and soul. It just feels like the absolute right thing to do.

But alas, thus far, my husband has been unable to secure a job with benefits in the area where we want to live nor does it appear likely that he will, any time soon. Worse than that, we heard back from our Realtor yesterday who informed us that our house has decreased more than 50% in value since March of 2007. That hurts just a little too much, and as such, any plans that we had to move cross country to live near family have crashed and burned like ... well ... the equity in our home.

As a result: I'm not telling you any of those things that I really wanted to tell you. Instead, I'm telling you that I will be working like a madwoman in to the unforeseeable future because that is the financially responsible thing to do ... unless the real estate market miraculously recovers and instantly soars. Charlie will remain home with our children and in his spare time, do his absolute best to get his new company off the ground and in to the Fortune 500, hopefully before my head bursts in to flames and/or the children are scheduled to begin Kindergarten. Ideally, I'd like to be settled in to a new area by then. So that gives us approximately nine months.

I'm also telling you that today for lunch I ate leftover Halloween candy and I just polished off my second glass of wine. For the past month, I haven't done any exercise, have nursed no more than eight times and have packed on at least five pounds as a result of my inactivity, unlactivity and horrendous diet.

On the upside (oh yes, there IS an upside), we did gain an hour this past Sunday with the end of Day Light Savings time, so now we only have about a one hour time deficit each day. That extra hour has really helped, since at this very moment - there isn't one stitch of dirty clothing in the house. Every single shirt, pant and sock has been washed and put away. Moreover, we are healthy and happy and I fully believe that our plans will evolve as they are meant to evolve.

It is at times like these that it's good to remember: whenever God closes a door, someone throws a rock and smashes out a window.

Or something optimistic like that.

yay or nay?

I have so much to write about - but since I'm finishing up my second 12+ hour work day in a row, my much-needed mental purge isn't going to happen tonight. However, as I sat down to quickly check e-mail, I noticed that the company where I purchased our Halloween costumes last week, is now having a huge sale. Thankfully, only one of the costumes that I purchased at full price was marked down 80%.

Nonetheless, while I was scrolling through the multiple pages of costumes wondering if perhaps I should buy some new ones - at a significantly reduced rate - and hang on to them until next year (or later) when they fit the children, I happened to notice this extraordinary adult sized costume.

Since Charlie's birthday is next week, and our kids love, love, LOVE Buzz Lightyear, and love, love, LOVE their dad to the point that they dress up like him and walk like him and even smart talk me - like him ... maybe this would make a great gift for my husband. He could run around the house in his costume and jump on the couch with the kids.

Doesn't that sound like fun for a 42 43-year old man?

Shhh. Don't tell him.