day one: stand for something, then walk towards it

My neighbor and teammate Debbie and her husband, Michael, arrived at my house at 4:30 Friday morning. Michael, being the awesome team player that he is, volunteered to get up three hours before sun rise and drive our team of walkers to the starting line. What I didn't expect was that we'd all nearly FREEZE once we arrived.

Climbing out of that nice warm van, before the sun had completely cleared the horizon and knowing that I had 60 long miles of walking before me, was a tough pill to swallow. Especially since I was sick. And cold. And tired. And would be sleeping in a tent for the next two nights. And wah!

What did I sign up for?

Our fifth teammate, Jessica, had come down with a virus earlier in the week and since she was still not fully recovered, had decided late Thursday night not to walk. Our teammates Terrell and Cheryl had decided that there was no way they could sleep in a tent. So it was just Debbie and I dropping off our camping supplies and luggage at the appropriate locations, while questioning if we were totally out of our minds to be sleeping outside, on the verge of winter, when we were both sick, after full days of walking.

(Answer: Yes, we are out of our minds.)

We rejoined our two teammates and although we were all chattering, we were soon warmed by the sea of pink that surrounded us and the inspiring messages that were everywhere.

When the motivational opening ceremonies concluded, we were ready to join the pink force of 4,000 people that would sweep 60 miles through San Diego over the next three days.

We were ready to walk.

But unfortunately, we wouldn't be able to leave the start for almost an hour, because unbeknown to us, when we filed in to the staging area, we were at the absolute back of the crowd.

So instead of hitting the pavement, we stood and high-fived at least two-thirds of the 3,800 walkers that slowly filed past us.

While we waited and waited (and waited and waited and waited) for our turn to walk down the chute and under the "Hoofin it for the High Beams" sign.

We saw all kinds of people ...

Dressed in all kinds of garb...

And wearing t-shirts that made us laugh... (this one reads: "Help Save 2nd Base")

And t-shirts that made us cry.

After what seemed like an eternity, we were finally out walking and we received our first dose of what would come over the next three days. There was this man, who turned up several times along our walk and would later be referred to as the "Brown Jeep Guy."

We were escorted by the most amazing people, including this sweet woman on her mountain bike. She was with us for the entire duration of the course - all sixty miles - and she never once stopped smiling or giving us words of encouragement.

We were escorted by bikers on Harleys wearing pink chaps and hot pink safety vests.

And we were escorted by pink-shoe-laced and pink-bandana-wearing police officers who had traveled down from San Jose, to not only provide us with security, but to show their support for a loved one.

We walked down the coast.

And past the hospital where my dear friend Deana was admitted last year.

We walked past people who made us laugh out loud at their costumes...

And we walked past people who made us laugh out loud at their slogans.

(Notice, it's the Brown Jeep Guy!)

We walked with people who had on hilarious hats...

And we posed with people who had hilariously large ... uh, tats?

We continued our walk down the beautiful coast and I wondered, aloud, if I was out of my mind to ever consider leaving this place.

While we walked, we were overcome by how many people turned up to show their support. There were people everywhere handing out snacks and drinks and knick knacks to all of the walkers, as a show of their appreciation for our efforts.

We walked past an assisted living facility and were touched by the sight of seniors that were lining the sidewalk in wheelchairs and holding up signs to encourage us. And that little lady in the purple pants to the right, was busting out dance moves that would make J-Lo blush.

But perhaps the best sight of all...

Was seeing our very own family members...

That had set up camp along the route and waited HOURS for us to arrive.

It's no easy task to wait for hours along a walking course. Especially when you have a two-year-old named Henry that likes to run off in various directions and bolt particularly fast in the direction of traffic and jagged cliffs. Let me tell you, walking 60 miles is a whole lot easier than keeping track of that little spit fire.

All told, that first day was a tremendous success.

Even though it took us 11 hours to walk 20 miles and we didn't arrive in to camp until dark.

We were blister free, our legs felt good and since I had totally lost my voice by mile 10, I was able to hear a lot of good stories.

Next up: Day Two.

It gets even better.

(Edit: So awesome that the font changes text and size throughout this entire post. If I wasn't feeling totally zapped of all energy, I might actually go back and fix it. So let's just pretend I was going for an eclectic look. OK?)

oh yeah baby

We did it!

We walked sixty miles in three days with almost 4,000 other people. As a group of walkers, we raised $9.5 million dollars for breast cancer research, education and treatment. Over the next few days, I hope to post a few of the 350 photographs I took during that time, but for now, I'll give you this...

This photo is actually of Terrell's feet. Charlie thinks that the pictures of my feet are "too scary" for my blog. So you can just imagine what my toes must look like. Especially when you consider the punishment they have taken since May.

If I don't post again until Christmas, please understand it's just because I couldn't find a long enough extension cord to get my foot spa to my computer.

the journey of sixty miles begins

It is 10:00 PM. In less than six hours, I'll be catching a ride with my friend and fellow walker Debbie - and Cheryl - and we'll be rendezvousing with the rest of our More The Merrier Walkers for Knockers team at the opening ceremony for our 3-Day walk.

Less than 12 hours from now, I will be joining thousands of other walkers as we take part in a three day journey that will take us (nearly) 60 miles around San Diego. We will be sleeping at night in little pink tents and our senses will be filled with what I'm sure will be inspiring and motivational messages (and scenes).

Because I am still sick - very sick - I'm a little afraid that this three day walk will resemble more of the Bataan Death March than a cancer crusade. At least for me.

But I will be there! Dressed in pink!

And by golly, I will be happy and glad to be a part of it all!

ACHOO!

Here are our team t-shirts that the ever so talented Terrell had made up.

This is the front...

And this is the back.

Aren't those GREAT?

So that I remember during my NEXT 3-Day Walk (isn't that optimistic that I'm planning the next one before I've even completed the first?!) and in case any of you decide to embark on a similar journey, this is what I'm packing for my walk.

Two pairs of shoes (wear one one day, one the next and allow the pads to recover for the third day on the first pair. Got that?). Six pairs of socks (two for each day). Three pairs of walking pants. Three sports tops. Three More The Merrier Walkers for Knockers shirts. Fanny pack and water bottle. Daily badge and my lovely pink ribbon baseball hat (thanks Beth!)

The pink shoes were purchased SOLELY because they were pink. I didn't want the blue pair at all, but according to the shoes salesman, they actually fit my foot better. Which might be important considering I'm walking SIXTY MILES. But you know, color coordination is really so critical to me at times. (Shh. Don't tell any serious athletes that. Or my podiatrist.)

This is what I'm packing for my nights at camp.

Sleeping bag rated to 10 below zero. Yes, we are in Southern California but near the ocean, it gets bone chilling cold at night and temperatures will drop in to the 50's. (You be quiet. Everyone who lives north of me. My blood is THIN!)

In addition to my sub zero sleeping bag, I've packed one travel pillow. One camping pad that inflates to a nice cozy mattress. Charlie's shirt which I'll sleep in every night, just to have him close. Two pairs of fleece pants including a pair of fleece overalls. One pair of fleece socks. One hot pink fleece pull over. One fleece vest. One down vest. One fleece hat. One fleece TurtleFur. One pair of fleece gloves. (I hate to be cold which is why I love fleece and subscribe to the 'layer' philosophy.) One pair of Crocs which are perfect to wear after a long day of walking AND can be worn in the shower (double points!). One chamois camp towel. One headlamp (because it's nice to use the restroom without holding a flashlight in your teeth.)

And a Partridge in a Pear Tree.

No, not really. I'll get to that in a minute.

I'm also packing an assortment of adorable little toiletry items that are almost too cute to use. Each one of those items is no more than 2-inches tall. Have you ever seen such a tiny stick of deodorant? It's just a little wider than a tube of Chapstick. So precious. And yet so highly necessary for a sixty-mile walk. (It would be bad to stink in the pink. I think.)

I'm planning to bring a roll of toilet paper and a few plastic bags that I can use for trash, in my tent. The TP is good to have for runny noses or if heaven-forbid, the Porta Potty runs out. Plus, some might argue that having their brand is beneficial for their posterior while in the wild. Why not do whatever you can to make your trip enjoyable?

Ahhh, yes. I can actually hear you in the future and through my computer screen, bestowing your thanks upon me for this golden nugget of camping wisdom.

You are SO very welcome.

In my fanny pack, I'll have moleskin - Second Skin - and blister bandages. I've got a small Swiss Army knife with scissors for cutting aforementioned blister-preventing-agents. I'll have a wide-mouthed water bottle, my camera, cell phone, sunglasses, gum, small wallet with insurance card and license, small pack of Kleenex, Chapstick, sunscreen, Gold Bond powder, hand sanitizer, tiny hair brush, body glide and a little First Aid kit with Tylenol, bandaids and Neosporin. Last but not least, I'll have a few energy bars. I'm also planning to wear my fleece vest for the first few hours of the walk because it will be CHILLY and since it packs up small, I can store it in my pack once I warm up.

Also in my pack, I'll have about 50 "Be Amazing" bracelets that I'm going to hand out to the people who I befriend along the way. (For those of you that still haven't received your Be Amazing bracelets, I've got 95% of them packaged and ready to ship. I just need to get to the post office to have them weighed. I promise they will be there soon!)

Yesterday, I received a care package from my awesome cousin, Margaret. Inside, there was a card that read something along the lines of, "Jen, these are a few items that I know you'll need for your walk. Band aids, energy bars, pain medicine, epsom salt {what the heck is that for??} and chocolate. The Doves are for our loved ones that we've lost."

OK. STOP.

The DOVES are for loved ones that we've lost.

If you've been reading this blog for any length of time, you know me. You know my family. When you hear the word "DOVES" what are you thinking of?

As for me, I'm thinking of chocolate.

So I go through the box, and I see the band aids and the energy bars and the pain medicine and the epsom salt and I see white plastic birds and I see a bag of Hershey's. And I'm looking - looking - searching - DIGGING ALMOST DESPERATELY - for what I believe to be Dove chocolate bars, buried in the box. That's when Charlie comes in and asks, "What's with all the doves?" and I realize, the DOVES are BIRDS.

And there is one dove for each person we've lost to cancer.

Next to the birds, Margaret has written the names, Raymond (our cousin); Andrea (our cousin); Aunt Carolyn (our Godmother); Jeanne (Charlie's mom); Julie (my girlfriend); Deana (my girlfriend); My Father (my Uncle Bill.)

Yet, there are so many more.

I was so touched by her thoughtfulness, that I took the doves and carefully wrote the names of the person Margaret had in her heart, when she sent them to me. Then, I used safety pins and fastened each of the birds to my pink pirate hat, that I plan to wear on portions of the walk, or at least around camp.

Then I tried the hat on.

And I felt like a living wind chime.

****

As of today, our team of triplet mom walkers have have raised $12,514.00 for the Susan G. Komen for the Cure and the National Philanthropic Trust Breast Cancer Fund. My most heartfelt thanks to everyone who has helped to support us on this journey and to those of you who will be sending your positive thoughts and prayers our way as we participate in this event.

I'll be back soon with pictures and stories and I'm sure a blister or two. But most importantly, with the first-hand knowledge that we are all one step closer to a cure.

Amen. Good night.

no one said the road getting there would be easy

I'm taking a quick break from packing, and guzzling a packet of Emergen-C every 20 minutes, to provide an update on our potential South Carolina move. Because I know at least Margaret is interested and Anne Marie is standing by waiting to make celebratory confections.

Someone asked me the other day what was the primary reason I wanted to move back to the east coast. And for the first time, it really came to me.

I want to move because I want change. I want to stop working because I can see - so clearly - that taking care of a family and home (in the way that *I* want to take care of my family and home) is a full time job. And although my husband does an amazing job of it, I would do things differently. Not better per se, just differently. Plus, if I stay home, that will give Charlie an opportunity to really go for it with his career.

I want to move because I want to be settled before the children start school. Or, I at least want the option of being home so that I could home school them, if that's something we decide. I want to move to be closer to my mom and Aunt Grace. And while I know that mom has Jim and Auntie has an abundance of her own family nearby, being closer to those two women at this stage in my life - and in their lives - is suddenly very, very important to me.

Charlie received his formal offer letter yesterday and if we were able to support our family of six on a salary that is on par with what one of us was making 13 years ago when we graduated with our Masters degrees, and if we were willing to accept a benefit package that included absolutely no vacation time for the first year, we would be on that job like white on rice.

The upside to that job is that there is tremendous potential for exposure and Charlie might be able to grow his consulting business to great proportions. The downside is zero vacation time for the first year and a salary that would make me stretch my mind in inconceivable ways to save a dime. Probably not a bad thing, but it is quite scary for someone who is currently addicted to having Netflix movies delivered to their mailbox several times each week.

So. Now we're going to .... I have no idea what.

Thankfully, we love a good challenge and we're not ready to give up, just yet.

Who knows? Maybe if I started blog advertising, that would at least help offset the cost of a Blockbuster rental once a month.

chez charlie

I'm sick. Really sick. I've been sick for the past four days and hopefully, I'll be better within the next day because in two days, I'm supposed to start my 3-Day walk and I have no room in my fanny pack for all of my sick supplies.

I am so sick that today, as I was driving to an important meeting in Orange County, I actually turned around before I even got to the freeway and drove back home. Walking in the door to our house, I dropped my briefcase (which was devoid of a computer because I shipped my broken wreck back to our headquarters yesterday and with a note that demanded they SEND ME A NEW ONE OR SOMEONE WILL DIE), kicked off my shoes, fell on to the couch and promptly dozed off to sleep for the next three hours while children climbed all over me.

During that time that I was sleeping, Charlie decided to start dinner. But since he was missing some critical ingredients and didn't want to leave his four small children at home alone with his unconscious wife, nor did he want to take his four small children to the store, he opted instead to 'shop our pantry' for items he could use in lieu of the key ingredients called out in the recipe.

Have I ever mentioned that Charlie is a fantastic cook and has expressed an interest in starting his own cooking blog? He possesses an uncanny ability to take random ingredients and make something great. His food presentation is incredible and I don't even like eating out any more because nothing that we order in a restaurant can remotely compare to what we eat at home.

But sometimes, once in a blue (blue, blue) moon, my husband has an off day in the kitchen. Annnnnd, today was one of those days.

On the menu tonight was his mother's famous Beef Stroganoff.

It wasn't until he was fully vested in the dinner preparation did he realize that he didn't have approximately 80% of the ingredients required. So what started out as Beef Stroganoff ended up as Beef Whoa Where The Heck Are The Tums. In lieu of mushrooms, he used red peppers. In lieu of egg noodles, he used lasagna noodles that he boiled and then cut in to long strips. (Um?)

He left out the shallots and sour cream. He left in the beef. And salt. And onions. (There were so many onions used that when I woke up from my nap, my eyes were watering even though I was two rooms away from the kitchen.) He threw in some Worcestershire sauce and a can of tomato paste and a handful of other dry ingredients. When we sat down to eat, the children just looked at their plates and started to cry. It could have been that they were overwhelmed with emotion, or perhaps it was the abundance of onions. Tough call.

Trying to set a good example, I picked up my fork and eagerly took a bite. It was nice and hot and the texture was good. But beyond that, seeing as I'm sick, I couldn't taste anything. So I smiled at my husband and encouragingly said, "Yum! Daddy this tastes great!"

Charlie took a bite of his dinner and noticeably cringed before guzzling down his glass of water. He then excused himself from the table for several minutes. When he returned, I had polished off my entire plate and was helping myself to seconds. My husband stood for a moment staring at me in disbelief before he said, "Well, at least you like it. But I'll bet if your cold medicine was actually working, this entire dinner would have been a total bust."

Then he kissed my cheek and added, "Remind me to check your pulse before you go to bed."

the big one zero zero zero

This post represents my ONE THOUSANDTH published blog entry.

One Thousand.

1,000.

I've been writing to this blog since March of 2006 and in that time, in those 43 months, in those 999 posts, I have shared a lot. Some would probably say I've shared too much. And sometimes I'd have to agree. Especially when I publish late at night and then wake up in the morning groggily remembering sitting in front of the computer and pecking on keys. I'll ask myself, as I pour a cup of tea and walk to the computer, "Did I really publish that last night? Or was it just a dream?" (Cue sweaty palms and heart palpitations when I realize it wasn't a dream and my husband (or sister, or mother, or cousins) will be calling for me in 3-2-1...)

I've written about my children, my marriage, my family, my career, my favorite things in life, my favorite people in life, my struggles and shortcomings, and my hopes and dreams for the future. I've written about sex, movies, politics, infertility and religion. I've written about my obsession with chocolate peanut butter ice cream and wine. And I've written about my incredible desire to live on a farm and spin my own wool, except for my overwhelming fear of spiders and rats.

It's funny how this blog has become such an important part of my life. It serves as a resource and sounding board for so many things that I'm trying to figure out and yet - it captures my thoughts and feelings from this amazing period in time. There is a quote by Anais Nin, that I love. "We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospection."

I am so thankful that because of this blog, I not only have the opportunity to taste life twice - but to share it with you. If this blog was a hot fudge sundae, I guarantee you wouldn't be quite as lucky.

So thanks for being a part of this journey with me. Thanks for sharing your stories and advice and thoughts. Thanks for being here and for inspiring me to come back every day.

Don't doubt it for a minute.

You. Are. Awesome.

poor us! we're trapped in ... paradise?

I'm sitting on the phone - with computer support techs who are trying to trouble shoot my work computer - and while they're working their magic via Net Meeting - I'm checking out my archives because there is truly nothing better that I can do.

Except vacuum. And that would be too obvious.

Unfortunately, the technical problems that I am having are due to both my machine and a corruption to my files which are on the server. So a new computer isn't going to completely solve the problem. From what I gather, there is much work to be done. Sadly, nobody knows quite what, yet.

But while I'm checking out my archives, I'm hard pressed to understand why any one, save my mother, would ever read this blog. It's like being caught in the mind of a crazy person.

I am happy! I am mad!!

I want to move! I don't want to go anywhere!!

I want to stay in California! I want to get out as fast as we possibly can!!

I love my job! I don't want to work anymore!!

I want to be with my children! I want to relocate my children to the MOON!!

I love my family! My family drives me iNsAnE!!

I am on a health kick, let's get fit! Shhh, I'm hiding in the closet eating cookies!!

I believe in God!! I was up all night trying to figure out if there is any purpose to life?

Hello. Is there anybody in there? Just nod if you can hear me. Is there anyone at home?

Seriously. I've got some major issues, people.

Do you read this gibberish just so you can feel normal about your own chaos? Or do you like comparing yourself while thinking, "I'm glad I'm not a nut like her! Yowzie. She's off the deep end!"

Oh whatever. Don't tell me. Your answer might scare me.

We've dug deep in to our souls to figure out what our next steps should be. I've prayed on it, lit candles over it, looked for signs in the stars and shook a Magic 8-Ball until I had blisters. I also made a list of the reasons to stay and go. And because I share all kinds of nuggets of my personal life, I'm sharing our reasons, here. Ready, set, play ball!

A DOZEN REASONS TO LEAVE SAN DIEGO

1) Opportunity to experience seasons
2) Real live trees that aren't planted from 5-gallon buckets
3) Slower pace of life
4) Less people
5) More affordable cost of living
6) Potential to live on a piece of property without a neighbor five feet away
7) Proximity to the gorgeous mountains and gorgeous coast
8) Proximity to family
9) Career opportunities for Charlie
10) Better potential for me to stay home
11) New places to explore
12) LIFE IS SHORT. CHANGE IS GOOD

A DOZEN REASONS TO STAY IN SAN DIEGO

1) Our quaint house
2) Our awesome community
3) Our church
4) Our friends
5) Security
6) MY career
7) Charlie's budding business
8) Family that lives an 8-hour car drive away
9) SeaWorld, the Zoo, Legoland and a million museums
10) This...

11) And this...

12) And last but not least, THIS...

Charlie just called me from the beach, where he took the kids to play again, today. It is 75 degrees and they are the only ones there. It's an absolutely perfect day.

My head hurts from all this thinking.

And since I'm looking at the hourglass stuck on my computer screen and a bar at the bottom that indicates I have approximately six hours before this newest "fix" that they are attempting is completed (and which may or may not work - their words, not mine), I've decided I'm going to disconnect from this pointless phone call and go join them.

Ah yes. That's much better.

where do we go from here?

One day last week, I drove out to a job site to inspect some work that was being completed on one of my projects. As is often the case, the foreman on the job was actually a woman. But what caught me off guard was that she was fluently calling out orders in Spanish to the laborers who were lugging bags of concrete and materials from one end of the site to the other.

I couldn't help but smile.

Here was this petite little woman, no taller than 5 feet and weighing no more than 100 pounds, directing men who were at least a foot taller and 100 pounds heavier around a busy construction site. She had complete confidence in all aspects of the job and I loved seeing her at work.

After I introduced myself and went through a brief health and safety overview, I asked her a little bit about herself. What was her academic background? What is her title? How much experience does she have? Could she teach me to speak Spanish - or at least understand it?

Over the next few hours, we would talk whenever we had a spare moment.

I learned that she is a civil engineer. She worked as a facilities maintenance engineer for a major oil company for 14 years. She was responsible for building gas stations across the country and she traveled extensively. She is happily married and has a four-year-old daughter. Her husband started his own construction business a few years ago and in early 2007, he convinced her to give up her busy career and stay home to raise their little girl. Soon after she resigned her position, they bought four-acres of land in Escondido and set about building their dream home.

As they got closer to finishing the construction, they moved all of their belongings in to a modular home that was situated on the four-acre parcel. The plan was that they would slowly begin transitioning their furniture in to the new house. But the new house wasn't finished quite yet. And because it wasn't finished, it wasn't insured.

And then, there was a fire.

A big fire.

A fire that wiped out their entire neighborhood and burned their new home and their modular home (with all of their possessions inside) to the ground. They lost everything. They literally ran away with their lives, the clothes on their backs and their dog. All of their furniture, pictures, electronics, you name it, were gone. For a few weeks they slept in guestrooms. They borrowed friends' clothing. And then, she began looking for a new job.

Two years later, she is extremely thankful that she had her education and experience to fall back on. Because her husband lost all of his tools in the fire, and the economy took a nose dive, his newly formed business dissolved. So she secured a position working for a consulting firm.

These days she is working full-time (again) and her husband is home raising their daughter. They don't know what they are going to do. They've tried to sell their charred property but nobody wants it. They've tried to rebuild but there have been financial restrictions. They're currently living in another smaller modular home and saddled with a mortgage payment for four-acres of land with no permanent structure.

She says that despite the turmoil her family has endured over the past two years, and even though she gave up her big career with a major oil company - with her pension and outstanding benefits and potential for incredible growth - she is genuinely happy.

A few weeks ago, I was surfing around on the internet and found a job opening, in South Carolina, that I thought would be right up Charlie's alley. With my husband's knowledge, I tailored his resume to fit the position and I crafted a cover letter that I thought would call out his strengths for this particular role. And then, once he read it over and gave it the nod, I submitted it. This past week, Charlie got a call from the company that is hiring.

They want him. Badly.

But the new job would come with a lot of travel. Or at least 25% of the time, Charlie would be on the road. The new job would mean a pay cut, at least temporarily. And the new job will most likely not be able to relocate us, so all of our moving expenses would be out of pocket. But, the new job would quite possibly be something that my husband would truly love. It would call upon his academic training and it would tap in to his experience as a consultant and college professor.

(And, it would still allow him the opportunity to continue working on his business that he started earlier this year. You know, between the quiet hours of 2 and 4 AM.)

There's absolutely no correlation between these two stories. I'm just completely unsure what we should be doing right now. My job is secure at the moment and there is no reason to leave. Of course the possibility exists that I could be relocated to the east coast at some point in the future. But do I want to continue working (and stressing about working) as much as I have been?

For the past month, I've been largely without a work computer and I am becoming more and more frustrated with the feeling that I am so far behind I will never get caught up. Maybe this is a sign to turn in the defunct laptop and say, "Thanks for the laughs. Bye bye!"?

It just feels like we're wandering around with no clear direction. And yet, it seems that we're getting closer to the end and very soon, we'll be able to see where we're supposed to go, next.

Change can be wonderfully exciting and terribly scary. I just hope that whatever happens, happens well and that we never lose everything and have to live in a tiny trailer, indefinitely.

But if by some chance that does happen, I hope that I can find within me, the same kind of good attitude and grace like the woman I met the other day.

(It ain't crap. It's the best fertilizer known to man!)

Or at least ... have the ability to lie well enough so that everyone believes me.

size matters

Our triplets were born at around the same birth weights.

But with time, they have grown at variable rates. For the first year, William was the largest in the trio, with his sisters always a few pounds less. But once the kids hit around two-years-old, Carolyn has shot up like a weed.

While we strive to make mostly home-cooked foods, with a lot of variety and we offer the children a little bit of everything that we are serving, the kids have totally different eating habits.

Elizabeth will eat anything, but in very small portions.

William is partial to yogurt. But he will also tolerate drinkable yogurt and frozen yogurt.

Carolyn loves carbohydrates. But not just any carbohydrates. Her forte is bread and cereal. She won't touch most vegetables and the only way she'll eat a potato is if I have it cooked as baked wedges.

A few weeks ago, when I woke up early for work, I happened to walk past the girls' room and noticed that there was a funny looking bump in their bed. When I pulled back the covers to investigate, I found Carolyn with a loaf of bread. She was hiding at the foot of her bed, under the quilt, eating the entire thing.

The heels, the crusts and everything in between.

I've written before that I've noticed Carolyn is outpacing her siblings in the growth department. Because where William and Elizabeth can both still wear size 4 clothing, Carolyn fits comfortably in a size 6/7. And sometimes, size 8. But considering Charlie comes from large stock, with one of his nieces measuring 6 feet 2 inches tall, I've always thought that our daughter was graced with tall genes.

During our annual appointment on Thursday, Elizabeth was 43 inches tall and 37 pounds. William was 44 inches tall and 39 pounds. Carolyn was 48 inches tall and 58 pounds. William and Elizabeth are both an average height for five-year-olds. Elizabeth is slightly below average for weight, William is right on target. Carolyn is completely off the charts for both height and weight.

Our pediatrician was surprised. Shocked, almost. He said that in all of his years, he hasn't seen that kind of variable size distribution across a set of multiples, who had all started out at approximately the same size.

To the general public, the triplets don't look like triplets anymore. While William and Elizabeth could possibly pass as twins, Carolyn looks like she is two or three years older.

This is starting to become a very delicate situation for me.

I've become hypersensitive to the way that I am treating the kids. For example, whenever I see the kids after a day away and they coming running towards me, I'll scoop Henry, William and Elizabeth - individually - and swing them around in the air. With Carolyn, I kneel down and embrace her in a tight hug and cover her cheeks in kisses. I wish I could still lift her up and swing her around. Sometimes, I still try. Even though it hurts.

I've become hypersensitive to her feelings. Because while the girls could once share clothes, they no longer can. As such, outfits that they would wear, interchangeably, that now only fit Elizabeth, is sometimes a point of contention. I've taken Carolyn on her own one-on-one shopping trips where we've bought all kinds of new clothes, just for her, but that doesn't stop her from wanting clothes that she once could wear and that her sister still does.

(Take THIS you little peanut!)

I've become hypersensitive to what she is eating. While I know that she is growing faster than her siblings, I know that she requires more fuel. But, this is a fine line - because I've also noticed that she is growing wider than taller and I'm slightly concerned about an eating disorder. So I'm limiting the bowls of cereals that she can have for breakfast - I'm reducing bread at dinner - and I'm trying to offer everyone more fresh fruit instead of crackers with lunch.

I've become hypersensitive to keeping the kids active everyday. Riding their bikes - going for walks - swimming - playing tennis - running around after a soccer ball in a huge field. I've tried to expose them to all the various events that Charlie and I participate in, so that they appreciate the world of sports and what it means to live a healthy life.

I've become hypersensitive to my own thoughts and actions. I strive to treat the children all the same and I don't like to talk about the size difference across the triplets when I'm in a group of people. But if it comes up, I will say that Carolyn is beautiful and she is blessed and lucky to be tall, because one day, she'll be able to reach items on the top shelf.

While I believe that each child is growing at their own HEALTHY pace, I don't want for my daughter to have a complex about her body. I know that most girls do at some point in their lives, I just don't want it to start when she's five.