Be Forewarned

Children, it's me ... your mother. I wanted to tell you a few things.

As you grow older, there will be people that will come in to your life who are real jerks have issues. Please don't let their negative behavior bring you down. Their nasty attitude is not because of you. They may try to make you believe that the reason they are jerks acting rude is because of something you have done ... but just remember that people who have no class will sometimes try to make other people feel bad, intentionally.

I am doing the absolute best job I can to raise all three of you in to conscientious human beings. It is my goal that as you grow - you will always mind your manners and be polite. I'd like to tell you to just turn the other cheek when people are nasty, but sometimes it's not very easy. Trust me, I know.

If you are in a Catholic elementary school and one of the nuns hits you with a ruler across your knuckles ... be forewarned that like your great-grandmother did for your grandmother ... I will march right up to the school - and tell the nun that if she ever lays a hand on my child again, I will lay my hands on her.

If you are in highschool and your 10th grade American History teacher makes you cry in front of the whole class because he was playing a cruel joke ... be forewarned that like your grandmother did for me ... I will march right up to the school, speak to the Principal, and have that teacher reprimanded so that he not only has to call you at home and offer you a formal apology, but he then has to make that same apology in front of your entire class.

If we are ever out in an amusement park designed and built for young children and a cranky old woman in a motorized scooter says to you when you are a 23-month old baby, in the five minutes I let you run free after having been contained in your stroller, "Watch where you're going!" and then scowls and shakes her head at you ... be forewarned that I will say aloud with the intent for everyone within a 10-foot radius to hear (including the cranky woman in the motorized scooter) "Be careful sweetheart, there are some very grumpy people in this world."

Maybe this cranky woman has had a rough day and perhaps she is not feeling well. Perhaps she is unaware that you are not yet two years old and are still wearing diapers and sleeping in a crib. I doubt this woman realizes that their mother, more than she, wishes her three toddlers would not scatter in three different directions and shriek at the top of their three little lungs.

However.

You are children ... and running and screaming with laughter is what children do. And if the cranky woman in a motorized scooter does not want to be surrounded by this kind of behavior then perhaps she would be better off staying home, or at least, avoid those areas which are teeming with small children.

See, I don't think that you are out of control. I think that as far as 23-month old children go ... you are perfect and you are acting your age. Your dad and I are very aware of your actions and are hypersensitive that you don't get "out-of-control". And although it shouldn't - it infuriates me when people are obnoxious about their annoyance by small children. Perhaps these jerks people were never children, themselves.

So please be forewarned ... I don't mean to embarrass you. My inability to turn the other cheek whenever one of you is involved, is an inherited characteristic. I'm following in the footsteps of the matriarchs before me.

I love fall

I love the change in seasons. As anxious as I was for summer to arrive ... I'm really excited about the days getting shorter. I'm excited about apple picking in the local mountains and making tasty apple crisps for all of our neighbors that we will deliver in our wagon.

I'm excited about Halloween and Thanksgiving and decorating our house for fall. I'm excited about going on-line and buying the children all new flannel pajamas and slippers from LL Bean. I might even coordinate it so that our whole family has matching jammies. How cute would that be?!

The change in seasons isn't just happening outside - the most drastic changes are happening inside with our children. The kids are doing things this year that they weren't doing last year ... they are doing things now they weren't even doing last month. They are giving the biggest, warmest hugs I've ever had. They're smothering us with kisses and they're cuddling extra close when it's story time. If the truth be told ... they are bringing more joy and laughter to this home than I ever thought possible.

Yesterday was the first day that we really felt fall was in the air. Last night during our evening walk, Charlie and I had to bundle the children up. Even though we live in Southern California (and I have delusions of snowy grandeur from living on the east coast) ... it was a cloudy day and there was a cool wind. We made a stop at the local park and after running around the playground for an hour, we tucked the kids under warm blankets and made our way home in the dusk. We talked about how exciting it will be when the children are old enough that we can all sit and enjoy a mug of hot chocolate after time spent outside on a cold day. We talked about how wonderful it will be when they too, can help us make apple crisps for our neighbors and decorate our house for the season change. I can't wait.

Following our walk, we fired up our patio heater and watched the last bit of sun set. There is so much to look forward to in the future, but we are also savoring these days ... the last days of summer 2006 and life with our three amazing toddlers.

To Pee or Not to Pee...

Life's a bit hectic right now ... even more hectic than normal. My "paying" job has been extremely busy, to the point that I have threatened to take our children AND their fingerpaints back to my boss's house if he nominates me for another special project.

In addition to that - I have been involved in several different play groups and am picking up momentum on teaching people how to knit. Then there's the gym that I feel compelled to attend at least once a month in order to shave my legs justify the $29.99 fee ... and this little blog I must update for fear I will rapidly forget all of these wondrous days of toddlerhood.

There are a lot of things I would like to write about, but today I am going to focus on one of the items that is high on my list for "Brain chatter that must be unloaded on to the blog at some point before Christmas, because otherwise you will forget the details." For the past month, I've been attempting to potty train our kids ... which is why today's topic revolves around "the catastrophe that accompanies a diaper free lifestyle."

Ever since I've set out on this quest to potty train our children, I have heard and/or read stories about people who "purportedly" potty trained their children by 9-months of age. After 30 consecutive days of working with toddlers on potty training, I can tell you that these people are obviously drunk clearly confused with dog years.

In human years ... I do not believe it is possible for a child to be knowingly potty-trained before the age of 3. It does NOT count if you take off their diaper and spread newspaper on the floor. However, if I don't see an improvement in our progress ... maybe this will count next year.

One of the biggest lessons I have learned thus far in parenting - is that potty training is not something that should be rushed or even attempted when you have a million other things on your To-Do list particularly if your child still sleeps in a crib. Since I've already made it abundantly clear that our children will be in cribs for as long as possible, only when the time is ripe ... will I embark on potty training our children - one child at a time.

Maybe I am just being lazy ... but I feel confident that one day our kids will let us know when they are ready to go "on the pot" and until then - a wise person knows when to stop kicking a brick wall. Or, more appropriately, a wise person knows when to stop putting their 23-month old toddler in cotton pants* with the expectation that they will become more aware of "pee-pee" and not consider this to be a miraculous puddle that randomly appeared between their shoes for the sole purpose of their splashing pleasure.

The advantage of the cotton undies is that some of our children (i.e. the girls, ONLY the girls) recognize when they have gone and they will stare down at their little puddle with a look of absolute astonishment. I can just see them thinking "Wha...? Wha...? Is that what I think it is?!" William on the other hand, is completely oblivious to his wet pants and gets so excited about his own little personal puddle that he does a jig and then sits down and plays in it.

After talking with my mother, I was convinced that maybe what I needed to kick this training off right, was a little potty chair for the children.

It took me 45-minutes to pick out the perfect chair. I was positively dismayed at all the features you can get on a child's potty chair these days. Of course, as I'm standing there in the store, I'm collapsing under pressure. I have to get the perfect chair ... potty training is such an important step in our children's development.

I cannot screw this up.

What I learned is that you can get the kind of potty chair that plays a little song when there is a drop of moisture in the pot ... you can get the kind that has a faux toilet paper roll ... you can get the kind that converts to a stepping stool ... you can get the kind that has a little toy "flush".

Or.

You can get the cheapo bucket with a lid because you know in your heart of hearts that your money at this point in time is better spent on Pampers. After 45-minutes of nail biting and fear that the wrong purchase would mean sending our kids off to Kindergarten in diapers, it dawned on me.

It's. A. Potty. Chair.

It's not a Lexus.

I'm glad I went the inexpensive route. Ten minutes out of the box, our little potty chair was nothing more than a flip-top chariot for Elizabeth's bunny to get rides in around the living room. And the kitchen. And the nursery.

Even though we are far from where we need to be ... the girls are definitely light years ahead of the boy in the department of "bodily function awareness."

Carolyn and Elizabeth will tell me before, during and after they go "pee-pee" or "poo-poo". But if I so much as try to put them on the toilet to do their deed in the pot ... forget about it. They'll read a magazine, squirm every which way, and then jump off and wave "bye'bye" to an empty commode ... which they insist I flush.

It's no joke. Our water bill has gone up $24.00 in the last month and I'm convinced it's due to the additional 200 gallons of water a day I've been wasting on flushing ghost poops. Not yet have I flushed a legitimate poop.

Yet, these children know that when I'm going in to the bathroom, the toilet will be legitimately flushed ... and they cannot bear to not witness that event firsthand and wave "bye'bye" to whatever happens to be in the pot. These days, I can't step foot in or near a bathroom without having an entourage of toddlers follow me.

At first I figured it would be kind of cute and good practice for them to come with me and see what all the fuss is about ... you know, mother duck - showing her chicks the ropes. But it appears I have done nothing more than create three little monsters that will stop at nothing to invade my personal space, or any one else's personal space, that comes to our home for a visit. It's like a scene from a horror movie ... pudgy little fingers reaching underneath the door to grab you.

The majority of times, I can't concentrate on the task at hand with the tremendous racket going on outside the door. So, I'll let the children in to the bathroom with me where they'll immediately rush behind the toilet so that they can see anything and everything. What this experience in potty training has taught me, is that whomever coined the term "restroom" must not have had young children.

Like the ghost poops ... the last shred of modesty I possessed has gone down the tubes. "Bye'bye" modesty ... "bye'bye."

*In case you were wondering - the cotton undies only come on when we are playing outside. Yes, I may take down our baby gates 36-months prematurely, but not even I am fool enough to let our kids roam around the house wearing nothing but cotton underwear. OK. Maybe once.

Happiness is ...

... finally having the opportunity to watch football with your son.

WHAT was I thinking??!

I had no idea so many friends and family read this blog. So in response to the large volume of e-mails and phone calls I have received regarding the removal of our baby gates ... I thought it would be prudent to post an update. But seeing as a picture speaks a thousand words ... and rather than write too much about this idiotic lapse in reason experience ... I thought I'd post a few photos with a brief running commentary.

Not after: 400 feet of bubble wrap, through our entire house...


Not after: 500 10-gallon plastic trashbags pulled out of box...

Not after: A jumbo box of Kleenex was emptied and shredded in our bedroom...

Not after: Elizabeth figured out how to climb on to the changing table, pull up the window shade and waved "hi doggy!" to Molly in our yard...

Not after: William fashioned tools to reach his CD player so he could turn on "The Veggie Tales", very loudly...

Not even after: The children pulled out every last article of clothing from their dresser... and Charlie's dresser... and my dresser...

Not after all of that did we reconsider our decision to remove the baby gates and let our children explore.

Nay.

Only when all three of them climbed in to the bathtub and figured out how to turn on the water...

... Did my head explode in to a burst of flames and the baby gates immediately went back up.

Time lapsed? Less than 48 hours.

Lesson learned? Three toddlers running free is insanity.

INSANITY TIMES THREE TO THE POWER OF 1,000,000,000

Moral of this story? I'm not insane. At least not yet. Although, I fear I'm getting close.

The End.

The College Tri Try

This past weekend, we took off for an overnight jaunt to Los Angeles so Charlie could compete in the Los Angeles Tri. If you recall, my company had pulled together a relay team and needed a cyclist ... so I nominated my husband. One of my co-workers swam 1-mile, Charlie was responsible for riding 25-miles on a bike borrowed from my boss, and another co-worker ran 6.2 miles. I was suppose to be there to photograph the event, but that was before I realized the race started at 7 AM. Unfortunately, that early hour just didn't work well with my inability to open my eyes before 8 schedule.

Because there was NO way three portable cribs, three booster chairs, a jogging stroller, a Kelty backpack, two suitcases, a cooler, a diaper bag, five people, AND Charlie's bicycle were all going to fit in our van ... we moved the carseats over to the backseat of Charlie's extended cab truck which is equipped with a camper shell - moved the front seats as far forward as they could go without having our faces pressed against the windshield ... loaded all of our gear in to the back of the truck which lacks a fancy navigation system nor any maps of Southern California, and set off for our first road trip in almost a year.

If you think that paragraph was long and disorganized ... you should have seen us trying to get ready with three toddlers underfoot and no baby gates.

Our goal was to get on the road Saturday morning by 10 AM. We left at 11:41 AM. It probably would have helped if I'd packed all of our stuff the night before, because what I realized on Saturday morning - is that as soon as I would put stuff in the suitcase and turn my back to add more items ... the items I had just packed were strewn about the house and yard. It got to the point where I had to put the suitcase next to the closet and stand in it, to hold down the stuff I'd already packed, while figuring out what else needed to go in the bag.

Of course if I'd packed the night before, that would indicate that I am organized and well prepared ... and quite frankly if there is one thing I am not these days, it is organized and well prepared. Infact, each time I think my life bears any resemblance to organized, my children prove to me otherwise.

Charlie had the brilliant suggestion to put the suitcases in the crib which was the only place the kids weren't able to reach stuff and pull it out. Alas, he didn't come up with this suggestion until I was just about finished ... but it's something to keep in mind for the next time. What's funny is that we weren't packing a whole lot of stuff. We were only going out of town for one night. If I did the math right, that's just a little over 24 hours. Yet to see the amount of gear we had and the volume of swim diapers - you'd think we were setting off for the Straight of Gibraltar.

Anyway. We made a pit stop to top the car off with gas ... and another pit stop to buy new sunglasses. I had lost mine the week before and Charlie needed a good pair of athletic shades for his bike ride on Sunday. Apparently there is scientific evidence to prove that the better you look, the faster you go. Two hundred dollars later - Charlie looked really good.

Four hours, rather than the anticipated two hours, and several unplanned detours later (that took us through a large portion of Orange County), we arrived at my boss's house to pickup Charlie's race registration material. We were desperate to stretch our legs after having been cramped in the front of the truck for the past several hours and our kids were desperate to destroy everything in sight "explore".

I've come to the conclusion it's bad enough when our children splash in our own toilet ... it's a tad bit more horrifying when they splash in someone else's. Especially when that someone else is your boss. I'm really learning to go-with-the-flow (aka: riptide) ... which is what saved me from screaming when our kids ambushed his closet and came out holding a pair of underwear.

Ah, yes. That's a memory for the babybook. Thankfully, they didn't put my boss's underwear ON their head, which is usually what they do with their parent's britches.

After an excruciating 26 minutes and 38 seconds ... everyone was kicking and screaming happily loaded back in to their carseats while we continued on to our second destination, the home of our good friends Mark & Lorie.

It's been several years since we've visited Mark and Lorie at their house, so of course we got lost getting there, too. The last time we were at their home - Charlie and I were just about to start our third round of IVF and Lorie was blissfully unaware that she was two weeks pregnant. Since we all went to college together - and are all geologists - we have a lot in common. Our friendship grew that much deeper when their little girl, Shayna, was born two weeks after our triplets.

Since the catastrophe of visiting our friends last week, we were a bit concerned how this weekend was going to go. I'm here to say that God is good and prayer works. If I ever questioned that before, I don't anymore. I have been praying non-stop for this to be a good experience for everyone. I was actually prepared to cancel the whole trip because the last thing I want to do is unleash our trio in to the house of our unsuspecting friends. (Although, Lorie does read this blog - so she had an inkling of what was coming...)

Mark and Lorie have a fully fenced in front yard surrounding their one-story bungaloo. The doors to the front and back were wide open and a cool breeze was blowing through the house. They had tents set up in the front and side yard and they had more toys than the North Pole. The kids had a great time playing together, we had a great pizza dinner ... and when Charlie went to bed at a reasonable hour because of his race the next day ... the three of us sat and enjoyed wine. Lots and lots of great wine.

Sunday morning, while Charlie competed in his race ... we hung out at a local park near Mark & Lorie's house. The kids had a fun time running around and playing on the different structures, while I savored having two additional adults help me supervise. The only thing that would have made this outing more fun is if we I had a 4th hat so we could pass Shayna off as a quad. With her blonde hair and blue eyes - it would be easy to do. Although, we got enough looks and comments as it was.

When Charlie returned, we loaded up our sleigh - assumed our cramped positions in the truck - and took off for a picnic one hour south (on the way back home). It should have taken us one hour to get there ... but it took us almost two and a half. Once I realized we were on the wrong freeway, my motto of "We don't need no stinking map!" became "Charlie, how could you forget to pack a map?!!"

Over the past few years of struggling with infertility, I have become acquainted with several people over the internet that have gone through the same challenges in achieving parenthood. A few months ago, several of us met for the first time. This weekend, we met again. Unfortunately, we were three hours late arriving to the picnic ... but with all the other things we had happening that day - it's a wonder we made it at all. Before loading the kids up for the 2-hour trek home, we filled their little bellies with a Slurpee. Maybe it was the frozen fruity processed goodness, or maybe it was the excitement of the weekend ... but our children passed out before we even left the parking lot and remained unconscious until we pulled in to the driveway.

Although Charlie is a natural born athlete, he hasn't really been on a bike for at least three years. This race that I signed him up for was a big one and an excellent catalyst for him to get back in to something that I know he loves. His official time for riding 25 miles was 1 hour, 16 minutes. His relay team finished the LA Triathlon 6 overall out of 50 teams. That's not too shabby. As a family we enjoyed a great weekend with new friends and old, and even though we questioned the logistics of leaving the safety of our house, we threw caution to the wind and went for it.

I suppose that if there is a moral to this story, it would be even when you think it's too much to do - it's always good to give it the old college try. When you're packing for a trip with your children - just make sure your humor and sense of adventure are the first things to go in the suitcase.

Along with a map.

I Am Blogger 1734

September 11, 2001: I'm between jobs. I'm preparing for the Geology State Board exam in 3 days. As I breathe, I want nothing more than to become a mom. I wake up at 7:30 on a beautiful Tuesday morning and I wander in to the kitchen to grab a quick bite to eat before settling down for a full day of studying. My husband is listening to the radio. We hear news that the World Trade Center has been hit by two planes. We hear news that a plane has crashed in to the Pentagon. We hear news that another plane has crashed in to a field in Pennsylvania. With my fear of flying, I am gripped with horror for what has happened. No where in my mind do I think, or could I ever fathom, that these tragedies were pre-meditated. I can't let go of the notion that there was a HUGE glitch with the computer systems. Air traffic controllers have obviously lost all control...

I spend the next three days camped in front of the television set with boxes of Kleenex by my side. I am unable to sleep ... unable to eat ... unable to study ... unable to look away. On September 14, I flunk my State Boards because I cried through the whole exam.

Five Years Later.

September 11, 2006: I'm raising 22-month old triplets. I'm working part-time as a State-certified Geologist. I'm reveling each and every day in the wonder of life and parenthood. As I breathe, I'm praying for peace on earth. For the past month, whenever I have a spare moment, I am researching Perry Anthony Thompson. A man I never knew.

To honor and remember those who perished five years ago today ... 2,996 bloggers will post a tribute to an individual who died during that horrific, perfectly blue sky morning in September, 2001. I am blogger 1734.

2,996. Two thousand. Nine hundred. Ninety six. Lives, lost.

Five years ago, I didn't know anything about any of the people who died, but I did mourn for each and every one of them. I also mourned for the thousands of people that I watched on the news, walking around and pinning up signs of their loved ones. What I remember the most - are feelings of helplessness and desperation. Those feelings gave way to an overwhelming surge of patriotism that resulted in me decorating our home and vehicle with American Flags.

Five years later.

Our American Flag is still flying proudly on our home ... and I know something more than I did, about one of the 2,996 victims.

Perry was 36 years old. He was the husband to Charlette. Daddy to 7-year old Ashley and 3-year old Chelsea. Son to Lula, and brother to Mike and Lisa. From the memorial pages I've read, Perry was a friend to many.

In his spare time, Perry was a celebrity photographer for various magazines. He took pictures of several stars including Michael Jackson, Janet Jackson and Whitney Houston. One of the last events Perry photographed, was a New York party attended by Don King, Stevie Wonder and Florence Henderson. Perry was meticulous when it came to photography ... especially photography of his beautiful daughters. On Christmas Eve, he would spend hours posing them in front of their tree.

I can just imagine it.

On September 11, 2001 - while I was sleeping in California - Perry was working as an insurance adjuster for AON Corporation on the 98th floor of the World Trade Center's south tower in New York. Since the Thompson's were raising their children in Williamstown, New Jersey ... Perry would wake up at 4:00 AM so he could catch the 5:30 AM bus in to the city. Perry got to work early that Tuesday, just like he did every day, so that he could be home by 7:00 PM to spend time with his family.

Perry knew that the north tower had been struck by a plane. Because Perry was a religious man, and would commute two hours to church each and every Sunday, I suspect he was praying that bright Tuesday morning. I also suspect that he was wishing that he could be home with his wife and two little girls.

Like me, Perry was a parent. Like me, Perry wanted to see his children grow up. His daughters were 7 and 3, and I'll bet nothing on God's green earth held a candle to the adoration they these children had for their daddy. What I learned about Perry during this past month is that he was well loved. I also learned that he will never be forgotten by those whose lives he touched. I found tributes to Perry, written by several people who knew him best. All of the tributes were moving ... but the letter written by his daughter, three and a half years after his passing, brought me to tears.

***

Daddy,

On this First day of 2005, I realize how much I need and miss you. As you now rest in peace I remember the good times we use to have. It is around the Holidays that your spirit is especially in our hearts most. We remember how your special Holiday traditions, brought us together as a family. We will miss you and love you always. We will reunite in Heaven one day.

Love, Ashley

***

The United in Memory Quilt has a square honoring Perry Anthony Thompson. Although this image is a bit fuzzy, Perry's square contains the image of a camera. This is undoubtedly due to Perry's love of photography and his joy in taking pictures. Unlike the image of Perry's quilt square - the picture in my mind of September 11, 2001 is crystal clear. Even though five years have passed since that beautiful blue sky day ... I will never forget.

Five years later.

I will never forget the confusion, the horror, the senselessness. But more than that, I will never forget the strength, the resolve, the compassion, the determination, the outpouring of love, support and patriotism. From this day on - I will never forget Perry Anthony Thompson. A guy I didn't even know.

One of the things I learned when I finally passed my State Board exam is that energy can neither be created nor destroyed. With all of my heart, I pray that the Thompson family is always able to find Perry's love and energy around them. You're right Ashley, your daddy's spirit is with you.

It's with me, too.

Problem Solved!

Here's the thing. I try to drink at least 64 ounces of water a day. That's great for my digestive system ... but not so great for those times when I am out in public, by myself, with our children.

Whenever I go out, by myself, it damn near always happens that I am struck by the urge to use the restroom. One adult + Three toddlers + One public bathroom = Not a very good situation. Especially when you are a germophobe. My options are severely limited. As such, I'll often ask myself do I:

1) Bring all three kids with me only to have them TOUCH every disgusting item in a public restroom??

2) Try to maneuver the massive triplet stroller in to the stall??

3) Take the chance of leaving the triplet stroller outside the stall with my three precious children inside, completely unattended?? OR ...

4) Hold it and rush home.

It's a dilemma. It's an even worse dilemma when you've REALLY got to go.

Unless there is an enormously large handicap stall that I can occupy - there are usually no stalls large enough to hold our triplet stroller. Because I never want to leave our children unattended ... my only option is to bring all three kids in to the bathroom with me ... and then furiously scrub them down with Purell and antiseptic wipes.

Although I haven't provided all the details of our potty-training saga ... I will give the teaser that these days ... our children love following me in to the bathroom. They absolutely rejoice in being anywhere close to "The Potty." The love seeing "The Potty" - they love touching "The Potty" - they even love trying to kiss "The Potty." Yes, it's true.

With that in mind ... during my recent internet travels - I stumbled upon this gadget which I think might solve my public restroom dilemma. More than that ... I whole heartedly believe that this one little contraption might simplify my life in more ways than I could ever possibly imagine.

Think of it.

I could go to friend's houses ... I could go to church ... I could go to public restrooms ... I could cook, clean and maybe even take a nap. All the while, my kids would have a great time - just hanging around.

Can it be ...

Guess what we're working on?

Here's a hint:



After my monthly triplet mama dinner tonight, I don't have the brain power to dive in to the details on our experiences with the potty. Maybe tomorrow I'll muster the energy and courage to review why I'm prepared to keep our children in diapers until they are 5. Or 8.

They have those pull-ups ... right?

The Peak

I have a little piece of paper that hangs on our refrigerator that I try to refer to daily. It is a passage, written by Chuck Swindoll about "Attitude". It goes like this:

"The longer I live, the more I realize the impact of attitude on life. Attitude, to me, is more important than education, than money, than circumstances, than failures than successes, than what other people think or say or do. It is more important that appearance, giftedness, or skill. It will make or break a company ... a church ... a home. The remarkable thing is we have a choice every day regarding the attitude we embrace for that day. We cannot change our past. We cannot change the fact that people act in certain ways. We cannot change the inevitable. The only thing we can do is play on the one string we have, and that is our attitude. I am convinced life is 10% what happens to me and 90% how I react to it. And so it is with you. We are in charge of our attitudes. "

The importance of having a positive attitude in life cannot be over emphasized.

Especially when you are a parent.

It's the honest truth that sometimes, I am emotionally, mentally and physically drained. And I haven't even gotten out of bed yet.

There are some days, I would give my right arm, minivan, unopened bottle of Jack London 1994 Cabernet 1/2 gallon of Rocky Road ice cream to stay in bed until 10 AM and watch back to back re-runs of Bridget Jones's Diary on Bravo while I painted my toenails. The most challenging thing that I would have to deal with is determining whether I would wear my shorts or my sarong to the pool, where I would sit all day and read a book, with a frozen cocktail in my hand that was magically refilled.

As much as we love our children and even after all that we went through to become parents ... the shots, the surgeries, the psychological rollercoaster, the tens of thousands of dollars shelled out over 8+ years ... there are moments in time when we wish the only responsibility we had ... is to take care of ourselves.

One of the biggest adjustments for us, after having been married for 10 years before children, is the giving of ourselves completely each and every day. There is no doubt - the happiness that our children bring to our lives is immeasurable. But so is the amount of work that is required to care for and clean up after them.

During a recent dinner with our triplet group, I sat next to a new mom. She looked exhausted and at one point, leaned over to me and in all seriousness asked "When will it get better??" As I was about to respond, another triplet mom chimed in and said "You think what you're going through now is hard?! Just wait until you have three toddlers that are in to EVERYTHING and are an absolute danger to themselves!"

At first I felt like saying "Ah ha! validation! I'm not alone!!" But when I looked at this new mom and the expression of horror that spread across her face, I felt compelled to say something positive. So I added "It doesn't get easier, per se ... it gets different. You will be a lot more capable of handling the challenges of parenting triplets when your babies are sleeping at night, and that will happen soon. More than that - the JOYS that you get to experience with three babies are exponential."

I must not have been very convincing because she went on to order vodka ... straight up.

On Saturday, we attended church again. After the service, a mother with 3-year old triplets came up to me and said "This sermon [on patience] was so timely. I was at my wits end. I actually called my husband and told him to come home because I couldn't spend another moment alone with 3-3 year olds."

Giving her a stern look I asked "I thought it got easier at three? Someone TOLD me it got easier when they were three!! Can't you reason with them?? Can't you just have them color quietly while you paint your toenails?" Her husband sensed my anguish and chimed in "It doesn't really get easier, per se ... it just gets different..." Before he had a chance to finish, I looked him square in the eye and said "I was born at night - but not last night. You go tell that to someone who doesn't know any better!"

Yesterday, I took down all the baby gates and let the children have free run of the house... moments before I stepped out the door to go to work. I'm good that way.

But I figured since Charlie's Los Angeles triathlon is this coming Sunday, an increase in his aerobic regiment would be welcomed. Besides, maybe we are being too restrictive on our children. Maybe they do need to explore more...

When I called home a couple hours later to see how the kids were doing with their new found freedom, Elizabeth was scaling the bookshelves, Carolyn was standing on the dining room table playing with the chandelier, William was hiding beneath our bed and Charlie's heart rate had been sustained at 180 for the past two hours. I think he'll do just fine this weekend.

As far as I'm concerned - we are at the peak of how challenging raising children can be. If you'd told me last week that THIS week was going to dish out new obstacles I'd never considered (trying to flush the remote control for our television down the toilet; figuring out how to unscrew the child-resistant cap for Maalox; unlocking and opening the backdoor), I wouldn't have believed it. It's nearly impossible to imagine our lives being any more chaotic than they are right now ... but I suspect they will be.

So what it comes down to is ATTITUDE.

At some point, each day, I usually have to remind myself that these moments with my three children are fleeting. They are growing up so fast. Our standards for the immaculate house we once had - have been completely shot. Our standards for the hours upon hours of "me" or "us" time we once had - have been completely shot. In their place are a messy house ... children hanging off our legs ... hugs - kisses - and laughter.

There is little doubt, these are challenging times and TODAY we are at the peak in raising triplets. But these are also the best days of our lives, and from this perspective, the view couldn't be any better.

This is why we don't go out ...

Today, we went to our friend's house for a barbeque. They have an 18-month old and 4-year old. They assured us their house was fully baby-proofed and they would love to host Labor Day at their place. So ... after Charlie convincing me everything would be fine ... we went.

Their house was immaculate. Their children were well behaved. Their house plants were still alive and their floor lamps had not been toppled. They only had one baby gate blocking their flight of stairs and not a single bathroom door was closed. There were no safety latches on their cabinets and their CD's were in plain sight and less than 2-feet off the ground. Did I mention they have an 18-month old?

Within seconds of stepping foot in their house, I realized that their idea of "baby proofing" and my idea of "baby proofing" are vastly different. Suffice to say, this was the worst dinner party of my entire life and I have vowed to not return to our friend's house until our kids are 10. For those that are wondering - this dinner party was even worse than the time my professor from college and his wife came over to our apartment, she got completely drunk, smashed her corn-on-the-cob in to her salmon and called everyone at the table, including Charlie, a bitch.

On the drive home tonight, Charlie and I had a talk. I asked if it was possible that our children were absolute tyrants ... or if their children were abnormal. Three hours later, I'm still completely confused how in the world they can co-exist with an 18-month old AND house plants. And CD's in plain sight less than 2-feet off the ground.

At our house, there are areas where children can play - and areas where they can't. We do not give them free run of the house. That was not the case at our friend's home ... the kids could "explore" where ever they wanted to. While their children left all of the CD's alone and didn't press every single button on the stereo player ... our kids zoomed in on those two objects faster than a moth to a flame. And ... they left ALL their sand in the sandbox. While our kids were flinging sand all over creation ... their children sat quietly in the box sifting sand and building little castles with moats.

This experience begs the question: Are we doing something wrong by restricting what our kids can play with ... at our house?? Should we take down all the baby gates and let them have "at it"?? If we give them this kind of unreigned freedom ... will it make them less likely to destroy absolutely everything that they can get their hands on??

I wonder... (But I'm not entirely willing to take the chance.)

While their children sat and ate their food - our kids threw rice and beans all over the place and decorated their table and walls with guacamole. When they brought out brownies for dessert, our kids were double-fisted with mouths full of chocolate and grabbing for more. Giving Charlie the look of death that clearly says "MUST LEAVE RIGHT NOW" our children promptly laid on the ground and threw temper tantrums.

Our hosts just smiled at us and said "Oh, they are so cute." Yes ... cute kind of like my college professor's drunken wife who slurred her speech and tried to pick a fight with our cat.

Even though our kids aren't yet 2 ... my worst fear is that we are raising brats. At this age - we're not really doing anything to stem their erratic behavior because there is very little we CAN do. There are three of them and they feed off one another, like a storm brewing.

My analogy is a rip tide at the beach. When you're stuck in a rip tide, the best thing to do is conserve your energy and wait until you get spit out so you can swim safely to shore. Or, signal for help. If you struggle against the rip tide too much ... you're likely to drown ... unless your mother from South Carolina a lifeguard comes to the rescue. I feel like it's a futile effort to try rationalizing with three toddlers. Doesn't it make more sense to conserve my energy, keep my head above water, and reason with them when they get a little older?? Or, by that point - will I be washed out to the middle of the ocean and consumed by sharks??

I want to be a relaxed parent ... the kind of parent that doesn't hover over their child and constantly chant "No, No, No, No, No."

I also want to have relaxed kids ... the kind of kids that are not afraid to explore but don't destroy everything that they touch. I also want for them to be obedient and to not throw their food all over the place. But at THIS age ... I wonder if I'm asking too much.

Am I asking too much???

In the meantime we're staying home with our rats and spiders and three toddlers that have arrived at Hurricane Level IV status. Going out is hugely over rated. Especially when it involves having dinner with our friends and their abnormal children.

Good Things

Today was my day to work. Like every other morning around here I was off to a late start and wasn't fully prepared to leave the house until 9:30. Actually, it might have been closer to 10. Thankfully, I work part-time and no one expects me to be anywhere before noon.

Just as I was preparing to leave and Charlie was running out in the garage to feed Molly before the morning walk, I heard a scream. Well, maybe not a scream like the scream I made on Monday ... but a "WHOA!!! WHOA!!! WHOOOOAAAA!!!!"

I grimaced and thought "Ugh! I bet he smells the dead rat that's been in the trash can for the past 48-hours under the hot southern California August sun."

A moment later, I hear Charlie come stomping in to the house with wide eyes. "We caught another one. There's ANOTHER rat in the trap!!!"

Looking at him with complete disbelief I said "What?! Another rat? You mean there's MORE than one?!"

I peered out through the garage door and sure enough, there was another big, dead rat. This one was caught by the second trap that was also laced with beef jerky and peanut butter that I had tried to convince Charlie on Tuesday night to disarm, because surely we had killed the only rat in our zip code.

Charlie was completely grossed out, just like I had been. He asked me where I'd put the gloves and he asked how exactly I had managed to get rid of the rat on Tuesday. "You used a bag, huh? What kind of bag ... a trash bag?!" I heard him go back out side ... and twenty minutes later ... he came back in the house telling me that he felt the overwhelming need to take a shower.

And then Charlie said something that made me realize there is a big difference between he and me ... males and females ... men and women.

The first thought that came to my mind is that the rat we killed on Tuesday, must have been a mother. Or father. They had gone out to gather food for their little family and met their demise in our trap. A couple days later, driven out by hunger and wailing baby rats ... the other parent goes looking for the missing parent - and food for the baby rats - only to meet it's demise in our trap. How terribly sad. I am now motivated to sprinkle graham crackers drizzled with honey around the perimeter of our property for all the baby rats that will undoubtedly starve without their parents.

When I told Charlie my theory - he scoffed at and said "Rats are solitary animals!" And then he recalled a scene from "Lethal Weapon" and figured we could streamline our rat killing operation if we laid plastic sheeting beneath the traps. For the next "victim", all we'd need to do is wrap it up and throw it away. "Think of it Jen. it will be like a mob killing. We won't have to worry about cleaning up the mess at all!!"

Sometimes I just don't get it. How can we be so different - yet so very much alike?

I head off to work and meet with one of my co-workers. I relay to him my events of the past few days. The huge dead rat on Tuesday ... the huge dead rat, today. I told him how I had to pick the rat up and throw it away - all by myself. I was expecting him to be impressed by my ability to handle dead vermin and walk through a monster spider web without dying on the spot. Instead he gives me a puzzled look and says, "What? You didn't keep the trap?!"

I was stumped by this question and a bit annoyed. "What the hell do you mean, 'I didn't keep the trap'?! How the heck would I keep the trap when there was a HUGE dead rat in it?!?!" He went on to tell me that when he was a boy - GROWING UP ON A FARM - he would set traps for mice, rats and gophers. Whenever they would catch rodents ... they would empty the trap and reset them. Meaning - he had to actually open the trap - shake (or PEEL) the contents of the dead vermin out - and then reset it. Of course, they caught several vermin a day ... so emptying a trap was as simple as buttering bread. So he says ...

His experience just reinforces my previous statement that I could never live on a farm. NEVER. EVER.

At around 5:00 this afternoon ... I remembered that I was suppose to meet my fellow triplet mama's tonight for a knitting fest, in less than two hours. I also remembered that I was still at the office ... had more work to do before I could leave ... had not yet showered ... had not yet eaten ... and had not yet told Charlie that I was suppose to be going out tonight.

I finished what needed to be done at work, rushed home and casually told my dear husband that this knitting event had slipped my mind, but it was really important for me to go. All of the women who I had taught to knit at the beginning of the summer - had surpassed 25 feet on their "3-inch test strip" I had started them on. They had no idea how to end the knitting, but were afraid to stop because they were certain they'd forget.

Charlie gave me his blessing so I had a quick dinner of M&M's and orange juice, jumped in the shower and headed out the door. It took me 25 minutes longer to arrive at my destination than it should have, because I am an absolute idiot when it comes to directions and am hopelessly lost with out a navigation system (which is in the car which is in the shop).

The funny thing is - I spent four years in undergraduate and another two years in graduate school studying maps. Yet, it's the honest truth that a frying pan possesses a better sense of direction than do I.

The place where we gathered tonight was a spot where I had gone with my mom, two and a half years ago for a knitting group. (Mom, do you remember?!) The day that I went with my mom, happened to be the day after I had received my second negative pregnancy test - following my second failed IVF cycle. I remembered, so clearly, my state of mind at that time. I recalled sitting on a stool, guzzling a beer, knitting a blanket for a baby that was not meant to be and feeling completely BROKEN inside.

Now, here I was ... less than three years later ... the mother to three beautiful children.

It's just incredible how fast things can change.

Arriving at my destination, I am greeted by my fellow triplet mama's. We wander in to a funky quaint coffee shop and sit down on oversized couches. This place eerily reminds me of "Central Perk" from the TV show "Friends". We order ice cold lemonade, triple chocolate fudge brownies and are serenaded by "Amateur Musician Night". People of all ages and walks of life are up on the stage with their guitars, harpsichords, harmonicas and violins ... playing everything from Folk Music to Irish Jigs.

My fellow triplets mama's pull out their knitting and I am over-the-moon thrilled to see that even though it's been at least 8 weeks since our last get-together ... everyone that I taught how to knit ... actually knows how to knit. I can't get from Point A to Point B without getting lost for 2 hours ... but damn if I can't teach a group of women how to make blankets for babies in South Africa.

So to sum up this day ... the "good things" in my life on August 31, 2006 are:

1) A husband who was home today to deal with the second HUGE DEAD rat in our garage in less than 3 days and who realizes the importance of me having a "girls-night-out"...

2) The reality that we live less than 1/2 a mile from Home Depot where they stock as many rat traps as we could ever possibly need and thus, there is no reason we should ever have to reuse a rat trap...

3) Being so incredibly PROUD of my fellow triplet mama's that I taught how to knit and seeing that they have stuck with it through the entire summer...

4) A funky coffee shop with big comfortable couches, dim lights and amateur musicians...

5) My babies. When I came home tonight, I stood over their cribs watching them sleep. They are absolute perfection and it frequently happens that I have to pinch myself to be sure I'm not dreaming this all up. I will try my absolute best to give them everything I can in life. But kids, I just hope you never ever want to live on a farm.

*********

For those who inquired about the blankets I'm making ... a few months ago, I stumbled upon a blogger in South Africa, "So Close". This blogger's sister started a charity called "Bosom Buddies" establised to help the destitute mothers of South Africa. A reader on "So Close" crocheted and sent blankets from the US to South Africa for these babies with care packages for the mothers. When I saw that this reader (Bridgette) was making such a huge difference, I thought to myself "I can, could, should, MUST do something, too!"

And so, I have.

It's not much - but it's something ... and I like to think that there are honorable people in this world that are using the supplies I'm sending them - for a good cause. If not, God will sort them out ... right? :)

The good, the bad and ... the ugly

I think I'll start in reverse order because I never like leaving on an ugly note.

Charlie was up and out before 7 AM this morning, while I was completely unaware that he had left and snored through his departure blissfully slept in. I woke up, took a quick shower and got the children dressed.

It was the kind of morning that gave me the feeling that this was going to be a gorgeous day. We had a lovely breakfast. Homemade waffles, fresh fruit, yogurt. I put on everyone's shoes and took them outside to the garage and loaded them in their stroller for a quick walk around the block. I went to feed Molly and as I walked up to her dog food, I stopped in my tracks.

THERE WAS A HUGE RAT STUCK IN THE RAT TRAP CHARLIE HAD SET UP TWO DAYS EARLIER AND THERE WAS BLOOD EVERYWHERE.

The good news: the rat was dead and it looked like a quick death.

The bad news: there was blood everywhere and Charlie wasn't home. I screamed for him, but he was apparently out of ear shot ... nor were there any people in our neighborhood available to come over and assist. Trust me. I ran out in the driveway and did a quick scan - looking for someone - ANYONE.

Last year, about this same time, we had a rat visitor in our garage. I was a new mom and I imagined that this rat might be a mom, too. So, I was totally opposed to killing it, even though it left poop on our garage shelves and was making a mess. But when the rat destroyed Charlie's $400.00 ski boots with custom orthotic inserts - our war cry became "Kill the bastard!"

After two weeks and an increasingly disgusting smell, Charlie deduced that we'd killed ourselves a rat. He pulled out our garage shelves and found the corpse. Being the manly man that he is - he threw it out and didn't complain. We wrongly assumed that this was the total end of vermin in our garage. When poop started showing up on the shelves around the dog food last week, I knew we had another visitor. Rather than wait to see what this new rat was going to destroy - Charlie set traps on Sunday night.

I don't know how to even ... um ... "write" the noise that I made upon seeing the HUGE DEAD RAT stuck in the trap this morning. For a whole 10 minutes, while my beautiful children were strapped safely in their stroller ... I stood in front of the HUGE DEAD RAT and freaked out. The trap had snapped so hard it flipped over and the big pool of blood beneath it's head was only partially coagulated.

I. COLD. HARD. FREAKED. OUT.

I wondered how in the world I was going to get the HUGE DEAD RAT off of our shelves and in to the trash, without touching it - or feeling it, in ANY way. All the while, running through my mind was "Doesn't it figure TODAY was Charlie's day to work?! I ALWAYS work on Tuesdays. Damn him for making me switch ... I bet he KNEW this was going to happen. Loading the rat trap with beef jerky and peanut butter. Of course any rat would be tempted by that kind of goodness..."

It was an ugly sight - and it was an ugly noise that I was making trying to figure out how to dispose of the bloody mess. But the children thought it was hysterical seeing me walk around in circles, smack my head and shout "ARGHHHH!!!!! Gag! Gag! Gag! ARGHHHHH!!!!!!" They sat in their stroller doubled over in laughter - while I did everything I could to hang on to my fresh fruit and waffles. And yogurt.

Ten minutes. It took me 10 minutes to figure out that my best option was to put on a pair of rubber gloves, with work gloves over those - and use a plastic bag. I picked up the end of the trap (without a snapped head) and after trying, unsuccessfully, to flip the 12-inch long tail in to the bag ... decided that I'd just tip toe to the trash and throw the whole thing out.

As I gingerly walked outside - looking all the while down at the HUGE DEAD RAT in my hand - I walked squarely in to a HUGE spider web.

Charlie and I are always amazed by the gargantuan Golden Orb spiders that inhabit southern California in the late summer and early fall. Usually by July, we can see the little itty bitty Golden Orb spiders spinning their webs. By August and September, they have fattened up so that their bodies are about the size of a prune, or - small nectarine.

Better stated - they are ^&*#^*&#$@ huge.

It often happens that these spiders will spin their webs directly outside of our door - so we always have to exercise extreme caution at this time of the year when we go out.

Usually, we do exercise extreme caution. But there wasn't a whole lot of caution being exercised this morning when I stepped outside with a hand full of HUGE DEAD RAT and directly in to the perfectly symmetric web of the Golden Orb spider. I could feel the web around my head, my shoulders, my arms and hands. I could have absolutely sworn I felt the 3-pound Golden Orb spider climb down the inside of my shirt.

I'm really surprised the police didn't show up. Had anyone heard me (and I really wonder how they didn't???) - I think they would have surely thought I was being butchered.

Thank God in heaven - the rat remained in the trap and didn't fall when I screeched and jumped two feet off the ground once I realized that I very well could be the next victim of the Golden Orb. I'm equally thankful that after flinging the rat in the trash can - and running frantically around the yard batting my head, shoulders and arms furiously for another 10 minutes ... there was no sign of a monstrous spider on my body.

The children were laughing so hard they couldn't breathe. I think I might have seen somebody turn blue, but who really knows. All of my attention was focused on getting "nature" off of me. Sorry kids, you're choking? I'll get there in a minute. Or two.

The moral of this story is that I could never live on a farm. Never. Ever.

So, we go for our walk. We come home, I unload one, two, three children from the stroller who all instantly run inside the house. I close the garage door and walk inside - where I instantly realize that I forgot to close the door for our hallway bathroom.

I hear splashing.

Looking around the door, I see all three of my beautiful children with their hands in the toilet up to their elbows ... splashing. And then ... they pick their beautiful little hands up and stuff the entire things in their mouth.

ALL THIRTY FINGERS. IN. THEIR. MOUTHS. SOAKED. WITH. TOILET. WATER.

They look at me and excitedly say "Yummmm!!!!"

For the second time, in less than 30 minutes, I wonder why the police don't show up on my doorstep.

Can not one single person in this neighborhood hear my screams?!?

My gorgeous morning had been transformed to the ninth circle of hell.

Full body scouring. Playtime. Lunch. Naps. Shopping at Walmart for diapers that I wasn't able to purchase at Target on Sunday because of the spontaneous simultaneous combustion of three toddlers on Aisle Five. I finish my shopping and make all of my purchases - despite the fact that two of my three have again - spontaneously combusted during our "outing".

Lugging a shopping cart loaded with stuff AND pulling my triplet stroller. Through Walmart.
While doing my best to smile at people and ignore the full-blown temper tantrums and Teddy Grahams being launched in every which direction.

I honestly considered starting cocktail hour at 3 PM today.

Tonight, I finished the four packages I'll be mailing to South Africa, tomorrow. (Actually, I'm sending them to an address in California, where they'll be brought back to South Africa. Ah, details.)

In each package is a knitted blanket, a footed terry sleeper, two onesies, two booties, a tube of diaper rash cream, a rattle, a bag of hard candies for mom - and a toiletry bag for mom that includes body wash, moisturizer, facial soap and lip gloss.

I'm seriously contemplating including a super sized bottle of Excedrin and whiskey in my care packages - should these poor South African mother's ever experience a day like I experienced ... today.

Weekend Recap @ 22 months

Happiness is:

Taking a half day on Friday so we can all go to SeaWorld, for the first time.


Seeing Shamu jump out of the water, for the first time.



Eating popcorn, for the first time.


Figuring out that shoelaces work great as dental floss - after eating popcorn - for the first time.


Saturday morning cartoons while sipping orange juice, in the big bed.


A 2-year old triplet friends birthday party on a Saturday afternoon. (As an FYI - there were 4 sets of 20-24 month old triplets at that table ... all sitting perfectly still and eating. I never would have believed it if I hadn't witnessed it with my own two eyes.)


Playing with a balloon, for the first time.


Jumping in a ball pit, for the first time.


Sitting in a jacuzzi, for the first time. (Sorry - mom didn't bring her camera to the pool. Too bad, this was a really cute scene.)

Picnics on a lazy Sunday beneath a shady tree.


Running through a fountain at our local park, for the first time.


Kicking a ball with dad, for the umpteenth time.


Drawing with sidewalk chalk, for the first time.


These are the best days of our lives and I don't want the joy and excitement over experiencing simple things for the first time - to ever end.

But, the full-out-temper-tantrums with arched backs and legs kicking when we left SeaWorld. And the birthday party. And the pool. And the park. And while in the middle of Target with two things crossed off my list and twelve more critical items to go ... I'm ready for those to end. Infact, it would be nice if they ended tomorrow - because I am in dire need of diapers.