multitasking extraordinaire

Since I've been home by myself, I have come up with some ingenious ways of keeping all the children occupied so I can get things done.

For instance, by putting our triplets in the shower, and Henry in his bouncy chair - positioned where he could see the triplets in the shower, I was able to clean the entire bathroom and fold three loads of laundry while the kids played.

While sitting on the edge of the tub, I wrote several thank you notes for various gifts Henry has received, responded to a few e-mails on my laptop, downloaded a couple new recipes we'll be trying out soon, and started my online Christmas shopping.

I then pumped a few squirts of shampoo over the side of the shower, handed the children their toothbrushes, and was able to get them completely ready for bed.

If only we had a stove in the bathroom, I would have cooked dinner, too.

food for the soul

I'll tell you what ... except for two absolutely positively horribly ingrown toenails that I think are a result of my pregnancy edema and which I'm going to have surgically removed ... these past few days have been great.

The house and garage are clean, the kids have been going to bed with little or no problems, potty training is going swell, and the children's new favorite thing to say is "Mommy, I LOVE you."

And then, there's my sweet Henry - the baby that truly makes my heart skip a beat every time our eyes meet. He weighed in at 14 pounds, 15 ounces at his 2-month check up on Monday and was 24.5 inches long.

Those dimensions put him over the 90th percentile for his age.

Although I was thrilled to see that he is doing so well (as if I didn't notice how much he has grown) watching him get his four shots was probably more painful for me than it was for him.

I actually cried to see my perfectly happy and smiling baby wince, frown, and scream.

It was torture.

But one of the five vaccinations that Henry received was for rotavirus ... which I do believe, is what leveled the triplets for two weeks, last year. Our pediatrician told me that this orally administered vaccination is relatively new, and must be started when children are 2-months old.

What I kept reminding myself is that if my little Henry is spared from having to go through what his siblings went through with rotavirus, not to mention having the vaccination to defend against polio, haemophilus influenzae type B, tetanus, diphtheria, or pertussis ... the short-term pain of the shots is well worth it.

Over the past few days, I've started to sense a change in the seasons. It could be that I've noticed a few leaves falling off of the trees, or more likely, I received my first Christmas catalogue in the mail.

Leave it to LL Bean to get an early jump on things.

Even though it was in the 80's today, it was a nice break from the 90 to 100 degree temperatures we've been experiencing and I was feeling very Fall'ish.

So, with the help of our children, I pulled together one of my favorite cold weather recipes.

Chicken pot, chicken pot, chicken pot pie.

The kids are at a stage where they really love to "help" and I've recently discovered that it's a whole lot less painful to let them "help" then to deny them - and then have them get in to everything, because I was not able to keep them positively distracted. So without further adieu and with the assistance of my beautiful kitchen assistants, I present my mother's chicken pot pie recipe.

You will need:

4 cups bite sized chicken, cooked

1 can cream of chicken soup

1 can chicken broth

½ tsp tarragon

½ tsp parsley

½ tsp sage

½ tsp rosemary

½ tsp thyme

1 can of peas and carrots (drained)

1½ c. self-rising flour (with an emphasis on self-rising. I have messed this recipe up countless times because I used all-purpose flour and the crust sank to the bottom of the pan, yielding a chicken-pot-cake.)

2 tsp baking powder

1½ c. buttermilk

½ c. melted butter

Cook the chicken in water with the parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme.

Yes, just like the song!

Once the chicken is done, shred with a fork and mix in a large bowl with the soup, broth, tarragon, peas & carrots.

In a smaller bowl, mix the flour, baking powder, buttermilk and butter.

Place the chicken mixture in a greased 9 x 13 pan and top with the flour mixture. Bake at 350 degrees, for one hour, uncovered.

We will serve this up with a salad and it is always a guaranteed crowd pleaser. Although, not if your "crowd" consists of almost three year old children by the names of William, Elizabeth & Carolyn Grace.

Chances are, even though young children will love making chicken pot pie .... they'd rather smear it on their chest than eat it.

But still, it's always good to try.

Try.

And try again.


If this recipe doesn't warm your heart and soul ... then this video clip of my bouncing baby boy at 10 weeks old, should. (And of course this clip does his extreme adorableness no justice.)

a deposit

In the world of potty training ... we celebrate all successes.

No matter how large ...


Or how small.

thank goodness for bed rails

This is how I found Elizabeth when I went to check on her, last night.

It's funny that when her stuffed animal "bunny" wanders more than 2 feet away while she is sleeping, she will wake up screaming. But being completely wedged between the bed and the safety rail doesn't faze her in the least. Ah, youth...

newsflash

Tonight, I attended an orientation session through the church we've been attending, for people who are planning to host a small group. I'm preparing to host our third small group but have never once attended an orientation session.

I learned a lot of things, like ... how to keep the conversation moving and how to make everyone feel welcome. I also learned that all of the hosts are supposed to be members of the church.

Oops.

Although, I guess it makes sense when you think about it.

While at the orientation session, a book that was on a nearby shelf caught my eye. The title was "Surviving Adolescence" and beneath that it read "It's not terminal. It just feels like it."

I really should have picked the book up and seen whether it was written for the adolescents or for the people that live with them? Because I felt a cold chill pass through my body as I tried to imagine any period in our children's life feeling as terminal as the one we are in, RIGHT NOW.

Speaking of which, we started potty training full-force, yesterday. As much as I would love to delay this process indefinitely, two things have happened lately that are making me reconsider.

First, two of our three children are in a size six diaper. From what I have seen in the stores, this is the largest size that Pampers makes. Since one of our children is now OUTGROWING the largest readily available diaper size, it seems to me the next size up are Depends.

Second, ever since Henry has come home from the hospital, it has become increasingly difficult for me to change the triplet's diapers. Not just because they are too heavy to lift up on to the changing table, particularly when they lay flat on the floor and insist that they "NOT HAVE POOPY!!" but because their poops have suddenly become extremely offensive.

I think what happened is that I was unaware the triplet's poop chemistry was evolving. And now that I have a breastfed newborn who I am changing throughout the day ... throwing a toddler who can pack away three hot dogs and a half box of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese in to the rotation ... makes me feel an overwhelming need to use a supplied air breathing apparatus.

At first the children were totally enthralled with their cotton underwear existence. We pumped juice in to them and they excitedly ran over and sat down on their potty chairs, jumping up intermittently to check on the status of their deposit.

Everything was going swell ... until today.

The novelty of their cotton underwear immediately wore off when the children realized that they had to go poop. And then they all cried for their diapers ... which we had to inform them were only to be used when they went down for a nap or for bedtime.

Tonight, while I was at church, Charlie noticed that William had poop squished between his toes and it had been tracked all across our brand new hardwood floors.

At the moment, the jury is out on whether it is worse to change an offensive diaper or to scrape the contents of what would be in the offensive diaper, off of our floors?

Definitely a tough call.

Almost as tough of a call as my decision to wear jeans tonight. This was the first time I'd squeezed myself in to a pair of denim in almost 10 months. It is downright incredible what pregnancy and 200 gallons of peanut butter cup ice cream can do to a physique ... that was out of shape because of a triplet pregnancy and 200 gallons of rocky road ice cream.

Henry has his 2-month pediatrician appointment tomorrow. Considering he has outgrown a size 1 diaper and will probably graduate to a size 3 diaper by the end of this week ... and since he is fitting comfortably in 6 to 9 month clothing ... I suspect that he will weigh at least 18 pounds.

Charlie also goes back to work tomorrow leaving me at home, alone, with three cotton-clad toddlers who are hell bent on not going poop in their potty and a newborn who will be recovering from his 2-month shots.

I may or may not have time to update my blog for a while. I would say the chances are great that any free time I have will be devoted to doing sit ups and leg lifts. When I'm not busy scrubbing the floors.

But first, I have to join the church.

I think I'm in need of God now, more than ever.

making the sale

Yesterday was our neighborhood garage sale, hence the reason I was out cleaning our garage on Friday.

Clutter is a pet peeve of mine and since space is a major issue at the moment - I was feeling motivated to get rid of everything the children have outgrown, except a few select clothes from William that I'm hanging on to for Henry, and one set of the girls matching outfits, in case I might ever need them again.

After our garage sale last year, wherein I sold all of the baby equipment the triplets had outgrown, I've since decided I'm not going to sell any more baby equipment until I reach menopause. Or Charlie clues in to my placebos.

Even though three months ago, I packed up and mailed a huge box of clothes to one of my cousins in South Carolina for her little girl and donated three big bags of clothes for an orphanage in Mexico, we had accumulated another five bags worth of clothes and blankets that the children have outgrown. We also have our triplet stroller that I stopped using and started to use again, only until I noticed that pushing 100+ pounds of children on four small swivel wheels was torturous.

In the past, I've handed most of the children's clothing and equipment on to people that I know. My brother and his wife have twin boys, nine months to the day younger than the triplets, so I would often pack up and mail packages to them. The rest of the equipment and clothing I would pass off to local friends or fellow triplet families.

After a while, I came to realize that the pain and suffering associated with taking several small children to the post office - coupled with the expense of shipping a 30 pound box cross country - had become prohibitive. Not to mention, by the time I got around to the post office - a few months had passed and the clothes that I was shipping would probably only fit for a short time, if they wouldn't already be too small.

Just before Henry was born, I planned to give our triplet stroller to a 19-year old woman who had given birth to spontaneous identical triplets. I was also planning to give her two of our highchairs that cost $200.00/piece.

Considering our stroller cost $900.00 new, I was feeling very generous until my mother told me that I was crazy.

Mom had been telling me that although it is good to be charitable, I shouldn't be giving everything away, if there was a potential I could get a little bit of money back. She then reminded me that there are still a lot of things that our children will need and it's not like we have a money tree growing in our back yard.

Which is really too bad, I could use one.

But mom had an excellent point. My charitable good streak really has cost us a fortune. So instead of donating the stroller AND the highchairs, I donated only the highchairs and opted to hang on to the stroller that would continue to collect dust in our garage until I could find the time to post it on Craig's List.

My mother, who grew up during the Depression, possesses a thrifty gene that skipped over me almost completely. Mom is not only the best bargain hunter I've ever met, she also doesn't waste a thing. Whereas I'll throw out oatmeal if it isn't consumed during breakfast, mom will hang on to it, for the next day.

I really admire her knack but unfortunately, have discovered I'm too lazy to clean out a Ziploc bag.

When the babies were about a year old, mom suggested that we take their used equipment and clothes to a consignment store. But there is not a single consignment shop anywhere near our home. So, during a trip to California, mom and I spent the better part of a day organizing and packing up the equivalent of two huge suitcases worth of baby clothes that she would take to a consignment shop in her hometown.

Six months later, she sent me a check for $12.00.

She also retrieved a load of clothes that didn't sell. Which she ultimately, donated to her church thrift store. It's highly likely that mom spent more money on gas driving back and forth to the consignment store - and the thrift store - than she made.

Yesterday, whatever clothing I had put out for the garage sale, I was selling for $0.50 a piece. All told, I sold eight blankets, three bibs, two dresses, two pairs of shoes, a pair of pants and a skirt. I probably would have sold more, but just as my consumer traffic was starting to pick up, Charlie came out with the trio - who immediately recognized the stuff that was scattered about the driveway and started hollering "DAT MY BLANKET!! DOZE MY SHOES!! DAT MY PANTS!!!"

The triplets then ran around and tried to collect as much stuff as they could in their little arms. When they ran up to a kindly woman who was inspecting a dress the girls had outgrown six months ago and tried to grab it from her, I insisted Charlie bring our little hellions angels back in to the house.

Several people asked about the triplet stroller, which I had rolled out in to the driveway, and which is in great condition. When mom was visiting earlier this summer, she spent an entire morning getting it cleaned up for me to sell. And I know that if I could get my act in gear, it could probably fetch somewhere between $300 and $400. You might imagine my reaction, then, when someone offered me $15.00. Fifteen dollars for my beautiful Peg Perego Triplette Stroller.

Although one day, I might end up giving it away ... yesterday, the thought of selling it for less than what a box of diapers cost, made me nauseous.

The most money that I made came from selling our used drinking glasses and a broken Harman Kardon stereo.

After spending six hours in the sun, I closed up shop.

But not before I rolled the Peg in to the garage, covered it with a bed sheet and gave away four bags of clothes to a Mexican woman who was wearing shoes that appeared to be two sizes too small. It felt better for my heart to give these clothes away to someone that I could see really needed them - then to pack them up and donate them to Goodwill.

Until I saw her walk around the corner and climb in to a Mercedes.

Once the children were down for their nap, Charlie came out to review how things had gone. I showed him that there was $23.00 in my shoe box ... but since I forgot to count the money before I started, I'm not sure how much I actually made.

It dawned on me that I could have been doing something a lot more enjoyable with my family on a beautiful Saturday, then trying to sell a $20.00 dress for $0.50. I was reminded that the effort of trying to recover even a portion of the costs in raising our children, is not worth my time.

Thus my conclusion, once again, our children are the reason we will never be the millionaires that live next door.

calgon, take them away

Charlie threw his back out yesterday, swatting at a fly.

This is not nearly as romantic as the last time he threw his back out.

Nor, will it result in a delightful gift, nine months from now.

I think he was angry because he'd tried hitting the fly for a good 10 minutes, before he put all of his energy in to the final swing - and then - winced in pain. When I saw his body position and watched him collapse to the floor, I winced in pain. Because I immediately knew that there was no way he was going to be able to do anything for at least three days.

Once upon a time ... before we had children ... this wouldn't be a problem. But to have half of our defensive line down with an injury is brutal. Especially when the other half of our defensive line is sick and took a cold pill this morning that has them seeing stars.

Add to that, the kids have been driving me nuts. Absolutely, positively nuts.

I cannot put enough of an emphasis on just how nuts they are driving me.

They are destroying everything that they come near.

Plants, furniture, walls, electronics. You name it.

They whine. They scream. Not a happy scream, an ear piercing scream that doesn't sound like it is from this earth. They throw their food, utensils and toys.

JUST BECAUSE.

I swear they are doing it just to watch the wrinkles pop out on my face and the white hair sprout from my head.

Although they sleep fine at night, the girls won't nap together. I've had to split them up and put one in our room, one in their room. But the problem is that our room is not set up for a toddler AND I DON'T WANT IT TO BE. There needs to be at least one small part of our house that is sacred and free from children.

Unless I want to sit in their room for the better part of an hour while they "settle down" ... or give them spankings ... they won't go to sleep. Sadly, even with me in the room, they won't settle down. Suffice to say, I'm getting too good at spanking.

I picked up a book yesterday called "Discipline without Shouting or Spanking" and I stayed up late last night reading it cover-to-cover. It seems easy enough. All I need is to have a patience and a level head. It's not rocket science.

But where do I get patience?

Is there a drug I can take??

So help me, as soon as they wake up and start their screaming and fighting - any patience I have goes faster than a Klondike Bar. And when I take off their diapers because they insist they have to go potty ... and then don't go potty ... and have a huge man-sized poop seconds after I put a fresh diaper on, I can feel my head start to twitch. Then, they'll tell me that they didn't go poop and will throw a huge fit so I won't change their diaper.

Which if I don't change, will result in a bad, bad rash. I've tried this - thinking that they would realize how awful it is sitting in a poopy diaper. Although this logic might work for a rational person ... it doesn't for an itty bitty irrational one.

Or worse yet, they go potty and then stand up and before I can process what they are doing, they remove the plastic receptacle and put it on their head like a hat. It doesn't matter how many times I tell them not to do this.

What the parenting books need to include is a 5-year prescription for an antipsychotic and a bag that we can place over our head and beat with a stick.

Today, I did something I know that I shouldn't have done. I went head-to-head with a toddler who was having a temper tantrum.

During an outing, I had bought a play mat for the baby - one of those little numbers that has toys suspended above it. While Henry was laying down, happily staring at the little star and pony that were dangling a few inches above his face, William, Elizabeth and Carolyn, with their runny noses, come over and start batting at the toys. Then, they started to pull them off and lick them.

Of course I'm worried that they are going to hit Henry - but I'm also frustrated that the kids have to touch and taste EVERYTHING in the house.

EVERYTHING.

So, as calmly as I could muster, I tell them "Hey guys, this is Henry's toy. You have a load of toys throughout the house, yard and garage. Please go play with those. In fact, look! Here are some blocks, let's play with blocks!!"

Elizabeth looks at me and says "NO, MINE. Deese are MY toys."

Then, for good measure, she adds "MOOOOOINE!"

I looked her square in the eye and said "NO. These are Henry's toys. You have lots of toys through out the house. Like over there - see - there is your baby doll. Can you please play with your doll?"

And thus, it began.

Elizabeth screaming, "NO. MINE!!!" and me, telling her, with rapidly decreasing patience, "NO, IT'S NOT YOURS."

I know that just because your child has a temper tantrum doesn't mean that you should, too ... but I can now see why the kids scream all the time. There is something so freeing, so intoxicating about hollering at the top of your lungs.

Especially when you are also pounding your chest and shouting "NO! IT'S NOT YOURS!! IT'S MINE. EVERYTHING IN THIS HOUSE IS MINE. INCLUDING THE CLOTHES ON YOUR BODY. MINE. MINE. MOOOOOINE!!!!

Now, granted. I am normally not so volatile. But there is only so much a person can take before they revert back to acting like a 2-year old. I've said "OH GOD PLEASE HELP ME" more times than I can count. I've tried prayer. In fact, I haven't stopped praying since sometime last week.

Realizing that I'm not going to "win them all", I've tried to pick my battles. Like today, I let William go down for a nap wearing his sister's clogs. And then I let the kids scribble with chalk all over the beautiful new gymnastic mats I bought them for Christmas because it would wash off - and most importantly, it kept them quiet while I was cleaning the garage. Then for lunch, I served everyone whip cream on a spoon before turning the can on myself. Although it may not seem like much, these are huge steps for a self-proclaimed dieting control freak.

If the past few days are any indication of what's to come ... getting a mother's helper won't help. I need at least three more people, some antipsychotic medication, bags and a few sticks.

Or, better yet, a boarding school for preschoolers.

evidence we've hit another growth spurt

What do you mean...

...you're OUT?!?!

very interesting...

I didn't get much sleep last night.

The girls were up coughing with the latest cold they've picked up from the church nursery and William rolled out of his toddler bed with a huge "THUMP!" at 2 AM. Henry fell asleep at 9 PM and slept soundly until 3 AM. After I nursed him for almost an hour, he made noises until I convinced Charlie at 6:30 AM to take him on a walk - with the dog - around the BIG block, not to be confused with the little block that only takes 5 minutes to circumnavigate. Unless he wanted to walk around it 10 times. Entirely, his choice.

Ever since William has been moved in to his own room, we've put a baby gate across his door so that he won't wander around the house when we're asleep. I no sooner closed my eyes this morning, when I heard William, with increasing intensity ask over and over again "Daddy, Why you do dat?! Daddy!!! Why you do DAT?! Daddy! Why you do DAT?!"

Recently, this has been the clue to let us know William is awake.

He is referring to the baby gate that stretches across his doorway and it deeply offends him that we've barricaded him into his room. So instead of shouting out "I'm awake! Come get me!!" he requires an explanation for the travesty we've inflicted upon him, each time he wakes up.

I pulled myself out of bed, shuffled down the hall and groggily explained "William. The gate is up so that you can't get out. We don't want for you to get in to things that would hurt you and/or cause financial damage to us. One day, you will understand."

I then lifted him over the gate with the armful of blankets that he was clutching, and tiptoeing past the girls' room whispered "Shh. It's still nighttime."

He looked at me with his big eyes and said "Mommy. I see the SUNSHINE. It not nighttime, the sun awake!!!" I threw one of the blankets over his head and said "No, no, see it's DARK. It's NIGHTTIME and you are still VERY SLEEPY." I brought him in to our bed and exhaustedly rubbed his back, hoping that he would discover that perhaps his mother was right and he still was sleepy. Even if just a little bit.

Or at least enough to lay there and not make a noise.

What seemed like mere seconds later, Charlie came back home. The girls woke up and William crawled over my face to go see everyone. When Charlie came in to check on me, he whispered those magic words ... the words that make me tingle ... the words that make my heart skip a beat and for a smile to spread from ear to ear.

He said "Jen, I got it covered. You go back to sleep."

And then, and this is the BEST PART, he closed the door.

But damn if he didn't open the family room sliding door, which is immediately adjacent to our bedroom, where all the windows were open.

Still, I was so tired, I quickly lost consciousness - while the hum of children getting in to everything that I'd neatly put away the night before started anew, became fainter and fainter.

I was dreaming that I was on a tropical beach lazing on a double wide chaise lounge, with striped organic slip covers, in a beautiful bathing suit. The water was turquoise, the sand was white. Palm trees were swaying over head and a few white clouds spotted the sky. I was beautifully tanned. I had no stretch marks, no rolls of excess skin on my tummy, no saddle bags on my legs that looked like they were packed with everything I'd need for my vacation. I was drinking something out of a coconut and thinking about what I would eat for lunch. Maybe an arugula salad tossed with cajun shrimp and a nice crusty French bread roll.

All I could hear were the waves softly lapping on to the sand and a gentle breeze blowing.

And then, out of no where, a partially sinking boat that had been set aflame, crashed on to the shore. A familiar looking man, jumped off the bow and came running towards me with his arms flailing and yelling "Mutiny!! Mutiny!! They want my BLOOD!!!"

It was a terribly disturbing image. I tried desperately to block it out.

But it was too late.

Climbing out of bed, more tired than I ever remember being in my entire life and on achy legs that I thought for sure would buckle, I wobbled in to the kitchen where the children were flinging the fancy pesto sausage at each other, that Charlie had bought earlier in the week.

Dishes were piled up in the sink.

Pans were on the stove.

Lunch supplies were scattered across the counter.

Henry was wailing from his bouncy chair.

Charlie looked frazzled and told me in a shaky voice "I'm COMPLETELY out of coffee."

Which, if you know Charlie, you know this is the worst thing imaginable.

I picked up Henry and sat down to nurse when Charlie informed me that he was taking the children to the zoo following breakfast. Since he was returning to work next week, he decided that this would be a nice gesture - leaving me home alone with the baby.

I rejoiced. I thought about the things I would accomplish. I would get dressed. I would eat breakfast. I would do a quick clean of the house. I might even go to the store and buy some arugula and shrimp. And a coconut.

Charlie left at 9:00. For the next hour, I rocked and nursed my newborn. I then put him in his bouncy chair and read him several books. Just as I thought he was dozing off and I could brush my teeth and get dressed, he began fussing.

I hate to hear him cry. So, I picked him up and rocked him some more.

I laid him in his crib. He cried.

I rocked him. He fell asleep. Until I put him down. And then, he cried.

I nursed him again. He spit up all over me. I gave him a pacifier. He fell asleep. Until I put him down. And then, he cried.

I thought about all the things that I wanted to do today and got a little antsy.

How could I clean the bathrooms or change the sheets if I am wearing Henry?

How could I do all the things I did yesterday, with FOUR children and today I can't even get dressed with one?

I am now wearing Henry. The only time he seems happy is when I'm sitting perfectly still and he is in a Bjorn with his mouth positioned a quarter of an inch from my nipple with his arms wrapped around my waist.

(Hence the reason I am updating my blog).

It is 1:00 PM. I haven't cleaned the house. I haven't made the bed. I haven't gone to the store to purchase my arugula for lunch. Heck, I haven't even finished my bowl of cereal that is sitting on the kitchen table.

So the moral of this story is ... one baby is a lot harder than four. And if Henry has caught the cold that the girls have - I will .... I'm not sure what. Cry, perhaps.

Hopefully, our raggedy looking van will pull in to the driveway soon - the door will burst open with excitable children - and I can finally get something done.

month two: in review

As I suspected, time is clipping right by. And something I've noticed is that time seems to go much faster when you have a new baby - because you can see just how quickly they change.

Henry is doing things today that he wasn't doing last month.

In fact, Henry is doing things today that he wasn't doing yesterday.

He is drooling up a storm which I know is the beginning of teeth. He is smiling and laughing and his eyes light up whenever he sees me.

He coos and cahs and is kicking his legs like mad. His arms are moving in every which direction and he'll sometimes punch himself in the face with his little clenched fists.

Then he'll look startled as if to say "Who DID that?!"

Within the past 24 hours, he has started to shove his fist in to his mouth. Perhaps he recognizes it as the thing that keeps knocking him in the head?

He is an incredibly relaxed and content baby. He rarely makes a peep.

Come to think of it, the only time I ever hear him cry is when his siblings are either asleep or outside playing. It could be that he makes a lot of noise but I never hear it over our other boisterous children.

Every time I pick him up, I inhale the beautiful aroma of his newborn head, kiss his getting fatter by the day cheeks, and hold him tight.

I am savoring every bit of my baby.

Nursing is no longer excruciating. I'm very glad that I stuck with it because I knew that there was nothing wrong with his latch, and eventually it would get better.

Thankfully, it finally did.

I have noticed that Henry is sleeping longer stretches at night and nursing less when he does wake up. The reason I know this is because when I wake up in the morning, it feels like I'm laying on top of cobbles.

I still have a few months off of work before I am due to return to my part-time status.

I'm tossing around the idea of extending my leave for a year - like I did with our triplets - because this first year goes so fast, I really don't want to miss a thing.

Since I'll be home, Charlie will be returning to work full-time, next week. Today, however, he had an important business meeting three hours north, so he left the house at 7 AM.

It is now 3:00 PM and I've been home with the kids for the past eight hours. One month ago, the thought of being home with all four children by myself for an entire day, made me lightheaded.

But so far, things are going great. Right after breakfast, I loaded Henry in the stroller, fished out our three safety harnesses, tethered everyone together, and took off for a walk.

I was extremely apprehensive how the children would do walking with their harnesses. But instead of falling all over themselves, like the last time I used them, they all started neighing like horses.

Oh, how I love an imagination.

Keeping with the horse theme, we "trotted" to the park where I let my horses off to play before having a quick snack, and then we "trotted" home where I fed my horses some oats - in the form of granola.

My horses also had some grapes, apples, graham crackers and yogurt. And then, I put my horses down for a nap.

All in separate rooms of course ... because when in a big bed, my horses morphed in to monkeys that re-enacted a particular book about primates who ignore their mother, jump, fall down and result in several calls to the doctor.

I've learned that taking care of four children under the age of three is doable and I'm actually starting to believe that I might be able to pull this off without completely falling apart.

Even William seems to think so.

labor, what?

**This post has been edited at the end **

Because we have both been out of work for the past several weeks, most days, Charlie and I are completely oblivious to what day of the week it is. So although we'd heard people talking about their big plans for "Labor Day Weekend" we weren't thinking that it was this weekend.

Yesterday morning, we decided to head to Torrey Pines State Beach. We thought it would be a nice day for taking a walk along the water's edge and letting the children splash in the waves. It was a lovely Sunday morning in early September.

Surely a large majority of the population would be off at church. Except the handful of people who go to church on Saturday, like us.

We were certain we'd have the place to ourselves.

While I was on the phone talking to my mother about Jim, who had recently had one of his knees replaced, I was also attempting to get the children dressed for our outing. Charlie meanwhile, was responsible for packing a picnic lunch and the beach bag. Our goal was to be out of the house at 9:30 AM.

When I hung up the phone, we started the process of loading the children in to the car. Midway through this endeavor, Henry was hungry so I had to stop and nurse him before buckling him in to his infant carrier. Fifteen minutes later, as I was loading him in to the car ... I recognized the familiar smell of a dirty diaper. I unloaded the two offenders, changed their diapers and reloaded them in to the car.

I then ran through the list of things we'd need for a day at the beach with Charlie.

Got towels? Check.

Got sunscreen? Check.

Got Mexican blankets? Nope. Run in to the house and find Mexican blankets. Five minutes later ... Check.

Got chairs? Nope. Run in to the house and find chairs in the back yard hidden behind the barbecue. Ten minutes later ... Check.

Got a change of clothes? Check.

Got clean diapers? Check.

Got pails and shovels? Nope. Run in to the house and search for pails and shovels. Five minutes later ... Check.

Got hats? Check.

Got lots of food and drinks? Check.

We finally pulled out of the driveway at 10:25 AM.

Arriving at the beach, we were initially surprised that there was no free parking in a convenient location. Because our last beach going experience was still fresh in at least my mind, I convinced Charlie to forgo parking two miles from the beach, and instead ... pay for parking in one of the State Beach lots that would put us a mere step or two from the sand.

Parking cost $8.00.

As luck would have it, Charlie happened to have $6.00 in bills and scrounging through the car while a line of vehicles waited behind us ... I was able to scrape together another $2.00 in dimes, nickels and pennies.

We drove around for a solid 30 minutes, wondering why in the world so many people were at the beach today ... when we finally clued in that it was Labor Day Weekend and the large majority of people in San Diego are obviously pagans.

That would explain the RV's that were parked across five stalls, smoking barbecues, brightly covered tents and awnings, and people lazing around in chairs sipping on beer at 11:00 AM. That would also explain the wall-to-wall of people and umbrellas covering the beach.

After not being able to find a parking spot, we decided to leave - get a refund - and see if we could find a less crowded beach elsewhere. The children were not happy with our decision in the least. They screamed at the top of their lungs while we maneuvered around the vehicles that were sitting idle and waiting with their blinkers flashing, for someone - who it turns out was just coming back to pick up their inflatable raft, to leave.

As we drove out of the parking lot, Elizabeth who had calmed down, was trying to console William and Carolyn by telling them that "Da beach is bwoken."

Half an hour later, we found another beach. A much less crowded beach, along the bay. It was perfect. There was a small sand strip for the children to play on - and no big waves that would crash on them when they went to splash at the water's edge.

We unloaded the beach chairs, blankets and food. The kids wasted no time beelining it to the water. While I was rummaging through the diaper bag looking for their swimsuits, the children were digging in the wet sand and kicking water on each other.

After a few moments, I looked to Charlie and asked "Where are the children's bathing suits?" Charlie gave me a blank stare for a moment and then said "I didn't pack them." To which I responded, in my lovely sing song voice, "Wha.... Why didn't you pack them??"And he responded "Well, because I wasn't thinking that we were going to the beach today."

I took a deep breath and said "Let's review. We woke up this morning. We laid in bed and for a few minutes, discussed what we wanted to do today. I think somewhere in there, we said 'Let's go to the beach today!' Am I right?" Charlie shook his head and said "No, we decided that we were going to go to Torrey Pines today." To which I prompted, "Riiiiight. And Torrey Pines is a .....???"

While my husband and I were having this chat, our three children, who were fully clothed, had walked in to the water up to their arm pits. They then came running out of the water towards us, while yelling "Dwimduit!! Me need dwimduit!!"

Of course we didn't have dwimduits and the children were extremely disappointed in their parents oversight of this critical piece of beach going apparel.

Instead, their parents encouraged them to play in the water, fully clothed. When that didn't work, we stripped them down to their diapers. And when their diapers swelled up and fell off ... we put forced our beautiful children back in to their sopping wet clothes.

Because there was NO way I was going to let them run around naked on a public beach. Especially when there was a creepy guy standing 50 feet away, sporting his vintage Ponch mirrored sunglasses, smoking a Marlboro and sipping on a Big Gulp.

Nothing says "High Class" like three kids that run around on a beach in soggy diapers. And then, parents who force these kids in to soaking wet clothes while they scream. And then, parents who realize that in addition to forgetting bathing suits, the only change of clothes that had been packed are two shorts and one shirt.

This is a very unfortunate situation for the children when three shorts and three shirts are necessary. This is also a very unfortunate situation for the father, who did the packing, when the mother is tired and feeling out of sorts.

After a very short time, we packed up and left with three very sandy, very cold, very unhappy and very loud children. Who were partially clad.

On the drive home, Charlie and I had a discussion about the days events. When I asked how it was that he forgot to pack bathing suits and a full change of clothes for each of the kids - I was surprised that he told me he sometimes needs to figure out which land mine to step on.

Of course I asked him to elaborate.

He said that when we go out, he tries to pack by thinking what it is that I would want for him to put in the bag and that regardless of what he packs, it seems that he always forgets something. Which - I will berate him about.

Like the time we went to the mall to see Santa and have lunch when the babies were 13-months old and he forgot the diaper bag. With the bottles.

I told him that if he feels that way, perhaps it would be better if he just tell me "Jen, I would prefer that you pack the bag. That way, if something is forgotten, you'll only have yourself to blame." Charlie laughed and said "Yeah, well - that sounds good now. But when the time comes, you'll be upset that I didn't at least help you and then, I'll have to listen to you run around saying "I have to do everything around here!!" and that's just as bad as packing an incomplete bag."

It seems to me that hypothetically - assuming I did complain - the less of two evils would be to listen to someone say they have to do everything - because then at least - they would only hear it once. As opposed to going somewhere, realizing the deficiency, and hearing about it for the rest of your life.

When we arrived home, we let the children run around ... still wearing only their diapers ... while eating popsicles. It made me realize that the only thing less classy than seeing a child run around in a soggy diaper ... is to see them in a soggy diaper with popsicle dripping all over their face and chest.

I would have posted a picture of us at the beach, but as it turns out, I forgot our camera. It was right next to my wallet that contained money which would have been useful for parking.

And wouldn't you know - Charlie didn't bring it up once.

Nor did he question my need to swing by the mall, on the way home from the beach, to pick up a few more things for the kids rooms.

That's right. I could have paid for a week vacation to Hawaii with the amount of money I've spent in that store over the past week.

So, while I have become proficient at bemoaning my husband's shortcomings, he never once complains about mine. That is a true labor of love.

And something that I need to work harder on.

** Edit: I probably should have mentioned that at our house, it is usually standard operating procedure to put a bathing suit on BEFORE you leave for the beach. And considering I was responsible for getting the children dressed, this responsibility would have fallen under my jurisdiction. But, Charlie being the good guy that he is - didn't throw this back at me. Which, had the tables been turned, I definitely would have been tossing back in to his court. Although it troubles me that I can remember with painful accuracy the things that he has done wrong - he doesn't bring up my shortcomings. Like the time ... well, it would clearly help if he did remember them because I certainly can't recall anything that I did wrong.

Sure, he forgot to pack extra clothes. But we do enough of a job beating ourselves up over our shortcomings. We certainly don't need to have others - especially our spouses - remind us of it again and again. And again.

I know of no other man that could do the things that Charlie does on a daily basis. And with the utmost respect, I know of no other person that could also do the things that he doesn't do. He's a good man, that Charlie.

triplet guilt

Last week, I received an e-mail from a woman who has 2.5-year old triplets and is expecting a "surprise" singleton, any day now. In her note, she asked how I get through every day and whether or not I was struggling with guilt.

Her e-mail was written with such anguish, I could feel her desperation as she was coming to grips with having another baby, also her fourth in less than three years.

When I read her note to Charlie, he looked perplexed and asked "Why would you be struggling with guilt? That doesn't make sense."

But I understood exactly what she meant and the answer is YES. Yes, I am struggling with guilt, but I didn't recognize that nagging feeling until recently.

Considering my Catholic background, I should have known, immediately.

I feel guilty because of the intense joy and sense of accomplishment I have that I was able to get pregnant, without any kind of medical intervention.

I feel guilty because we had to have medical intervention to conceive our triplets and I wonder if their creation wasn't forced. Although in my heart, I don't believe that they would be here, scaling our walls walking this earth, if they weren't meant to be.

I feel guilty that I wasn't able to carry our triplets in utero as long as I carried Henry.

I feel guilty that our triplets spent six weeks in the NICU and came home on medication and apnea monitors due to their extreme prematurity.

I feel guilty that I wasn't able to spend five days laying in a hospital bed with our triplets following their birth - not watching one iota of television - because I was so awestruck gazing at the healthy newborn baby in my arms.

I feel guilty that I wasn't able to hold, rock and nurse on demand our triplets, the way that I am able to hold, rock and nurse on demand their baby brother. Although I do spend as much time as I can holding and loving on each of our triplets, I always feel like I am robbing two other children of my time.

I feel guilty that I am lavishing so much attention on my newborn ... attention that I could not lavish as completely on them - and attention that is now being diverted from them and to another baby.

I feel guilty that giving birth to Henry has been the most healing experience of my life. I didn't realize just how painful infertility, a high risk pregnancy and three premature infants was on my psyche, until now.

I feel guilty that THIS experience I am having with Henry, is the motherhood experience I've always dreamed of and always wanted.

I feel guilty that when Henry is the triplets age, there will only be one of him and the things that he will do to drive me crazy, will not be enough to cause my temper to explode. Because the only time my temper really explodes is when the three of them do bad things together.

Which these days, seems to be all the time.

I feel guilty that my patience with our triplets (who I never referred to as "triplets" until they had a new sibling) has reached an all-time low. And I'm hoping with every thread of my being that my intolerance of their behavior is a function of their age.

I feel guilty that I am rushing their childhood and not savoring every moment, because I want them to HURRY UP and grow out of this age - because with three of them - they really and truly are driving me completely crazy. Particularly when they do things like throw their food all over the place, scream, fight, not listen to a single.word.coming.out.of.my.mouth and destroy anything and everything that they can get their paws on.

I feel guilty that I expect them to act more mature than they do and have to frequently remind myself that they aren't yet three years old.

I feel guilty that because Henry is a singleton, I'm not running zone defense with him and therefore, the chances are excellent, I will enjoy every stage of his infancy and toddlerhood a little bit more.

I feel guilty that when I have the triplets, one-on-one, I see a budding little person that I absolutely adore. And yet, this budding little person is completely transformed in to a man-eating monster, that I'm not always particularly fond of, when reunited with their triplet siblings.

I feel guilty that when I look at our toddler triplets, I feel zapped of every last bit of what little energy I had in my body and my head hurts. But when I look at my newborn Henry, I feel renewed and my heart feels lighter than a cloud.

I feel guilty that our triplets have been driving me so insane lately with their absolute defiance, that the thought crossed my mind to drop them off on the side of the road in the country.

Oh, wait. That's a different post....

I feel guilty, not just for what our triplets didn't, don't and won't have ... but for what I didn't, don't and won't have with each one of them, as individuals.

I grieve that our triplets are all growing up - and going through the same developmental phases - at once. Even though we have four children, our first three almost count as one. And I feel guilty for thinking that way.

Now that I have a singleton baby that I am enjoying so thoroughly, I wish that I could have had this bonding experience with each one of the triplets and I wish that I was looking forward with great anticipation to their next phase of development. But because there are three, I feel like I am bracing myself to survive the next onslaught phase of triplet hood.

Now, for the great enigma.

I wouldn’t trade my experience as a mother of triplets for the world.

Nothing makes me more proud than our children. They have an amazing bond. They speak their own language. They have built in playmates and as a result, they are so much more socially advanced than other singleton children their age. When they are sleeping, I am instantly reminded how much I love them - independently and as a team.

I am reminded that the insanity they are creating in our lives at this moment in time, is because they are growing in to their own selves and this too shall pass. It damn well better or someone is going to hear from me.

It is because of the incredible bond that our triplets share, that I feel guilty for Henry. I feel guilty that he won't have a sibling companion in the church nursery ... or kindergarten ... or freshman year in college. I feel guilty that he will be the odd-person out as he grows older and even though we have four healthy children - that is one of the primary reasons I hope for another child. So Henry won't feel overshadowed by his triplet siblings.

Another reason is so we won't suffer from extreme empty nest syndrome in a span of less than three years. And yet one more reason is because I am hopelessly addicted to babies AND large families.

Deep in my soul, I truly believe that had it not been for William, Elizabeth and Carolyn ... Henry would not be here - and vice versa. I believe that our family is exactly the way it was meant to be and we are blessed beyond measure.

I believe that each one of our children are a gift straight from God and although our triplets are currently at a phase where they are a great advertisement for birth control ... I feel guilty and insane and greedy and slightly embarrassed for wanting one more.

Most of all, I feel guilty that I haven't told Charlie about the 12-passenger van I scoped out. And, that those little "pills" I'm taking are actually placebos.

with a quick detour to pukeville

Having only made my theatrical debut today, I proudly present an unplanned encore.

With a re-reappearance of Participants:
Father
Mother
Child 1
Child 2
Child 3
Child 4
... with guest appearances by The Dog and Two Crazy Geese.

Scene is at the kitchen table. It is now dinnertime. The family has reunited after a rather rocky afternoon, following nap time. Father had taken Child 1 and 2 to Costco, while Mother remained at home with Child 3 and 4.

While Father was out shopping, Mother decided to take Child 3 and 4 and The Dog on a walk to feed the ducks. Mother grabbed the bread heels that had been put aside, a couple bottles of water, and The Dog's collapsible water bowl.

On the half-mile walk to duck pond, Child 3 ate two of the four bread heels and drank one bottle of water. When The Dog stopped to take a poop, Child 3 ran over and was in the process of picking the poop up, bare handed, before Mother swooped in with a bag narrowly averting a horrible disaster that would have put a prompt end to the outing.

Arriving at the duck pond, Mother ties The Dog to Child 4's baby carriage, before handing bread heels to Child 3.

Child 3 excitedly waves the heels of bread in the air, attracting the attention of several ducks and Two Crazy Geese. The Geese weren't crazy at first glance, but became crazy when they saw a small Child 3 with food and decided to charge.

Child 3 screams and runs the other way - Two Crazy Geese begin to follow - but suddenly, spot The Dog and take low flight in to the pond.

The Dog, who is securely fastened to Child 4's baby carriage, starts to run in to the pond after Two Crazy Geese, before Mother screams a few expletives and steps on The Dog's front right paw, effectively stopping The Dog.

After comforting Child 3 for several minutes, the Mother puts Child 3 down with the heels of bread and they proceed to feed the ducks and Two Crazy Geese, together.

On the walk home, Child 3 wants to *help* push Child 4's baby carriage. Child 3 is weaving in and out in front of Mother, and although Mother tells Child 3 to "Pick a side of the carriage and stay there" Child 3 does not listen. Eventually, Child 3 walks in front of a wheel and although Mother tries to stop the carriage, does not do so in time, and Child 3 falls knees first on the sidewalk. Screaming ensues once Child 3 sees tiny drops of blood.

Mother takes Child 4 out of the carriage and puts them in a baby carrier and puts Child 3 in the carriage for the rest of the walk home. Moments later, Father pulls up alongside and offers to drive Child 3 the rest of the way home. The transfer is made. As Father proceeds home, with Child 1, 2 and 3 and a car full of groceries, Mother can hear Child 2 screaming for "MOMMY."

The car stops. The doors open. Father climbs out, and releases Child 2 who runs over and climbs in the baby carriage. Child 2 seems happy, but seconds later is crying for "BUNNY." As Father is driving away, a stuffed bunny comes flying out the window and directly in to the hands of a now smiling, Child 2.

Arriving home, Child 1, 2 and 3 hack in to the box of dog cookies and feed The Dog at least five cookies, each, before Mother realizes what they are doing.

After a long, long, long time, everyone is finally herded in to the house. While Father is putting away groceries, he draws the conclusion that the freezer on the inside refrigerator is failing. All of the frozen goods are transferred to the outside freezer, while Mother sets about feeding Children 1, 2 and 3 ... and nursing Child 4.

But not before Child 1 does something (who knows what??) to Child 3 that makes Child 3 cry and makes Mother yell at Child 1, because Child 1 is now dancing around like a clown and acting very naughty.

Dinner is concluded and Father decides to make a strawberry and banana ice cream shake.

Everyone is happy.

Before the shake is fully consumed, Child 3 coughs once and then throws up all over the table, chair and floor. Mother and Father look at each other and say "oh no!"

Mother and Father have a lot of experience with throw up. They are both openly praying that this throw up is not the kind that will spread through the whole family and last for two weeks.

Father gets Children 1, 2 and 3 down from the table and ushers them in to the bathroom. He fills up the tub with water and then hollers to Mother, who is cleaning the kitchen, that Child 3 has thrown up, again. Meanwhile, Child 1, who hasn't pooped in two days because they are on a self-imposed poop strike (not to be confused with constipation), cannot hold it any longer and poops in the tub.

The tub is throughly cleaned.

Children 1, 2 and 3 are reloaded and scrubbed from head to feet.

Children 1, 2 and 3 are released from the tub. Their teeth are brushed, stories are read, sippy cups of ice water are handed out ... and Mother places waterproof pads all around Child 3 and hands them a bowl, just in case they were to throw up, again.

Mother realizes that Child 3 has a better chance of hitting a home run than throwing up in a bowl, but this doesn't stop her from hoping.

Mother is concerned for Child 3's health, but is equally concerned for the welfare of the new linen set she just sent a small fortune on.

Once Children 1, 2 and 3 are in bed, Mother and Father sit down, look at the shambles that is their home, and discuss how it seems life sometimes appears to be unraveling before them.

They question if it wouldn't be a good idea to fork out the small fortune necessary for daycare. They could both go back to work, make lots of money, and not watch their hair fall out and their possessions be destroyed, right before their very eyes. But then they remind each other that they LOVE this life they have chosen for themselves.

While they are trying to remember why on God's Green Earth they haven't brought in a team of trained professionals to help with the savages children, they eat a bowl of ice cream and watch TV, which is partially hidden behind ten loads of laundry.

Soon, they'll forget they had this conversation.

Until tomorrow night.

on the road to insanity

Because I have nothing better to do today, I am thrilled to present this sequel to my debut "the demise of patience."

With a reappearance of Participants:
Father
Mother
Child 1
Child 2
Child 3
Child 4

Scene is at the kitchen table. It is lunch time. Mother is still wearing her pajamas, Father is wearing a bathing suit and his feet are caked with mud. Probably due to the HUGE mud puddle in the back yard that his children created.

Child 1, 2 and 3 are dressed and looking adorable. Child 4 is asleep in his bouncy chair.

Lunch of peanut butter and jelly is served.

Child 1 and 3 eat their sandwiches while Child 2 makes a choo-choo train out of raisins. When Child 3 is still hungry and Mother realizes that they have no bread, because although she bought one of everything in the new health food store yesterday - she completely forgot bread - she distracts Child 2 and swipes one of their PB&J squares.

This does not go unnoticed. Child 2 screams for their sandwich - although that Child never had any intention of eating said sandwich. Mother is in a dilemma because Child 3 will never give the sandwich square back and quickly licks it, to lay claim.

Mother instead makes a PB&J treat for Child 2 using blue tortilla chips which seems to appease the Child.

Although not a culinary genius, Mother is very resourceful.

Lunch is concluded. But not before Child 1, 2 and 3 have covered themselves with peanut butter. Mother gets a wash cloth to clean them up before nap time, and notices that Child 4 is just starting to stir from a brief nap and appears hungry.

Mother picks up Child 4 and becomes aware that they are soaking wet. And then, notices that the wetness is due to a blow out poop that is now covering them and the bouncy chair.

And Mother.

Father, meanwhile, changed his clothes and is on hold in the dining room with the electronics department trying to troubleshoot the fancy entertainment system he purchased last month. He whispers to Mother that he hasn't told them he has 2-year old triplets for fear it will void his warranty.

Mother wipes Child 1, 2 and 3's face and hands and puts them to bed.

Mother then bathes Child 4.

Mother repeatedly tells Child 1, 2 and 3 to go to sleep. PLEASE.

Mother finishes bathing Child 4 and sits to feed them.

After 25 minutes, Mother in her sing-song voice, softly inquires why Father is still on hold when his children are bouncing off the walls.

Father says something, but all Mother hears is buzzing, like her head is about to pop. Mother puts down Child 4 and goes to investigate.

Child 1 is asleep in their bed along with every single stuffed animal they own.

Child 2 is jumping up and down on their bed.

Child 3 is jumping up and down on their bed.

Mother threatens Child 2 and 3 that if they don't go to sleep, they will go in to the crib. The children laugh.

Because Mother doesn't like being laughed at, she picks up Child 2 and walks in to Child 1's room where the crib is located, but then decides that because she doesn't want to lower the mattress which has been raised to the top, nor risk waking up Child 1, she is in a predicament.

She remembers that she has a very small convertible bassinet for Child 4 in her bedroom.

She brings Child 2 in to the bedroom and rips removes the bassinet conversion, before depositing Child 2 in to the tiny crib.

Mother then tells Child 2 "GO TO SLEEP!!!"

Mother leaves the room and prays that Child 2 doesn't get back in to her make-up drawer, again. Not that it would really matter since Child 2 has already inflicted irreparable damage on Mother's makeup last week - when she used Mother's lip liner as a crayon all over the wall.

The same wall that Child 2 scribbled all over, today, with a dry erase marker.

Mother ponders where to put Child 4, who has been temporarily strapped to the changing table while she sorted out her other three children. She then decides to leave them where they are because the bouncy chair is covered with poop - and their sibling is in their bassinet.

Mother also doesn't want to put Child 4 in the crib in the same room with Child 1 because if Child 4 were to wake up - it would most likely wake up Child 1.

Who would then, wake up Child 2 and 3. And Mother would be very sad, indeed.

Mother retreats to the dining room and finds Father has finished his customer service call and is now asleep on the couch.

Mother realizes that every room in the house, minus her bathroom, is taken up with someone sleeping.

Mother asks aloud why she isn't sleeping and why she is still wearing her pajamas that are covered with poop.

Mother quickly gets dressed and then grabs her laptop to complete the conclusion of this theatrical production while hiding sitting in an empty tub and eating another chocolate covered biscotti.

the demise of patience

A Theatrical Debut, By: Jen

Participants:
Father
Mother
Child 1
Child 2
Child 3
Child 4

Scene is at the kitchen table. It is breakfast time. Children 1, 2, 3 are sitting before bowls containing a new organic cereal that the mother bought at the new "health" food store down the street. When they were at the store and the representative was handing out samples, Children 1, 2 and 3 loved it. They couldn't get enough of it. They all cried for "MORE! MORE! MORE!!"

Mother was happy to be buying a new organic cereal that was healthy for her children. Mother was not so happy to be spending $3.00 on a box, when she could spend $6.00 on a box of Honey Nut Cheerios that contains eight times as much, at Costco.

But mother loves her children, so mother bought it.

Twelve hours later, Children 1, 2 and 3 take one taste of their new, expensive organic cereal and spit it out all over the table, while rubbing their hands across their tongues and yelling "ICKY!!" Suddenly, the cereal that they loved the day before, now tastes worse than dung, because Mother pried rabbit dung out of Child 1, 2 and 3's mouth less than two weeks prior.

Because Mother has taken a load off and is nursing Child 4, while Father is scheduling a doctor appointment, Mother sits helplessly while Child 1, 2 and 3 IGNORE their mother's please of "No, No, NO!!!" and dump their bowls of expensive organic cereal all over the table and floor.

They then take their Parmesan bagels that their Father had drizzled honey across - and rub them atop their heads.

Father returns. He rolls his eyes and says "What are we gonna do with these children??" Mother replies "I don't know what YOU are going to do, but I'm going to finish feeding Child 4 and then, I'm going to do a load of laundry."

Father grabs a towel and a mop and cleans up the expensive organic cereal from the table and floor. Father then asks Child 1, 2 and 3 if they would like a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios. They all scream "YES!!!" until he pours the cereal in to three clean bowls, adds milk and sets it before them. Then, they all scream "NO CEWEAL!!" and simultaneously, flip the bowls of cereal over on to the clean table and floor.

Father grabs his head in his hands - tugs at his hair - and bites his tongue to stop from screaming. Mother sits in her rocker with Child 4 and gives a big sigh and then, a chuckle. Father asks Mother what the children should eat for breakfast since they haven't consumed anything. Mother tells Father that she wouldn't feed them anything more ... they are obviously not hungry and lost their chance.

Father disagrees and opens the refrigerator looking for the next batch of food to be wasted. He spies the squeezable expensive organic yogurt that was purchased at the health food store. He inquires aloud "I wonder if they'd like some yogurt?" and the children delightedly squeal "YOGUT! YOGUT!! Me want YOGUT!!"

Father removes the box containing two varieties of yogurt - strawberry in a pink wrapper; boysenberry in a purple. Child 2 demands "I WANT PINK ONE. I WANT PINK ONE!" Father opens yogurt and hands in to the child.

Child 1 demands "I WANT PINK ONE, TOO!" Father opens yogurt and hands it to the child, when the child changes their mind and screams "NOOOO PINK ONE. I WANT PUPLE ONE!!!" Father goes to hand the open pink yogurt to Child 3 when the child screams "NOOOO PINK ONE!! I WANT PUPLE ONE!!!!"

Father turns the pink yogurt on himself, eating the entire tube.

Father then reaches in to the box, removing a purple yogurt, opens it up and hands it to Child 3, who has again changed their mind and now declares, "NO PUPLE ONE. I WANT PINK ONE!!" Father hands the open purple yogurt to Child 1, who promptly squeezes the tube so hard, yogurt shoots out all over their hands, face and table. Child 1 then screams "OH NO!! MESS!!! I NEED TOWAL!!!"

Father breathes a deep sigh, hands Child 1 a wet towel and opens a packet of pink yogurt for Child 3, who has again, changed their mind. Father bellows "NO PURPLE YOGURT. ALL GONE. Here is PINK yogurt. YUMMY YUMMY PINK YOGURT!!!"

Tears spring from Child 3's eyes, drip on to the table, and screaming ensues.

Mother, sitting in her rocker gently suggests that perhaps the children aren't hungry and they should go outside to play. She makes this recommendation in a sing song voice because Mother never gets angry. She is wonderful and looks beautiful, all the time.

Mother finishes feeding Child 4, sits them in bouncy chair, and gets up to clean the kitchen.

Father wipes Child 1, 2 and 3's faces and hands and takes them out of their booster chairs. He goes to get their clothing for the day, but then decides, instead to put everyone in cotton underwear, since they'll be playing in the yard.

Father picks up Child 3, sets them on the changing table, removes their pajamas and diaper and begins applying sunscreen. When Father bends down to fetch a pair of cotton underwear from beneath the changing table, Child 3 gets a hold of the sunscreen container and dispenses sunscreen all over the table and Father's head.

Child 3 is reprimanded and placed on the floor, wearing cotton underwear.

Father runs after and finally grabs Child 2 when Mother trips blocks the Child from sprinting out the back door. Father lifts the Child on to the changing table and removes the pajamas and diaper and begins to apply sunscreen. Child 2 has a toy in their hand that accompanied them to the changing table, which they stick in their mouth and begin to gag on. Father removes the toy and makes an underarm, blind throw behind him, where it smacks Child 1 on the head.

Child 1 begins to scream.

Child 3 wet their cotton underwear and is standing above a puddle that they begin to stomp in.

Child 2 is crying because their toy is gone but then spots the sunscreen stick and flash-quick grabs it and smears it all over the wall.

Child 4 begins to stir from their slumber and starts rooting for their hand. Mother feels the tingly sensation that lets her know Child 4 needs to eat. Again.

Father removes Child 2 from the changing table, while Mother replaces the cotton underwear on Child 3. Father then grabs Child 1 and repeats the process of pajama and diaper removal, sunscreen application.

When Mother notices that Child 2 is not visible, she sets off looking and finds Child 2 in Father and Mother's bedroom with a magic marker, drawing all over the wall. When Mother grabs the magic marker and starts to move Child 2 out of the room, Child 2 says "NEED POTTY" a millisecond before springing a leak all over the floor.

Mother cleans up the puddle while wondering how Child 2 got the door open, replaces the underwear and with a big smile drags walks Child 2 back to join their siblings.

Father then herds Child 1, 2 and 3 outside while Mother makes the beds, starts a load of laundry and takes a moment to feed Child 4, while updating her blog.

Mother hears screaming coming from the back yard. For a moment, she hesitates, feeling guilty that Father is outside by himself in the blazing sun with Child 1, 2 and 3 who are fighting over the garden hose. But then, she remembers that Father is returning to work, full-time, in less than two weeks and Mother will be home, all by herself.

Father opens the door and informs her that Child 1, 2 and 3 have made a HUGE mud puddle in the back yard, have filled their wading pool up with dirt and are driving him crazy. Father tells Mother that he wants to come in side and let Child 1, 2 and 3 watch a movie. But alas, Father is reminded that Child 1, 2 and 3 have pushed so many buttons on his brand new entertainment system, that a picture is no longer visible on the television screen.

When Father says he still wants Child 1, 2 and 3 to come inside, Mother asks "WHY? So that they can drive us BOTH crazy??" Father gives an exasperated sigh and turns back to the yard.

Mother is annoyed by all the noise. She checks the thermostat and when she sees it is 80 degrees in the house, she turns on the air conditioning, closes all the doors and windows and sits down, gazing lovingly at Child 4 while eating a chocolate dipped biscotti and blocking out the muffled screams that suggest her presence is needed, elsewhere.

***************

Mother doesn't have pictures of the breakfast fiasco for this production - but includes pictures of the dinner fiasco, from last night. Also shown are pictures of Mother and Father's new wine glasses. They wonder if it wouldn't be more effective to put a straw directly in to the bottle....

the transition

We transitioned the children out of their cribs this week.

It only took 15 weeks for the conversion kits that we ordered to finally arrive.

From what I understand, they walked them here.

All the way from North Carolina.

One of the cribs was converted to a full-size bed for the girls ... one of the cribs was converted to a toddler bed for William ... and the third crib will remain a crib for when Henry gives up residency from the bassinet in our room.

Charlie set about setting up the beds on Tuesday while I tried to keep the kids distracted in the backyard. When it was time to walk them in to their rooms for the grand introduction, William hesitated as he walked past the girls room, took one look at their full-sized bed and started yelling "MY BED!! MY BED!!"

When I informed him that was actually his sisters bed and brought him in to his own room (that he will eventually be sharing with his little brother) he looked at his bed - which was no different than his crib except with one side gone, and shook his "Nooooo. Dat bed is TINY. My bed da BIG bed!!"

I could see it in his eyes. "Oh, you silly fool. You don't know what you are talking about!!"

That's when I knew we were in trouble.

That's when I cursed myself for breaking the triplet cardinal rule "Thou shalt not do for one nor two what thou hast not done for the third."

That's when I started to wonder WHY I hadn't bought fancy new sheets for William - the way I had for the girls - when I went to PBK on Sunday?!

That's when I debated leaving the house, at 7:30 PM, driving an hour north to PBK and buying whatever I could to convince my little boy that his "tiny" bed was really the coolest of them all.

Instead, I tried to convince our son that his bed was AWESOME.

LOOK! LOOK!! He could get in and out without having to climb over the side!!

He could ...

Well, that was about it.

William quickly re-joined his sisters and although I doubted that the three of them would ever fall asleep together, my heart wouldn't let me say no. I absolutely couldn't sequester William to his 1/2 a crib while his sisters got to sleep on the bed of all beds.

So for the next several hours, the kids romped and frolicked and jumped and rolled and wrestled and laughed and squealed and had sweat pouring off them like I've never seen before. Every five minutes, I'd poke my head inside the room and firmly tell them "GO TO SLEEP!!"

I may as well have been asking Henry to get out of his bouncy chair and go fetch me a beer.

Finally, at 10 PM after listening to the children's 2.5-hour raucous, I broke up the party. It wasn't easy. There was a lot of crying. A lot of screaming. A lot of tears. William was put in his bed. Elizabeth wound up in the crib. Carolyn was in the big bed. All three of them were completely unconscious in less than two minutes.

Yesterday, William accompanied me to PBK. My primary purpose for going to the store was to return the clothes that I had purchased on Sunday.

Fortunately, I came to my senses and decided that if $35.00 was too expensive for a shirt for myself, it was much too expensive for our children that will outgrow it in less than six months.

I had thought that by returning the four shirts, two jumpers and two overalls, the $300.00 from clothing could be applied towards some items for William's room. And the rest of the refund would be used to pay for a month's worth of gasoline.

I brought William along because I thought that I'd let him pick out his room decor. That way he'd REALLY love it.

After an hour and a half in the store, I could tell that like me, William loved PBK.

But unlike me ... William, it turns out, also loves airplanes.

Because I apparently lack ANY self-control in that store, I now owe PBK an additional $250.00 AFTER my clothing returns.

I owe them a small scale panic attack every time I look at the airplanes on my son's bed and fervently hope that Will Brown's premonition, while sitting in 10th grade Geometry, was wrong.

But mostly, I owe them my gratitude for making such awesome kids stuff, our son's room is now the coolest of them all.

At least he thinks so.

And really, how important is food and a mortgage, anyway??