from the archives

Today, I received an e-mail from a woman named Gloria who asked why I had stopped writing about Favorite Thing Friday. And well, it wasn't my intention to stop writing about favorite things on Friday ... I just found that my mind was wandering in different directions at around the same time my favorite thing well was starting to go a little dry.

But since I do have a few things in mind that I would like to write about, I was just scouring through my archives to see if I could find a picture of something I'd like to write about, later today. Or next Friday, if this day continues going as fast as it currently is. (How can it already be afternoon? Didn't we just have breakfast?)

In the course of scouring through my archives, I'm finding some old photos that are making my heart melt. This is one of them.


This is another.

And this is a picture of my husband a few months ago when I told him that one more baby would be so much fun.

If I remember correctly his exact response was, "You stay away from me, woman."

validation

If our children had still been enrolled in Montessori school, this would have been their last week for the semester. But since they are no longer in school, this week marks six months that we've been homeschooling.

The photo, below, is a comparative analysis of an apple that the children colored while they were in Montessori and a picture that they colored while under our tutelage. The apple on the left is an example of what they drew while they were in school this past December. The apple on the right is an example of what they are were able to draw, while at home, earlier this month.

Now it could just be that the children have matured rapidly over the past six months and an improvement in their ability to draw is completely irrelevant. Or it could be that Charlie and I are doing an acceptable job of teaching our children at home and allowing them to develop and explore at their own pace.

However you dice it, by "teaching" the kids at home, we have saved almost $14,000.00 on tuition. We've spared ourselves 240 hours in the car shuffling the children to and from school. And, we've had almost 720 hours together - the equivalent of a month - that we would have missed if they'd been in school for six hours a day.

In that time, we've built dams, bird nests, irrigation systems and tackled some of the largest roller coasters in town.

I'm just really glad we made the decision that we did.

what's in you wednesday

Last week, one of my friends, Holly, wrote that she is considering - possibly - participating in the Ovarian Cancer Research triathlon with me this October. But she's never done a triathlon before and she is feeling a little intimidated because it seems so ... extreme.

We traded e-mails for a few days regarding what would be involved and when I told her that the distances really weren't that long and if she went in to this simply to have a fun experience, I fully suspect she would have a great time.

She wrote back to let me know that what she really likes about me is that I'm not at all competitive. I just take on these challenges to raise money for cancer research and to have fun. I, in turn, wrote her back to confirm that I am quite possibly, the least competitive person she'll ever meet in her life.

But it was interesting that Holly made that comment about my lack of competitiveness, because I was thinking the exact same thing about myself just the other day.

Over the past year, I've participated in four athletic events. What I've determined is that I train for these events so I can complete the event. And I do these events so that I can have the experience. I don't participate so that I can win. I really have no aspirations to beat any one else out there. And I think that's what makes it fun for me.

I love being at the start line and feeling the anticipation. I love having a challenge before me. I love knowing that I'm out there as part of a group who are physically active. I love being inspired to keep doing these events, whenever I look around and see that I'm surrounded by people who are strong and ready to take on the course. I love knowing that while I'm out there doing something good for my body and spirit, the vast majority of the population are still in bed.

But Holly's comment got me thinking.

Why is it that I'm so non-competitive?

I genuinely wonder if my attitude is some kind of defense mechanism?

If I really push myself hard to train only to discover that I don't meet goals that I've set for myself, I will feel like I've failed. And if I fail to meet my own expectations, I'm less likely to do it again. So, it's better to just go in to something with no expectations - except to finish - and enjoy myself while I'm out there.

Last week Michele, a fellow triplet mom who lives in Las Vegas, posted a video of herself flipping over a bar and then, doing a scissor swing, 'round and 'round and 'round.



And then, she had the audacity to dare me to do a back flip off the high bar. Now although I'm not competitive, when I saw that challenge, I was all Charlie, "QUICK! We need to go find a BAR!"

To which my husband replied, "A bar? Why? Do you want to go out drinking?"

(Which - in hindsight - that really might have been a better idea.)

This afternoon, we drove all around our neighborhood to find a bar so that I could attempt to swing my rather large posterior up and over and then back flip off. Why would I do this - you might ask? Because I seriously think someone broke in to our house and gave me a lobotomy while I was sleeping.

Today, the closest thing we could find to a bar were some rings. And those 60 minutes that I spent attempting to flip over the rings didn't go too well for me. Nor did it go well for the woman who was hanging out at the park with her children and after watching me for several minutes - decided to try herself - because she, like I, once was able to do this kind of thing.

Twenty five years ago really seems like just ... YESTERDAY.

Suffice to say, I doubt either one of us will be able to lift our arms to shave our pits for the next week. But notice my husband and four-year-old daughter are able to flip over the bar like a bunch of monkeys.

At least I can still do a cartwheel. And I was just about to attempt my fantastic one-handed cartwheel, but the kids started to have a meltdown and just then, the ice cream truck drove by and ... well.

You know me.



(OK. That's not true. I tried a one-handed cartwheel, which I could honestly do a year ago and I almost face-planted. I think that my mind was totally getting in the way of my athletic ability today. Instead of just GOING FOR IT, I felt the fear. So, I think I might need to spend some time driving around with a cougar in the backseat.)

(Also, this video is flipped 90 degrees because that's what happens when you try to hold a camera upright after your arms are mush because you spent an hour using muscles you haven't attempted to use in 25 years.)

When we returned home, I received an e-mail from my friend, Holly.

She was writing to inform me that she bought a book on triathlons and she will be borrowing her sister's $3,000.00 carbon fiber bicycle. And she'll be buying a wetsuit. So the chances are looking good that unless I bump up my training (as in, START training) someone who has never completed a triathlon before is going to kick my tush in her very first race.

All this to say: If you are just starting out with an exercise program - or you're trying to feel better about yourself on the physical front - let's just say it's SUPER DUPER GREAT to have a friend like me.

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

People, I need a straight YES or NO answer here.

Can you do a flip on a bar or rings?

If yes, I want video proof, your age and what type of vitamin supplements you take.

But please keep in mind, I will not be held liable for any bodily injury that might result from people who want to see if they've still "got it". Also, it's important to note that if you do attempt to fling yourself over on a bar - or rings - you might want to make sure you have someone available to help lift your toddler child in to and out of their crib for a few days.

Take my advice on that.

what would shirley maclaine say?

This morning Charlie had to participate in a training session for work, so I took the kids to Sea World for a few hours.

Since a number of schools let students out for summer break last week, and the nightly firework show began this past weekend, Sea World was a mad house on this beautiful Monday morning. There were buses dropping people off and lines were already forming outside many of the exhibits and rides by 10 AM.

Our first stop was to Wild Arctic, which houses the walrus, polar bears ... and quite possibly my all-time favorite marine mammal, the beluga whale.

While we were standing below the water line, behind the thick glass, I noticed that there were several people within the beluga whale tank dressed in wetsuits, clearly participating in one of the "behind the scenes" programs that Sea World offers.

The behind-the-scene participants were standing on a small ledge in shallow water and I could tell that the whale trainers were talking to them ... probably about beluga whale habits and habitat and migration and diet ... while they flipped fish to the whales and patted their heads and bodies.

My four children were all on foot and when the triplets ran to stand on a step at the observation window, Henry was toddling about. I picked him up and placed him on the small step next to his siblings - and through the water - at least 50 feet away, he could see the beluga whale bodies that were partially submerged below the water.

"WHALE!" he yelled out.

The word no sooner left his 23-month old mouth and one of the beluga whales that had been eating handfuls of fish, dove below the water and swam - as fast as I've ever seen a beluga whale swim - directly to the glass window where my children were standing. It pushed it's nose against the window in to the exact location where Henry was holding his outstretched hand.

Then, it stayed there.

It stayed there long enough for me to grab my camera, turn off the flash and take several pictures. It stayed there long enough for all the other visitors that were in the observation area to come running over and stand behind my children and exclaim, "WOW! THAT IS SO COOL!" and "WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT!!"

The beluga whale continued to push it's head in to the glass - while my children laughed - and then, it turned and rolled against the glass window directly in front of us, for several more seconds, before swimming around the tank twice and rejoining the behind-the-scene participants and it's bucket of fish.

I've been to Sea World no less than 50 times in the past few years and I've seen how friendly the beluga whales are. I know that these are social creatures. But I have never seen anything like what I saw, today. So while I stood there speechless and feeling like we had just experienced something truly amazing, my daughter Elizabeth looked up at me and said, "That was my grandmother."

"What?" I asked.

"That was my grandmother!" she repeated.

"Your grandmother?" I inquired, incredulously. "What do you mean, THAT was your grandmother?"

She looked at me very matter-of-factly and said, "That was my Grandma Jeanne."

My jaw dropped open before I asked, "Your Grandma Jeanne is a beluga whale?"

She laughed and said, "Yes. Henry called her. But now she's gone back to the clouds. God didn't know what to do with her!"

While I stood there pondering the significance of this for a moment, William said, "She just wanted to meet us." And then Carolyn added, "So we had a meeting."

Huh.

Pardon the pun, but was this just a fluke? And by fluke, I mean a chance occurrence. (Not either of the two horizontally flattened divisions of the tail of a whale.)

Or, was this a true spiritual encounter?

As for now, I'm planning to categorize this post under my "Soul Food" label. But short of contacting a psychic or Shirley Maclaine, I think I need some insight.

I welcome any explanations for this experience.

Your interpretation begins in...

3,

2,

1.

she's fit for the stage

This morning, I told Carolyn that she could come with me on an outing to the store. Since one-on-one time is a privilege for our kids, she was tickled.

"The only condition," I told her, "Is that you need to put on your shoes and socks before we leave."

"OK!" she happily agreed.

Yet, for the next 10 minutes, while I set about finishing a shopping list and grabbing items I'd need for the outing... whenever I glanced down at Carolyn, she had one sock on her foot and had slumped in to a heap on the floor.

(This picture quality is awful, but I was carrying a toddler in one arm.)

"Gracie, put your shoes on. If you want to go, you need to wear shoes."

"Gracie, come on. You can do it."

After another five minutes had lapsed and my child rolled around on the floor and moaned that putting on her shoes was SO TIRING, I suggested that she come over to where I was standing at the counter so I could assist.

She began moving across the floor on her belly.

One inch at a time.

Abandoning the one lone sock, behind.

Groaning. Lamenting. OH! The pure exhaustion.

This exertion was simply too much for my young daughter and she put her face down and began to snore. That's when I called out to her brother, "William! Do you want to go to the store with me? It looks like Gracie is going to stay home with dad and take a nap!"

Clearly, that was the motivation that she needed.

In less than a minute, Carolyn had jumped off the floor, pulled on her other sock, jammed her feet in to her shoes and was standing by the door with her arm outstretched singing to me, "MOMMY! COME ON DEAR! HURRY UP SWEETIE! WE ARE GOING TO BE LATE!!"

Perhaps I'm being a little premature, but I wouldn't be surprised if she lands her first Tony by the time she's 10.

loving the buzz

Our not quite two-year-old son, Henry, has developed an obsession for Buzz Lightyear.

Although we own the movie Toy Story 1 and 2, we don't watch either of them very often. Still, for the past several months, Henry loves anything - and everything - having to do with the purple and white Space Ranger.

Why, I think it's safe to say he loves him to pieces.
When I took the children shopping at Costco a few weeks ago, William spotted a Buzz Lightyear bathing suit. Whenever Henry saw the suit, he almost fell out of the shopping cart with excitement. Unfortunately, I couldn't find a suit in Henry's size, so I had to buy a 3T, because there was no way I was going to leave that store without a bathing suit for both boys.

Especially when Henry held the suit up to his face and yelled, "YAY BUZZ!!"

Since that fateful day, Henry will insist on wearing his Buzz Lightyear bathing suit.

Any day.

All day.

Every day.

When he wakes up in the morning, it's just a matter of time before he is riffling through the dirty clothes hamper looking for his bathing suit. "BUZZ! BUZZ!" he will call out. "Wheh AWE you?!"

Once he has his bathing suit on (which is usually dirty because I frequently forget to wash it at the end of the day), he will run through the house with his arms over his head yelling, "TO INFINY AND YOND!"

He likes Woody, too.


And Mr. Potato Head.

Who he refers to as "Tato."

For a while there, he was particularly attached to a really small Buzz Lightyear doll that he carried everywhere with him. But it was just a matter of time before a toddler will lose something that is only an inch and a half tall.

Recently, he has attached himself to a soft Buzz Lightyear doll that a manager at a local sporting goods store gave to us. One day, when I was in shopping for a few pool items, the manager of the store noticed that two of my children were dressed from head to toe in Buzz Lightyear garb.

It seems a Buzz Lightyear doll had been sitting in the store's lost and found bin for several months and when she came out waving the dirty toy and asking if maybe our children would like it - I didn't even have a chance to say, "Ewww. No Thanks." Before it intersected Henry's plane of sight and his arms went flying up in the air and he started screaming, "BUZZ WIGHTYEAR!! BUZZ WIGHTYEAR!!"

So. We accepted the doll, brought it home and promptly washed it.

Twice.

With bleach.

Now, at least one night a week, we gently pry it out of his sleeping hands and wash it. Since he takes it everywhere with him, it gets positively filthy.

For whatever reason, Henry's been scowling a lot, lately. I don't know why he does this - since no one ever scowls at him. But it is hilarious to watch him scowl and babble and throw out a random "BUZZ WIGHTYEAR!" in the middle of it all.

This 35 second video clip is quintessential Henry.



This attachment to an object is age appropriate behavior because I recall that when the triplets were Henry's age, they had their own loveys. William had a blanket that he chewed on. Carolyn had a blanket that she chewed on. Elizabeth had - and still has - her bunny.

It's clear to me now that Henry's lovey is Buzz Lightyear. Specifically, his lost-and-found doll AND his too big bathing suit. At the end of the day, when it's time to put on his pajamas, he fights me tooth and nail to take off his Buzz bathing suit and get him ready for bed.

The hysteria.

The back arching.

The kicking.

The thrashing.

The screaming.

Frankly, it makes me want to go crack open a bottle of wine and get my own buzz.

what's in you wednesday

Charlie is scheduled to compete in the San Diego International Triathlon at the end of the month.

He will be part of my company's team which means he will be racing with my boss, Dave, and several of my co-workers that will be comprising a relay team. The larger picture here, is that my company will be competing against several of the consultants that do work for us and the smack talk that is flying around right now is unbelievable.

What is it with men and competitive sports?

As for me, I'm not planning to compete in this particular race because ... uh ... someone has to watch the kids. And that's as good of an excuse reason as any.

Even though I'm not participating in this event, I did get out this past weekend and go for a bike ride. At one point, I noticed that I was averaging five miles per hour and it felt like my legs were on fire. The next day, I took a stroll up a small hill to our neighbor's house and had to stop several times to lean against a tree or else I would have toppled over.

A week after the marathon and my legs feel like lead.

And my toes? Don't even get me started on my purple toes.

(You really should thank me for not posting a picture because I almost did.)

According to my boss, who can run a marathon in 3 hours and 12 minutes, it can take a full month for a body to heal after a marathon, even if that marathon takes a person almost seven hours to complete it.

Which honestly, I think that a seven hour marathon is more grueling to the body than a three hour marathon because remaining on the course for that period of time is brutal. Therefore. Without question. Someone who can tolerate four more hours of punishment, undoubtedly requires more time to recover.

(That's my logic and I'm sticking to it.)

Now, it is because I need a longer period to heal - that the next event I am planning to take on is the Ovarian Cancer Research Triathlon in October. And then, if I can get a team pulled together, (Jessica, Jeanmarie, Debbie, Dawn - I'm looking at you. Who else? Holly? Heidi? Terrell? Joy?) I'd like to complete the Breast Cancer 3-Day Walk in November.

That's sixty miles. In three days. But from what I understand, there will be rest stations and bathrooms along the route. So Lorie, you can just banish the thought if you think being heavy with child is your free pass out of this.

OK, let's see, what else did I have to write about?

Cancer sucks.

And for those that have been following our sweet Deana's Caringbridge site, you know that she is scheduled to go in for a stem cell transplant on June 19. They will be using Deana's own stem cells. However, this transplant is Deana's best and quite possibly, only chance for recovery.

Thanks to Jessie, I know that from June 8-22, the National Marrow Donor Program, Be the Match Registry is hosting a "Match Marrowthon" and are seeking to add 46,000 new members to the registry which gives thousands of patients a second chance at life.

While adding a new member to the registry costs approximately $100, during this campaign, the registration fee is waived for the first 46,000 new members. People who are interested need to sign up online and will be sent a simple kit in the mail to complete their registration.

I signed up to be a bone marrow donor 12 years ago, but Charlie registered tonight to receive his free kit and the entire process took about 10 minutes. You can follow this link and even though it tells you that you will need a credit card, you don't. IF you are one of the first 46,000 people to register.

(So quick! GO!)

I didn't know this, but only 30% of the people who need bone marrow can find a match within their own family. If you are on the fence as to whether or not YOUR bone marrow might actually save someone's life, please check out this post. And this one. And this one.

And this one.

And then, for the love of humanity, please go here and register for your free kit.

There was something else... I'm sure of it.

Oh yes!

Ice cream.

It is so good.

an amazing trip trick: organization (part iv) don't be loathing the clothing

I've put off writing about clothes organization because I can't really think of anything more boring. I would much prefer to write about my almost two-year-old (how is it possible that he is almost TWO?!) who almost gave himself a concussion tonight when in the ramp up of a tantrum, he threw himself on the floor and smacked his head against tile.

Well, I guess I did just write about that.

So, now hold your hats because I'm going to write about the organization of clothes for six people in a house that has two bedrooms, three very small closets and a mother who has a highly-evolved fashion sense.


(that is a total joke.)

(trust me.)

(if you could see what I'm wearing right now, you'd snort.)

As I've mentioned on more than one occasion, our house is technically a two bedroom, although we use it as a three bedroom. The third "bedroom", is in reality, a den conversion that lacks a closet - and - a door. But, because we decided not to move when we found out that we were more than doubling our family size in 2004, or adding another member to our clan in 2007, we have tried to maximize living in the small space that we have.

First and foremost, we have learned that we really do not need that many clothes. It seems that everyone in our family has a "uniform" that they wear, almost every day. When I consider the clothes that each one of us wear - it's pretty much three or four interchangeable outfits - every week. As such, we have tried to completely eliminate impractical clothes and shoes from our wardrobes.

Impractical clothes (and shoes) being defined as those that are uncomfortable - ugly - or something that we'd never (or hardly ever) wear. While keeping in mind that what wasn't impractical last year ... might be impractical this year ... so we are frequently doing an inventory and getting rid of clothes that we no longer wear, or can see ourselves wearing anytime in the future.

To help facilitate in this process, we keep a trash bag of discards always available and once every few weeks, we will sort through whatever we've pulled out of circulation to confirm they are no longer needed, before we pack them off to Goodwill.

Charlie has his own dresser, I have my own dresser, the girls share a dresser as do the boys. Because we recently decided to move Henry in to the bedroom with the door (when he's in a closed room he is more conducive to sleeping at nap time) to make room for his crib in the "boys room" we moved the "boys dresser" in to the girls room. This has actually worked out quite well because now I just have to make one stop with a basket full of clean children's clothes.

In so far as the children, pants, shirts, skirts and season-appropriate pajamas go in to their dressers. Dress shirts and dresses are hung up. Because space is at a premium since four children are sharing two dressers, we have moved all of their socks and underwear in to baskets that are readily accessible to them.

Sweaters and sweatshirts have been moved in to large baskets that are tucked into a cabinet in the girls' dresser for storage.

Dress-up clothes for the children are also stored in baskets. Which are then further stored, on top of the girls' dresser, which I bring down each morning so the kids can change their outfits 20 times a day. (which they do.) (seriously.) (i am absolutely, positively, not kidding.)

We installed coat racks - at a level the children can reach - where they hang up all of their jackets and pull-overs. One rack per child.

Winter clothes - specifically, warmer jackets, hats, mittens and thermal underwear - have been moved out to our garage and are stored in boxes that are labeled accordingly. Likewise, summer wear - specifically, bathing suits, tank tops, shorts - have been moved to our garage and are stored in boxes that are labeled accordingly. Depending upon the season, we will move these items in to the "general circulation" and move off-season gear out to the garage for storage.

We also move out to the garage for storage any clothes that are too large or too small for the children...

... As well as costumes that are too bulky to store inside the house.

Shoes for the children have been moved in to a large basket storage system.

Although I try to keep shoes segregated by slippers and sandals, dress shoes and play shoes, it seldom happens that the shoes stay separated for long. Still, this system keeps shoes all in one place and it's never very difficult to find matching pairs.

Here's a link to one that is similar to ours. (Except this one has five drawers and ours only has three.)

A few years ago, Charlie installed wire shelving racks in to all of our closets which maximizes the usable "void" space on top of our closets.

All of our sweaters and sweatshirts have been moved in to various baskets, which are very easily accessible.

Assorted hats have their own basket as do (does?) miscellaneous exercise equipment.

We bought a belt hangar to organize belts, a tie hangar to organize ties, and we replaced all of our plastic and easily warp-able hangers and freebie metal hangers from laundromats with sturdy wooden hangers. Amazon has them very reasonably priced. Here's a link.

I was so tired of shoes piling up on the floor of our closets, and after having tried several other shoe organization systems, a few years ago I purchased a shoe cubby that works great. What I really like - other than my shoes staying neatly organized - is that there is additional storage space on top.

Here's a link to one that is similar to ours.

Within the same collection of the shoe cubicle system - were some small shelves for the floor - that I purchased that we use to hold miscellaneous items like a Fender amplifier, free weights, our cremated dogs ashes - (which we have yet to sprinkle in the ocean) - and several bottles of red wine.

Please note: Charlie's cowboy boots that I begged him to purchase in 2001 during a trip to Oklahoma - and he has worn only once on the plane ride back home to California - definitely fall under the totally impractical category. But I won't let him get rid of them because they are just way too cool and if we ever move to Texas, he might need them.

In conclusion, I would like to add that this is such a chic blog. I can't imagine a guy would ever write about something like clothes and closet organization. So now, I'm just going to sit back and watch my statistics go through the roof.

Because I'm sure they will with a captivating post, such as this.

losing (and finding) my soles

Charlie and I will be married for 15-years in August.

It makes me feel very proud whenever I consider how well we manage our marriage, our family and our careers. Whenever people come to visit, it seems that they almost always comment on how our relationship is like a well-oiled machine. We work together very well. But there are those times we don't work together very well. And oddly enough, nine out of ten times, it's my fault.

Take this morning for example.

As I was getting dressed, and surveying the shoes in my closet, I casually commented to Charlie that my pair of Croc shoes have been missing for a few weeks and I needed to find them. Then I added that the last time I saw my Crocs, they were in the back of Charlie's truck next to my field bag.

(As some background: Charlie's truck has been designated our non-family transport vehicle. So whenever one of us needs to work away from home, we will drive the truck and leave the parent at home with our van which is better suited to transport four small children in carseats.)

This morning, I clearly remembered that when I went out to a drilling project several weeks ago, I had driven Charlie's truck and my field bag - which housed my steel toe boots and hard hat and safety vest and safety glasses and ear plugs and associated safety supplies - was in the covered bed. And since I never like wearing my steel toe boots for long stretches of time, I had worn my Croc shoes to the job, and then put on my boots once I arrived.

But then, I neglected to my Croc shoes back on again once the job was over, so I drove home wearing my boots. And, I never got around to putting the Crocs back in my closet. So they just sat in the covered bed of Charlie's truck, next to my field bag.

Over the next few weeks, as we would go through and clear out our closets and garage - as we so often do - we would generate bags of items that we would donate to Goodwill. And these bags would be deposited in to the back of Charlie's truck.

Next to my field bag.

And my Crocs.

Which I still neglected to place back in my closet.

So this morning when I said that I was missing my Crocs, Charlie shot me a concerned look before he slowly said, "Jen. Your Crocs were in the back of my truck with all of the stuff that was going to Goodwill." Then he frowned and added, "I think I may have given them away with all of the donations when I did a drop-off."

And instead of me saying something like, "Wow. I'm a BIG dope I really should have made sure my Crocs weren't in the back of your truck with all the stuff going to Goodwill. My bad."

I said something like, "YOU DID WHAT?! YOU THREW OUT MY BELOVED PAIR OF CROCS? WHAT THE %^&# WERE YOU THINKING?!?"

And then I continued...

"WHY DIDN'T YOU CALL ME AND ASK JEN! ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO THROW OUT YOUR FAVORITE PAIR OF SHOES?! ARE YOU %^&*#^@#?!?!"

All the while, our beautiful children, who had been sitting at the table happily eating their breakfast, raised their eye brows while I vented, before covering their ears.

This went on for several minutes. Me accusing my husband of being flippant and inattentive. My husband retorting that I should do a better job managing my stuff. Me retorting that I DO THE BEST JOB MANAGING MY STUFF AND EVERYONE ELSE'S STUFF IN THE ENTIRE FAMILY and this absolutely isn't my fault.

It's his fault.

Because I never make mistakes. NEVER. I am the do-all-hold-it-all-together-manager of this family and if it weren't for me, the walls of our universe would collapse.

All the while, I knew this wasn't true. And I knew that the way that I was handling this particular situation was bad. Terrible infact. And what I really needed to do was promptly apologize and shut my trap.

But of course I didn't.

Another several minutes later, when the fury of my emotions had sufficiently disspitated and my spouting-off and finger pointing had ceased, and Charlie had retreated to another room to separate himself as far as possible from me, I was lifting Henry out of his booster chair and my toddler son threw his head back and gave me the most heart warming smile.

My beautiful baby.

That I made with the man who threw away my shoes.

It hit me full force at that very moment, sometimes - I'm a real crank.

An irrational, over-the-top absolute-witch-to-be-around, crank. Sometimes, I act like a real bad word. And instead of talking to my husband rationally when I've had some time to digest a situation and recognize my contribution to the problem, I lack the ability to filter the thoughts that rapidly shoot from my brain to my mouth.

Today, I knew that I needed to do something fast because if I didn't, there would be a dark cloud of discontent over our house all day long and spanning into the unforeseeable future. So I found my husband putting on his shoes and I mustered an apology that went something like, "Charlie, I forgive you for throwing out my shoes."

My husband gave me a blank stare and crossing his arms across his chest said, "Yes. AND?"

I took a deep breath and continued, "And. I'm sorry that you gave away my most comfortable pair of shoes that you really should have known better than to donate to Goodwill. But I forgive you."

I gave him a weak smile but instead of accepting my lame attempt at an apology, my husband rolled his eyes, sighed and walked away.

Because what I should have said was, "I'm really sorry that I acted so terribly - especially in front of the children - and I'm sorry that you are married to a woman who can, without warning, morph in to a jackass nag machine. But I love you and adore you and without you, the walls of our universe would collapse. And I mean that sincerely."

I do mean that sincerely.

And although it might feel good to vent, it feels so bad immediately after. Why it is that I lack the ability to shut up is beyond me. And how my husband can lovingly tolerate being married to someone that attacks at a moments notice is even more of a mystery.

While I set about working, Charlie ushered all the kids outside and loaded them in to the car. A few minutes later, he came back in to the house carrying my pair of old Croc shoes. He gently placed them next to me and without a word, turned and walked out the front door.

I picked up my shoes and followed him outside where I asked the obvious question, "So, you found them?" He nodded his head and responded, "Yeah. I found them. I remembered seeing them and thinking that you probably didn't mean to throw your Crocs away, so I put them aside."

Charlie disappeared in to the garage to grab a few items for their trip away and I held my shoes up for the children to see. "Look," I said, "Daddy found my shoes." The kids smiled at me before William very sternly said, "Mommy, you need to go apologize to Daddy right away."

I was already embarrassed because I had made such a spectacle. But it was even worse when I realized that the kids were highly aware of my tantrum and called me on it.

Hoping that I could perhaps turn this in to a learning experience for everyone that had been subjected to my wrath, I said, "I definitely need to apologize to Daddy. Because even if my shoes had been donated, I acted very badly this morning and there is no excuse for the way I behaved. You should never treat the people that you love with disrespect and that's exactly what I did."

Then I bit my lip and added, "Sometimes it's very hard to admit when you are wrong and ask forgiveness. How do you think I should handle it?"

Not surprisingly, the children were quick to offer advice.

Carolyn piped up, "I think that you should go and tell him that you are very sorry." Elizabeth added, "I think that you should give him a hug and a kiss and tell him you'll never do it again."

My husband reappeared from the garage and stepping in front of him and placing my hands on his arms, I declared for everyone to hear, "Charlie, I am so sorry. I hope that you will forgive me for acting so badly. Even if my shoes had been donated, I was completely out of line. You are the glue that holds this family together and I love you with all my heart."

I leaned forward and planted a kiss on his cheek and gave him a hug. And my husband, being the wonderful man that he is, wrapped his arms tightly around me and said, "I forgive you, Jenny. But sometimes you really ARE a pain in the ass."

Then William, who was strapped in to his carseat yelled out, "Now that you said I'm sorry, go get a baby in your tummy because I want two more brothers."

I honestly have NO idea where the kids pick this stuff up.

But I couldn't make it up if I tried.

where to begin?

With the marathon now behind us, I'm excited to focus on some of the topics that I've been jotting down on a note pad next to my computer. Unfortunately, my mind is a flutter and I have no idea where to begin. So please, chime in with your suggestions.

Let's see. We have:

1) To School or Not To School: How a simple message outside a local elementary school has caused me a great deal of angst and made me thankful for the night guard that protects my teeth from grinding off.


2) Knitting Part 6: What better time than summer to finish that wool scarf?

3) Clothes organization: How do six people function with only three closets?

4) Soul Food: A summary of some profound church services.

5) Driving 101: Tips I've learned to stay safe on the road. Alternate title, "Why my husband no longer likes to drive with me."

6) Chez Charlie: Taking the kitchen by storm. Alternate title, "My man can COOK."

7) The next athletic challenge and cancer fundraiser > we have three events planned between now and the end of the year.

8) The Annual Cowbell Awards: A vote on the craziest family from the Airing of our Grievances post, three months later.

9) Keeping The Romance Alive: Alternate title, "Baby, pass me the remote."

10) Will Weaning Ever Happen? Alternate title, "Hurry up Henry, you're going to be late for work."

Of course there are no guarantees that I'll actually write in any particular order about any of these things. I might surprise you and throw in a post about Henry and how he thinks he's Buzz Lightyear. I probably should do that, seeing as I received an e-mail from someone today who thinks that poor Henry must feel overshadowed by his triplet siblings since I never post any pictures of just him.

Something tells me, I'll never win.

marathon magic

Have you ever experienced a time in your life when it felt like ... magic?

That's what this past week has been like for us.

On Monday, when I could hardly walk, everyone came to our house and we spent some time at the pool and sitting in the hot tub. While I popped Tylenol like candy and cried like a baby that my legs hurt. And my feet.

And well, come to think of it ... pretty much everything from the neck down.

On Tuesday, Charlie showed everyone around Sea World while I worked.

On Wednesday, Aunt Grace and Uncle Bill, Margaret, Alexander and Brian took a train ride up the California coast to ... somewhere. Nobody knew where exactly they were going when they first boarded the train, they just knew that they wanted to see the coastline.

As luck - perhaps - would have it, they wound up at San Juan Capistrano, where they visited the Jewel of the California Missions. They spent some time in the oldest building in all of California, a chapel that was constructed in 1782. And within this mission, there was a chapel that had been dedicated to St. Peregrine, the patron saint of cancer patients. Seeing as my family is Catholic and have been praying to St. Peregrine, this was rather special.

And cosmically coincidental.

On Thursday, we visited Legoland.

We had just walked in to the park when we bumped in to Jack Reynolds - Deana's husband - with his two boys Zach and Zane. Jack was at the park celebrating Zach's third birthday. While we stood talking about Deana's stem cell transplant which will be happening in a few weeks, and I watched her little boys running around with their grandparents, I felt positively sick over what this family has had to endure the past 10-months.

On Friday, we visited Balboa Park and strolled past all the beautiful museums, gardens...

And fountains.

And a silver mime that juggles.

Last night, when we were having our farewell dinner at a seafood restaurant on the waterfront...

Uncle Bill told me that this trip is the first time in years that he has flown by airplane. When I inquired why - he told me that it's because he is concerned about the risk of infection. And who wouldn't be concerned about the risk of infection when they have stage four cancer and a suppressed immune system because they have undergone intensive regiments of chemotherapy?

But when Uncle Bill told me this, it felt like I was being pulled back from a dream, because for a short time this week, I had actually forgotten that one of my favorite people in the world was fighting cancer. Sure, I noticed that he needed to sit down every now and again, but the light in his eyes and his wonderful stories and his cheerful demeanor made you forget.

And the fact that he was here, in San Diego, several thousand miles from home, after the health challenges he has faced for the past few years ... to me, it was nothing short of miraculous and a true testament to the strength of this man's will and positive attitude.

I don't hate very many things.

But I'll tell you what.

I really hate cancer.

I hate what it is doing to Deana and I hate what it is doing to my Uncle Bill and I hate what it is doing to Jim. I hate what it does to the families. I hate what it has done to so many good people that I care about. I hate what it is going to do to so many good people, still. But I'll also tell you that I have loved experiencing, firsthand, how people are brought together and inspired by something as devastating as cancer. It makes you appreciate the here and now - unlike anything other.

I have loved this week.

I loved participating in the marathon with my awesome cousin and husband - I loved that we raised money for cancer research - and I loved that my Aunt Grace and Uncle Bill were at the finish line.

I have loved spending time with our family.

I have loved watching our children bond with their second cousins.

I have loved watching five matching hats running around.

I have loved watching Henry sit still and be cute. As opposed to say, scream and run away and throw himself on the ground in protest. Because those are just a few of the toddler characteristics that he has mastered these days.

I have loved sharing a good meal and a good bottle of wine (or margaritas) at various restaurants around town with some of the best people I know.

I have absolutely loved watching my Aunt Grace and Uncle Bill together.

They have been married for more than 50 years, but they are so good to one another.

The love and devotion that they have for each other is truly inspirational and every time I would watch them walk away - holding hands - or with their arms around one another, I tried to snap off a picture to memorialize the moment.

But pictures can't adequately capture the beauty of their relationship.

I have loved teasing Margaret - relentlessly - about her addiction to Diet Coke.

And she - in return - absolutely loved beating Charlie in the hand pump fire truck race at Legoland.

I had NO idea my cousin was SO competitive...

Which is why it came as such a COMPLETE surprise...

That she yelled across the park, "I WIN! I WIN!! YOU LOSE!! I WIN! I WIN! YOU LOSE! I AM THE WINNER!! ME! ME! I WIN!!" to my husband.

Despite that, I still loved showing my cousin around town and taking her to places that will hopefully motivate her to keep running.

I loved that before she left San Diego this morning, she insisted on going by Trader Joe's and as we walked across the parking lot in to the store, she pulled out her camera and told me that she was so excited she was getting the chills.

It was good to know I wasn't the only one that felt that way.

The fact that Margaret stuffed whatever open space she had remaining in her suitcase with these items ... just further confirms we really are cut from the same cloth.

Oops.

I don't think Margaret wanted her entire family to know that she is bringing home several boxes of highly coveted chocolate from California. It seems they don't have a Trader Joe's in South Carolina?

Hmmm.

Maybe next time she'll rethink letting my husband win on the fire trucks.