namaste

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Truly, this blog is better than therapy.

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

divert your eyes

Do you want to know what I think?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Or so I thought.)

(Clearly I was mistaken.)

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

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

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

How astute.

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

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

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

Because I was almost destroyed.

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

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

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

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

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

(stupid) (stupid) (stupid!!)

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

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

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

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

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

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

But mostly, I'm scared.

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

I'm guessing a therapist is in order.

And some heavy-duty doses of Prozac.

what's in you wednesday

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hallelujah.

Amen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or something optimistic like that.

yay or nay?

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

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

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

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

Shhh. Don't tell him.

tricks of the trick-or-treat trade

Five-year-olds understand Halloween.

They understand that they are supposed to dress up in costume and go door-to-door collecting their body weight in candy. They understand that people in the neighborhood are likely to grab their cameras and gush that they are the cutest things that they've ever seen!

Five-year-olds understand that the day after Halloween, along with Easter morning and Christmas morning, is the only time during the year that mom and dad will grant them free reign to eat candy before breakfast. And because of the large quantity of candy consumed today, five-year-olds are now fully expecting that early in the morning on November 2 - before they even wake up - the tooth fairy will confiscate whatever candy remains.

But since five-year-olds don't yet have a full grasp of social etiquette, these are just a few of the things I (repeatedly) reinforced with our children, last night.

When people open the door, you keep your feet planted on the doormat. You should festively say, "Trick-or-Treat!" and when the people hand you candy, you politely say, "Thank you!" and then, as you retreat down the steps you should tell them, "Happy Halloween!"

You don't knock on the door, ring the door bell, knock, knock, BANG BANG BANG, ring the door bell, RING RING RING. You certainly don't try to OPEN the door and just walk in.

When your candy host opens the door, you don't storm in to the house, like you own the place. And when they bend down to offer you a treat, you don't say things like, "YUCK! I don't like that!" or "Ewww. Do you have anything else?" Whatever you do, please don't stuff your hand in to the bowl and try to take out more than what has been offered.

Please don't ask if the home owner has a dog that you can pet. But if by some chance you see that they do, please don't try to pick it up. And if the home owner has a bird, it's best not to share your opinion on the feathered species. "ICK. We don't like birds! They make a mess and poop everywhere and they are too loud!" might cause an awkward moment and cause your mother to blurt out something like, "Hmm. I doubt birds are louder or messier than children. Maybe I should throw a drape over your bed at night?"

Remember. If you decide to enjoy a piece of candy while you are out, please don't flip your discarded trash in to someone's nicely manicured landscaping. ESPECIALLY when you are standing on their doorstep and they are LOOKING right at you. Because then your mother will make you spend the next five minutes hunting in a starlight lily for a used Tootsie Roll lollipop stick.

Last but not least, if you happen to notice an odor with which you are unfamiliar when you are standing at the threshold of someone's home ... please, please, please don't hold your nose and loudly declare, "Yikes. I don't like this place. It really STINKS!"

Because that will cause your mother to look around and say, "I just found these kids wandering down the street. Do you have any idea who they might belong to?"

halloween at the homestead

Today was all about carving pumpkins.

Since today was Saturday and we had nothing else to do - we started carving this morning at around 10 AM.

This was an ideal start time, since we usually don't start until late afternoon - and by then - it becomes a cram session to get the pumpkin fully carved and lit before dusk.

The advantage of starting early is that we had plenty of time to separate seeds from pumpkin guts and roast them up to enjoy, later in the day.

Although what I remembered today is that separating seeds is quite an effort. It took me almost two hours and mid-way through that, I determined it probably would be easier to separate hydrogen from oxygen in a glass of water.

I don't know why it is that our children will lay down in a mud puddle, but the thought of putting their hands inside of the pumpkin and scooping out the innards, gave them the heebie jeebies.

But after they tried it once, there was no stopping them.

"Oh, it's MUSHY! It feels like ... squishy wishy..."

BRAINS!

(I'd like to interject here that I truly hope our children never ever squeeze brains through their clenched fists.)

Charlie carved the big pumpkin.

And after he meticulously cut the eyes and nose and mouth with teeth...

The children came along and in the process of touching, touching, touching the pumpkin - they knocked out two of his (fragile) teeth.

Shortly thereafter, William was running carrying his small pumpkin from inside to outside and he tripped. The pumpkin flew out of his hands, sailed 10 feet through the air, and cracked in half upon impact. My son was devastated.

The Bad Cop told him that's what happens when he runs carries his small pumpkin from outside to inside, repeatedly. The Good Cop stepped forward and said, "It's OK son. I'll fix your pumpkin up good as new."

Guess which cop I am?

Time's up.

Charlie brought in his staple gun, stapled the smashed parts back on to the original - and then painted the whole thing black and blue.

Then it was time to get the children in to their costumes. Although I had written about my dreams for Halloween costumes several weeks ago, I had absolutely no intention that our children would heed my advice about what they should wear, tonight. But alas, once we bought the 70th Anniversary disk set of the Wizard of Oz, they fell hook line and sinker for my idea.

This is William crying because he can see white around his eyes and I didn't do a good enough job putting on silver makeup (which for those interested - was totally safe. I Googled every single ingredient before I put it on the kids and read the Material Safety Data Sheets for anything that I wasn't absolutely sure of. Yay Google! How did people survive without it?!)

Here's William less than an hour later crying because he doesn't want a painted face and he wants for me to take it off now, now, now, now, NOW!

I obliged. But first, he had to pose for a picture.

Or two.

Look - it's Dorothy and Toto (who is actually a tiger) and the Wicked Witch of the West and the Tin Man and ... and ... and ... Buzz Lightyear. Space Ranger.

Henry was supposed to be the scarecrow - and although I had a costume for him - it would have been easier to separate hydrogen from oxygen than get him in it.

Then we walked over to our neighbor's house to drop in for their son's birthday party. We could only stay for 15 minutes because we needed to head over to the annual chili cook off. We would only stay there for 15 minutes too, because we needed to be at our other neighbor's house to say hello and visit. We were only supposed to stay there for 15 minutes so we could go to church.

But we stayed for almost an hour.

So we missed church.

Before you know it, it was time to rush home and go trick or treating. And the kids haven't really had any dinner because duh! duh! DUH! why did I take the kids out at all when I should have kept them home and fed them a nice meal instead of running all over God's Creation to visit with people. Who we really enjoyed seeing but dang that I don't always take on more than I should.

Charlie took the kids trick-or-treating first.

They came home after 30 minutes out and told me that they were finished.

But another 10 minutes later, the girls were re-energized and ready to tour the neighborhood, again. So I took them out and for the next 60 minutes we had a blast.

Our girls are so cute. When we would walk up to a door, they would run to ring the doorbell. Once the person would open the door they'd say, "HAPPY HALLOWEEN!" and then, without fail, both girls would poke their head inside the people's door and ask, "What's that noise? Do you have a dog?" They were considerably more interested in the dogs that they might see, than they were any amount of candy they would receive.

Even though I was interjecting, "Oh no, please just say thank you and let's go!" My children have absolutely NO reservations. So there were at least 10 houses in our neighborhood where I got the full tour. It would start with the girls wanting to pet the dog. And since just about every house had a dog, and just about everyone said yes. The people would be gracious enough to invite my children inside and then, walk around showing them where they live. We saw that our neighbors had an assortment of dogs, cats, hamsters and birds. And our kids now want all of the above.

There were a few houses we visited that had young tenants. They would just open the door - toss the candy in the children's bags - and close the door before there was much conversation. But on more than one occasion, Elizabeth (aka; Dorothy) would stick her arm down to stop the door from being closed on her, and when the person would give her a startled look, she'd ask, "WHAT DO YOU THINK OF MY COSTUME? Did you look at it? Do you know who I am? Do you think I look beautiful?!"

This would always prompt a brief discussion, wherein my daughter would elaborate that she is Dorothy and then, she'd close her eyes and click her little heels together and chant, "There's no place like home. There's no place like home..."

Once we finally got back, and although the kids told me that they wanted to keep trick or treating because they weren't tired and they could stay up all night long, everyone was starting to show signs of fatigue. Carolyn put her head down and fell asleep in the middle of eating dinner and when I woke her up to put her in the tub, she looked at me and groggily said, "I'm Melting. MELTINNNGGG!"

Funny. After the crazed week I've had, including today when my children waked me up woke me up (that was an edit. I wrote this late last night and fell asleep before I could proofread it) this morning at 4:30 AM, because ... because ... Mom ... Mom ... Guess What? I have to tell you something ... Guess What ... Mom ... Mom ... OPEN YOUR EYES. Guess What? TODAY. IS. HALLOWEEN.

I'd have to say I feel the same exact way.

what's in you wednesday

"Carolyn! Elizabeth! Where are your shoes?!" I asked my daughters this past Sunday morning, as we (or rather *I*) rushed to get out of the house before the boys woke up.

"I dunno..." came the reply.

I frustratedly began looking under couches, beds and chairs for my children's shoes. Shoes that they had on the night before. Shoes that I asked them to put away before they went to bed. Shoes that are brand spanking SPANKING new.

Twenty minutes later, I found two right shoes.

As of this writing, both lefts are still missing in action.

So I had to dig up new shoes and load everyone in the car before swinging by my neighbor's house to pick her up. While Charlie and the boys stayed home, the five of us were planning to attend the Challenged Athletes Foundation (CAF) 1/2 Ironman triathlon that was being held in La Jolla. We were going not only because I thought this would be a wonderful spectator event for our children to see, but also to support my neighbor's friend who was riding 56 miles on a tandem bicycle, with a 15-year old boy who is blind.

I've seen information on the CAF before. I know that it is a group that helps to encourage and support athletes who have physical disabilities. But what I didn't expect when I arrived at the race course, is that I would spend the next several hours in absolute awe.

I hear people all the time, who say they can't do things.

They can't do things because they've got a bad knee, back, shoulder ... thumb.

For any one who considers a physical impairment a good reason not to do something, take a look at the little boy on the right. His name is Cody. He's eight-years-old and a bilateral amputee. When we arrived on the race course, he was just crossing the finish line.

This is Cameron. He's also eight-years-old and a bilateral amputee. When we went for a walk on the slick sandstone rocks down by the water, he was running around on his prosthetic legs, after having completed his first race.

This is Rudy, a gold medalist in the Paralympics. He's also a bilateral amputee and an Ironman triathlete. If you're unfamiliar with the Ironman, it's a 2.4-mile swim followed by a 112-mile bike ride followed by a 26.2-mile run. Rudy's face was not only plastered all over the banners at this big event, last night I happened to notice that he was featured in this month's edition of Triathlete magazine.

So while I walked around this event on Sunday ... while I watched people with prosthetic legs run across the finish line, and swimmers without limbs - brave their way through the ocean waves - and blind people riding tandem on a bicycle ... tears flowed out of my eyes and down my cheeks. And not because I was feeling sad or sorry.

But because WOW. WOW. WOW.

Who EXACTLY is the challenged one?

Cameron's mom told me that she had met Cody's family after Cody had been on the Ellen Degeneres show (and Oprah and Dateline). And through Cody, Cameron became involved with the CAF. Once that happened, Cameron's whole outlook and demeanor has changed. He was outfitted with new prosthetic 'running legs' and almost instantly, gained so much more courage and self confidence. His mother credits his incredible transformation, to his involvement with sports and interfacing with people who have similar disabilities.

It wasn't very long ago, people who had physical disabilities would be severely limited in what they could do. But to see these people participate and inspire one another and excel ... and to see the superstar status that so many of them have achieved for their sports?

It's beyond awesome.

I took the girls up to the jump house and while they waited their turn, a little boy - who was also a bilateral amputee - had taken off his prosthetic legs and was scooting around on the ground, using his strong arms to lift and propel himself through the air.

My children were quite a bit scared. They didn't know what to think. His legs were over ... there ... and he is over ... here ... and he's moving around so fast and ... getting very close to them ... a little too close ... and ... MOMMY!!

Before they started screaming (too loudly) I pulled them in to a big hug and squatting down to their eye level, told them that people come in all shapes and sizes. They weren't entirely convinced, so I asked them, why is it that they have brown hair and William has blond hair? When they told me, "God made us that way!" I explained that God made these people different, too. And while it might seem unusual to us - it's just because it's new and the more we spend time with people who are different - the more we will see that we really aren't that much different at all.

So the girls made another new friend. And then another, and another and another as they stood waiting for their turn on the mechanical surfboard. While I was waiting for Elizabeth to get launched off, a 10-year old boy who had been standing, on one leg, directly behind us in line was called by his mother. She bolted up to us yelling, "Michael! Michael! We need to go! Your teammates are coming across the finish line and we need to get over there and cheer for them! Come on!"

Since he had been patiently waiting and was next up, it was obvious that Michael was pained at the thought of losing his place in line and at that very moment, was more interested in taking one last ride on the mechanical surfboard than seeing his friends cross the finish line. So he stalled for a moment, undoubtedly debating if it was worth asking his mother if he could go one more time.

"Come on!" she yelled over her shoulder as she turned to walk away. But then she stopped and turned back to look at her son with an expression of panic. "Michael," she asked. "Where's your leg? Oh my Lord. MICHAEL! Where's your LEG?!"

The boy didn't answer and instead, looked longingly at the mechanical surfboard. Grabbing at her son's arm she repeated, "Michael. Look at me. Look at me. WHERE IS YOUR LEG?"

Michael shrugged his shoulders and said, "I dunno. I took it off to play. I put it somewhere."

As the mother lifted her arms up in to the air for what looked like a request for prompt heavenly guidance, the people standing in line all began looking around for the young boy's prosthetic limb and a few actually mobilized, searching for this child's leg. After a few tense minutes, it was found resting against a nearby tree.

When the mother ran over to grab her son's leg, I said to my bug-eyed girls, "Just think, I was mad at you because you lost your shoes."

*******

So what is your impairment to getting out and doing something active?

As for me, it would have to be the 12-hour work days I've been putting in for the past few weeks. But hopefully, I'll be able to get back in to a good exercise routine, soon. Not only do I have a 60-mile walk coming up in a few weeks, but two weeks after my walk, I registered to compete in the Muddy Buddy race, which will benefit the CAF.

I can't believe how much I have going on right now and I'm a little stunned to think that I'd sign up for another race in the midst of it all. I truly think I might have lost my mind somewhere.

Chances are, it's with my daughters two left shoes.

my baby is growing up

Free at last ...

Free at last ...

Thank God, Almighty!

I am free at last!

Notice the duct tape holding the frame of the crib together? We really get our use out of furniture around here. I had been hoping we'd be using this particular piece of furniture until Henry was three, but he's made it abundantly clear he's ready to move on.

Once he showed me his escape maneuver, I put him back in his crib. But when I went to check on the boys a short while later, I found that he had climbed out again - and was now tucked in to bed - and sleeping soundly with his big brother.

One day he was sleeping in his crib.

The next day he wasn't.

I've really got to stop blinking.

good people

I'm very lucky to have so many good people in my life.

There's my mom who has unwaveringly supported me, my entire life, and will drop anything at a moment's notice to fly out and be by my side if I need her. There are my in-laws who have made numerous trips to San Diego to visit with us. There are the random packages that we will receive from Amazon from Aunt Sue, filled with the most awesome children's books you could imagine. There are the packages filled with home baked goods and hand crafted toys made by Aunt Kathy. There are the boxes of dress up clothes that Kathleen is notorious for sending out.

There are my sisters Eileen and Janet who never forget our children's birthdays and send them the most adorable presents. There is my sister, Beth, who has provided approximately 95% of the toys that we have in this house. At least once every two months, we will receive a box packed to the TOP with trains, puzzles, books, Legos, and you name it. Beth once packaged up and shipped out to California - from Massachusetts - a Little Tikes kitchen because she thought our children would love it. Which they did.

But the amount of money that Beth has spent on shipping costs over the past five years, would probably cover the purchase price of a new Smart Car. My freshman year, she signed me up for the Pepperidge Farm dessert of the month club. In doing so, she became largely responsible for at least 12 of the 15 pounds I put on my first year in college.

Just yesterday, I received a year supply worth of pharmaceuticals from Beth. The pharmacy where Beth works (as a pharmacist) was clearing out inventory and had a huge sale on various over-the-counter medications. My sister picked up a wide assortment of things that she thought we could use, and shipped them out.

Her timing, as always, was impeccable since I had just completed a check of our First Aid cabinet and noticed that almost all of our medications had expired in July of 2009. What are the odds of that?

There are my numerous friends who call, send e-mails and just drop by to check in. There are my fellow triplet moms - Jessica, Debbie and Jeanmarie, who I meet with at least once a month for play dates and companionship. There is my next door neighbor Karen, who is the best next door neighbor anyone could ever ask for. Although our paths rarely cross these days, she once spent an entire night with me at the emergency room with three vomiting toddlers.

There are my neighbors Jenny and Cindy who will invite me to their homes once a month to knit. There's Dawn who motivates me to grow stronger both physically and spiritually. There's my friend Lorie who got me kicked out of a Calculus class in college, but is and undoubtedly always will be, one of my closest allies. (We never did receive Shayna's birthday invitation. But I still don't think we can make it.)

There are my coworkers. There's Felicia who has one of the biggest hearts of anyone I've ever met. There's my boss, Dave. There's Lee and Nick and Marla and Jennifer and Emily and Roxanna and Denise and Maureen - many of whom live on the opposite side of the country, but all of whom were so generous in supporting my walk (and marathon).

There's our lab coordinator, Bob, who carved time out of his busy schedule last week to participate at our meeting in Santa Barbara. Not just because he wanted to come out from Texas and spend some time in California with our team, but because he obviously knew that Charlie and I would need him to help peddle our six seater Surrey up and down the boardwalk.

And Bob, who was sitting in the back talking on his cell phone to his broker, didn't even get the slightest bit irate when Charlie and I both jumped out of the driver seats to grab a bottle of water the children dropped - and in doing so - caused the surrey to veer down a slight embankment and in to a cactus. In reality, that small scale crash was probably less painful than the year Bob came to visit and we took him on the first camping trip he'd been on in over 30 years and had him sleeping in our itty bitty backpacking tent. He's a trooper.

There are my hilariously funny first cousins. Candy and Lisa and Regina and insert the names of at least 50 others, here. There is my cousin, Margaret, who I consider to be my fifth sister and one of my dearest friends. She is capable of putting me in a fit of hysterical laughter like very few people and is one of the only people I've stayed up all night, talking with. Did I ever share the memory of Margaret jumping off a ski lift, while wearing skis, when it was 15 feet in the air? She landed face first in a snow bank and created a two-foot-deep snow angel. (True story.)

She stood up, unscathed, laughing so hard she could hardly breathe. At the time, she was a beginner and she was supposed to get off the chairlift at the intermediate run, but she didn't know how. So, she opted instead to JUMP off the chairlift before it got to the advanced run at the top. Because surely that's a safer bet than ... you know ... asking to ride the chairlift back to the bottom?

Yesterday, I received a package from Margaret. In addition to an extremely generous donation for the Breast Cancer walk, she mailed out several books for our kids. And a whole lot of hugs and kisses for me. She's a keeper.

And then.

There's my cousin Anne Marie.

Not only is she the daughter of my beautiful Godmother, Aunt Carolyn - she is a professional hair stylist. And she is a professional baker. An unbelievably gifted baker. As you take a look at her blog, just know that I lack those talent genes, completely. (Although I did recently cut the children's hair again and if I don't say so myself, I think I'm IMPROVING.)

Three weeks ago, I saw Anne Marie for the first time in years, while I was in South Carolina. Since I had really come unglued at Uncle Bill's wake on Friday night, I wasn't feeling very optimistic that I'd be able to hold it all together during his funeral mass. Anne Marie sat next to me in the church and while I was preparing myself, emotionally, to get up and read my eulogy in front of Aunt Grace and the congregation, she leaned over and kindly asked if I was alright. When it took me a moment to answer, she whispered that if I could make it through my reading, she would make me a BIG box of chocolate fudge.

"Really?" I asked. "You'll make me chocolate fudge?"

Suddenly, my mind was distracted and I didn't feel the overwhelming urge to sob.

"With nuts?"

"You bet. I'll make you anything you want if you can get through the eulogy."

So I did. And she did.

The BIG box of chocolate fudge arrived yesterday.

And this is all that remains today.

Between Anne Marie and Margaret, I think they are largely responsible for 8 of the 10 pounds I've put on this week. Thankfully, both of them have committed to doing the 3-Day Breast Cancer Walk with me, next year in Washington, DC.

OK. So only Margaret has committed.

But I'm working on Anne.

yowzer, is there a dermatologist in the house?

The world is big, but the web makes it small.

Not long ago, I crossed paths with a woman named Maija who lives in Alaska, just north of the Arctic Circle. If not for the internet, I would never know of this woman, nor she of I. Maija's existence up there in the great white north is so different than my own, that I love to read her blog and get a glimpse in to the rugged life that she lives.

Yesterday, Maija posted about a serious health condition that she is facing. I could stay up all night Googling "blisters, oozing, painful skin rash" and come up with several diagnoses that would probably all be incorrect. Or, I could just link to her blog with the plea that if anyone who has any medical training (or has experienced something similar themself) has the slightest idea of what might be ailing this woman - and what she can do to get some relief - that they please step forward and lend their advice.

Bonus points if you live close enough that you can drop in and bring her dinner.

Here's a link to her most recent blog entry. Brace yourself.

A huge amount of thanks in advance for any advice offered.

the henster meister

For a long time now, I've been wanting to write about Henry - his sleep habits, what's happening with weaning and how the little guy is adjusting to life here at the homestead.


Seeing as Henry is wide awake at this late hour and I don't want to clean up from the day and cause a ruckus (that's as good of an excuse as any why to skip scrubbing toilets), I figure now is a good time to jot down some thoughts on our little firecracker.

Since I've been traveling so much over the past sixteen weeks and Henry has not been with me for a large portion of that time - and I'm extremely unwilling to haul along and use a pump - my supply is just about gone. One might think that means weaning is complete, but that's not quite the case.

Gravity is a cruel thing. Especially after birthing four babies and nursing all of them, including one of them until he is 27 months old. So sorry in advance for the TMI, but my chest looks like two sadly deflated balloons. But that does not stop Henry, in the least, from thinking that my chest region is the most glorious thing ever. "Nurse, Mama? NURSE?" he'll ask me at random times throughout the day. Whenever I scoop him up and hold him in the crook of my arm, he'll gently put his hands on my face and ask again, "Nurse?"

If I oblige him, or if he happens to spot me climbing out of the shower, he'll throw his arms over his head and with a huge smile yell, "YAY HENRY!!" But if I deny him, he'll bury his head and sob. With big, rolling tears.

Sadly for my son, more and more he's been hearing the words, "Sorry little guy." I'm not telling him this because my supply is all but gone and he is 27-months old (!!), but rather because he needs to eat and sleep and I can see a direct trend between how well he eats and sleeps and how frequently he nurses. And when I'm around? There's nothing more he'd rather do.

Whenever I'm out of town, I get a daily report from Charlie. He'll tell me things like, "Henry ate a 12-inch pizza for dinner and then promptly fell asleep for the next 14 hours."

So weaning is definitely underway. Most days I'll nurse once. But no more than twice. And sometimes, not at all. I could probably stop altogether, and some would probably suggest that I do stop altogether, but quite honestly, there are times when I love being able to scoop him up and pacify him for a while. I fully realize that there is nothing nutritive about this process. But since I'm not ready to be done yet - we're not.

Henry does still have a pacifier, which I've intentionally lost on more than one occasion, and then promptly found again - because the importance of peace and quiet can not be overstated. Henry has dubbed his pacifier "Bucky" which he'll ask for by name. Charlie, in turn, has dubbed me, "Mommy Bucky" because up until recently, it appeared that I was evolving in to a living pacifier.

Every night, he's been going to sleep between 7 and 8 and since I've stopped nursing him first thing in the morning, he is now sleeping until 6:30 or 7 AM. He had been waking up between 5 and 5:30 and I would nurse him in our bed. But some mornings he'd wake up earlier. And gosh, you know, after several months of this, I was ready to SNAP. So I cut out that early morning session - he screamed for a few days, I contemplated locking him in the garage - and now, he sleeps for around 11-12 hours at night like a champ. (Except tonight.)

Another advantage of cutting back on the nursing is that he naps better, too.

What had been a 45-minute catnap during the mid-day is now at least a 2-hour nap in the afternoon. The key is getting him to nap around 1:00 PM, so that he is awake by 3:00 PM. Today, we didn't get him down until almost 2:30 and we should have woken him up by no later than 4:00. But I got distracted coloring with the kids and making spaghetti sauce for dinner and only realized that Henry was still asleep when we were loading up to go to church at 5:45 PM.

Hence the reason he is still awake at 11:00 PM.

(WTG, MOM!)

Of course I could probably get him right to sleep if I just brought him out and nursed him now, which I just may do because I can already see tomorrow is shaping up to be a rough day. But instead, I'm sipping my wine - updating my blog - and hoping that he'll doze off soon.

Is it terribly cruel that I'm only nursing when it is convenient for me?

(Probably so. Don't answer that.)

Worthy to note is that our five-year-olds are fully aware of the nursing ritual. Carolyn for the most part, has an endless supply of patience with her little brother, and has sweetly told me that when she grows up, she will have milk in her chest so that they can nurse Henry for me. While I really do appreciate her gesture, I'm optimistic he'll be fully weaned by then and I doubt my daughter will feel the same willingness to help in 25 years.

William on the other hand, tends to get quite annoyed with our youngest. Especially when Henry ambushes his toy and clothing supply that he has segregated in various boxes in his closet. Sometimes, I'll hear William's frustrated voice telling his little brother to STOP TOUCHING HIS STUFF! When Henry does not immediately cooperate, William will ask, "Hey Henry? You wanna nurse?" because he knows that there is no faster way to dispose of his little brother than to pass him off on me and my deflated balloons.

Inevitably, whenever William makes this suggestion, Henry will cheer, "YAY HENRY!" and come running - which effectively, leaves William alone. And while I'd like to get upset that my son is offering up something he has no right to offer up, I'm actually very impressed (and extremely appreciative) that he doesn't resort to physical violence.

Unlike his sister, Elizabeth, who when Henry got in to her princess dolls last week, tried stuffing him in to a box for the poor children (aka: Salvation Army).

On the upside, she did throw his Bucky in with him...

big questions all around

We had a wonderful time this past week in Santa Barbara.

Or rather, Charlie had a wonderful time in Santa Barbara while I was in business meetings.

Since my husband grew up in this beautiful coastal town, nestled between the Santa Ynez mountains and Pacific Ocean, while I worked, he spent time at his old stomping grounds and visiting with high school friends.

One afternoon, he took the children by the house where he grew up.

Slowly driving by, he pointed out to the kids that this is where he lived when he was a little boy. Then, he drove by the cemetery where his mother was buried 17 years ago. Climbing out of the car, he told the children that they need to be very respectful in a cemetery. He took the children to his mom's grave and had everyone stand around in a small circle, holding hands. My husband told the kids that they were going to be quiet for just a moment and say a little prayer.

As they stood holding hands in a circle, with their heads nodded, the children were whispering, "Dad. Dad. Dad! DAD!" When he finally looked up, the kids, not surprisingly asked, "Where's your mom?"

My husband tried to explain that when she died her spirit went to heaven and her body was placed in the ground. Then he pointed to her headstone and said, "She is right there." The kids looked at him incredulously and asked, "She's in there?"

When Charlie nodded yes, William tried to lift the headstone up with his hands. Once he determined that he couldn't, he made up a game of jumping from one to the next, across the cemetery. While their brother was distracted with something new, the girls stood and cried because they really wanted to see their grandmother and show her their new outfits.

My husband told our daughters that although they might not be able to see her, she can always see them. As Charlie was relaying this story to me, it just further confirmed what we've been feeling for a long time.

Life is short.

Family is important.

Follow your heart.

Everything will work out.

And that is why, change for us is coming soon.

We've been faced with some very big questions over the past few weeks.

What do we want to do?

Where do we want to live?

When will all of this happen?

How will all of this happen?

We think we have it figured out. But details won't emerge until they are confirmed. Until then, we're trying our best to answer the questions are children are posing. Why is the sky blue? Why is the grass green? Why are clouds white? Why can't boys have babies? Why can't girls have peanuts and go potty standing up?

Then there was the question Carolyn asked the other day as we were sitting in the Santa Barbara restaurant where Charlie worked as a teenager. As she was nibbling on a burger she asked, "Mom, Dad? Where do cheeseburgers come from?"

I said, "A store" Charlie said, "A cow" and William shook his head and said, "A cheeseburger tree. Of course!"

news on the street

So, regarding my post on Wednesday?

That was some outstanding feedback!!

First there was my cousin Margaret who said she wanted to do the 3-Day walk in Hawaii. (Maggie, this wasn't even an option. Did you look at the list of cities?!)

Then there was Jen who said she wants to do the 3-Day walk in Washington, DC. (Jen, this is an option. Well done, I'd love to walk with you in the Nation's Capital!!)

Then there was my mother who said she'd like to do a walk, but sixty miles is way too far, and why don't we do the one-mile lung cancer walk in South Carolina?

Thanks Mom. I love how you always give me an out.

As of now, it's looking like the 3-Day Breast Cancer walk in Nation's Capital October 8-10, 2010 with the Caine Halter Lung Cancer 1-mile walk in Greenville, South Carolina sometime in November 2010. Both of those events should be easy to attend since all sources indicate we will be living somewhere in that area within the next 12 months.

(Oh yes. I did just kind of sorta not really make an announcement.)

Meanwhile, the children have reached the narking stage. They are tattling on each other - and Charlie and I - constantly.

For instance, this morning, William told me that yesterday daddy took him to the beach and forgot to put his hat on and he got a terrible, terrible sunburn. When I looked at his face I told him that it didn't look like he was burned at all. He gave me a frown and said, "Yeah. But I could HAVE."

what's in you wednesday

This past weekend, we had our fourth Pink Lemonade Project stand in the beautiful La Jolla Cove. The day was truly, truly gorgeous. Even though there was a slight marine layer that was hovering over the water - and a fog bank rolled in just after noon, the day was spectacular.

(Unfortunately, I lack the ability to post pictures, so those will have to wait until I return home from my business trip, this weekend.)

For those adults that manned the lemonade stand, we spent much of the day alternating between chasing after children and collecting donations for our 3-Day Breast Cancer walk. At one point, a man in his 50's walked up to our table and once he heard our spiel about five mothers of triplets walking sixty miles in three days for the Susan G. Komen Foundation, in a voice not much more than a whisper he said, "I lost my wife five months ago."

My friends Jessica and Debbie were standing next to me at the table and all of us gasped our condolences when he shared this information. We heaped upon him handfuls of chocolate chip cookies, silicone bracelets and lemonade. And then we fell in to a respectful if not awkward silence, while he pointed to two men who were with him and added, "These are my two brothers. We live in Pittsburg, Pennsylvania but we are visiting San Diego because my wife always wanted to come here." Then he said with a sad smile, "I'm finishing up her bucket list."

We collected his generous donation and he walked away. But after standing near the sea wall for a few minutes, he came back and said, "She was diagnosed four years ago. It went away for a while, but then it came back last year. It hit her so hard. There was nothing any one could do. But she never gave up trying."

His wife's name is Lorraine. She was 53-years old when she died this past May from complications resulting from breast cancer. I told him that I would remember Lorraine during my walk. And I will. Just like I will keep doing something, anything, until we can find a cure.

Oh, that is such a lofty goal and I feel like such a head-in-the-clouds idiot for typing that out.

But I'll tell you - it really feels better doing something than nothing. And it feels pretty awesome that in less than two months, our walking team has raised over $11,000.00 for breast cancer research, education, screening and treatment.

During my recent trip back to South Carolina, I talked with my cousins late in to the night, about getting the whole family together for a reunion. We discussed where and when the reunion would be, and the possibility of completing a 3-Day walk (or something similar) as a precursor. Whether or not something like this will happen, remains to be seen, but it is definitely on the drawing board.

But this got me thinking. Why don't we organize an event like that?

I get so many e-mails from people who tell me that they wish they lived closer so that they could join me or participate in an event. And well, why the heck not? There are races and walks all over the country. And seeing as I love to travel, I'd be willing to go just about anywhere.

So where would you go - and what would you do?

Could you walk 60 miles in 3 days?

And if so - where would you do it?

where dreams come true and people go bankrupt

Our trip to Disneyland was really fun.

But we are now totally broke and will be living off of rice for the rest of the year.

When we began to plan this trip last week, we had originally intended to stay at the Disneyland Resort. But when Charlie called up and found out that a two night stay at the resort and one day passes to Disneyland would be a whopping $1,567.00 (ONE THOUSAND FIVE HUNDRED AND SIXTY SEVEN DOLLARS), we laughed and laughed. Because surely they were kidding. Who charges seven hundred dollars a night for a standard hotel room during a recession?


I'll tell you who: Walt Disney and his little partner, Mickey.

They weren't kidding. They really do charge $700.00 for a standard hotel room at the Resort.

On a weeknight.

In the Fall.

So we made alternative arrangements.

But even with our savvy planning, two nights and one day visit at the Most Magical Place on earth was shockingly expensive. Let's look at some numbers.


Charlie and I had to pay to get in. That was $72.00 each, or $144.00. Henry is under the age of three, so he was free. Since we went on the triplets birthday, they were also free. The 21 buttons that they gave to us were free. (What the heck is up with all the buttons?! Can I smelt them down and make coins??)

Six classic Mickey Mouse ear hats with embroidery, $97.28. While I was forking over five twenties, I tried not to ponder that the material used to create these hats couldn't have cost more than four dollars.

Instead, I tried to fill my mind with how awesome it was that these hats will last a lifetime. Or at least until the children outgrow the youth sizes that I purchased within the next six months. Gah. I should have bought the adult sizes and lined them with cotton balls.


Breakfast at The Inn with Minnie and Friends was $125.00. The chintzy birthday cakes that came in even chintzier plastic treasure chests (two princess and one pirate themed) were $15.00 each, for a total of $45.00. Not including tax.


This "HEY EVERYBODY WE'RE AT DISNEY IN 2009!" family photo was $35.00.


Two salted pretzels and two boxes of popcorn were $18.00.

One Buzz Lightyear toy. One Buzz Lightyear Laser. One box of Monster Inc. figurines. One turtle dude from Finding Nemo. Just a few small miscellaneous toys that we picked up at the Disney Store because it was their birthday (and how could Henry not get something when his siblings did?) $84.00.

Then there were the shuttle passes from the hotel to the park. That only cost $12.00.

One breakfast. One lunch. And two dinners at the hotel. $325.00.

Room service for six hot fudge sundaes with candles. $21.52.

Lodging. $378.00. That included parking.

My calculator is missing or I'd give you a grand total.

It could have been worse. If we had to pay for the kids, that would have added $248.00 to our tab. And, I actually refused the children's requests to buy balloons. They each wanted a Mickey Mouse balloon, but when I found out that helium latex balloons were SEVEN DOLLARS EACH, I had to put my foot down. Like I'm going to pay TWENTY EIGHT DOLLARS for four balloons that will either be let go of, or popped, or drive me clinically insane within seconds. I also steered William away from the foam sword and shield, which saved another $20.00.

And when a woman dressed up as a Fairy Godmother walked up to my children, holding a basket of brightly wrapped papers tied with bows, and offered one to each of my children and in a singsong voice told us that this was a solicitation for the Bippidi Boppity Boutique, where the kids could go in and have their faces painted and hair styled - I considered possibly saying yes, until I caught a glimpse of how much these "makeovers" would cost and then, while my children begged, "Please Mommy, PLEASE!" I once again, said NO.

I'm sure my children would love to have makeup applied and their hair highlighted and spiked, but I'm not paying $75.00 for my five-year-olds to look like they are 20, until they take a bubble bath in a few short hours and all the makeup and glitter goes down the drain.

Other thoughts...

We were there on a Wednesday, middle of the week, school is in session and it was RAINING.

Still, there were lines everywhere. When you consider Disney has a global draw, it should probably have come as no surprise that there was a 45 minute wait for Space Mountain and 70 minute wait for The Matterhorn. But I was surprised.

A bit agitated, even.

Absolutely no one was in a hurry. Everyone went painfully slow. It's almost as if they are doing it intentionally to limit the number of rides that you can fit in on any given day so that you need to come back again. And spend more money. And then, even more money because you'll need to visit the adjacent Park, which requires an entirely separate ticket to enter.

Does it sound like I'm being cheap?

With age, it seems to be getting worse. I've already started scowling at my kids every time we go shopping and whisper through clenched teeth, "You need to get a JOB!" the same way my mother did to me.

How old do you need to be to have a paper route? Six?

While I appreciate that Disney is a business, I don't appreciate feeling like I've been robbed. And it's not just at the Park. Walking through Target yesterday afternoon, my children spotted the new Disney's Snow White movie that has recently been released on DVD. It was $19.99. For a little piece of plastic, $20.00? Oh yes - I know that there are artists and technology and packaging and yadayadayada ... but man, I am in the wrong line of work.

I should be in PLASTICS.

Then there were two separate Disney Princess dress-up doll sets that the girls told me that they REALLY wanted. At $35.00 a piece, that's another $70.00. I didn't buy them, because I just know that within a day of those items being in our house, they would be lost or broken or the itty bitty tiny shoes would be sucked up in to my unforgiving vacuum. But how much do these things really cost to make? I'm guessing no more than pennies.

Even though I don't buy these items myself, Disney is everywhere. It's on toothbrushes, pajamas, cups, plates, cups and underwear. There's no escaping it and kids have gotta have it, like a druggie's gotta gotta gotta have crack.

I'm trying not to dwell on the expense, because we really had a wonderful time. Charlie and I spent a lot of much-needed time talking while we waited in line and since it took us over two hours to meet the Princesses, we got the rest of our lives completely sorted out.

But I think that for anyone who might be planning a trip to the Magic Kingdom, my suggestion is to fill your wallet up to the brink with money, and then just PRACTICE opening it and SHAKING EVERY LAST DIME OUT. And then stand around waiting for the money to reappear. Chances are by the time you're ready to give up, it will finally be your turn.

And almost instantly, you'll forget the misery of it all and just bask in the wonder on your children's faces.

Because it's ALL worth it.

It really, really is.

Now just keep cheerfully repeating that to yourself as you review your bank account statement. Soon enough, you will not only believe it - you'll be ready to plan your next trip.