ponytails!

I'm teaching the children how to pull their hair (and each other's hair) in to ponytails today.

That way whenever I'm out of town...

They'll have the hair management support they need.

It's awesome to have so many styling opportunities in our house.

business travel

This past week, I was on a business trip to southern Florida.

Once I stepped out of the airport and in to a beautiful blue day, I suddenly missed palm trees and balmy breezes very much. Of course, I made the mistake of telling my husband that and he's now trying to move our family to Santa Barbara. While it hasn't been that cold, he's decided he misses wearing flip flops and slathering our children with sunscreen 360 days a year.

On day two of my trip, Charlie sent me a text message with the following picture of Elizabeth.

Apparently, she'd asked her father to pull her hair back in a bow and he said, "Sorry, I don't know how to do that." She gave him a quizzical look and asked, "What do you mean, 'You don't know how to do that?'"

Charlie replied, "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I really don't know how to pull your hair back in a bow. That's in your mother's department." According to my husband, she looked at him like he'd sprung two heads and stammered, "But? I ... I .... I .... I don't understand. You're an ADULT. Right?"

On day three, Charlie sent me a text message that read, "Stop fighting. Stop fighting. Stop fighting. STOP FIGHTING. OH MY GOD, STOP FIGHTING!"

Later in the day he sent me a text message that read, "Jenny, YOUR CHILDREN are driving me INSANE IN THE MEMBRANE." He called me that night to tell me he was feeling overwhelmed. He'd had a Cub Scout meeting that night and although he'd cleaned the house while the kids were in school, they came home and "disturbed" his perfect order. He needed to tidy up and finish pulling things out for his meeting, so he asked the kids to walk the dog.

Now, he's been asking the kids to help with the dog, but their idea of walking him is to take him outside and drag him around the yard before dragging him back in to the house - where he promptly poops down the entire hallway. Wouldn't you know, that's exactly what happened, seconds before he had Tiger Cubs (and their parents) arrive at our house for the den meeting.

"Please don't leave me, again," my husband pleaded.

On day four, Charlie sent me a picture of the children, gathered around the table, working on their homework. It's truly an exercise in extreme patience to have three seven-year-olds sit down and do things of an academic nature after being in school all day, so I was impressed.

Until ten minutes later, when he sent me this picture.

I arrived home, today, just after a torrential downpour swept through the area. When I walked in the door, I noticed that one of the children's winter coats and backpacks was still outside on the front steps. When I picked them up, they were dripping with water, literally SOAKED.

My husband didn't immediately notice the saturated items in my hand, when he threw his arms around me and hugged with all of his might. When he finally stepped back and wiped away what I think were tears of joy and relief, he stared in astonishment at the items in my hand and asked, "Wow, where'd you find that? I've been looking for those things since Wednesday!"

I'm supposed to go away again, next month.

Maybe I shouldn't.

now, where is that cape?

Henry attended his first birthday party, yesterday.

His siblings have been attending birthday parties since they were infants - and Henry has tagged along to several along the way - but this was the first party that Henry, and Henry alone, had been invited to attend.

It was a big deal.

I made it a big deal, because for the past four-and-a-half-years, Henry hasn't had any friends of his own. He's the little brother of the triplets. The little guy that spends every play date he's ever attended, chasing the bigger kids around. He seems to like the role of always being "it" but I don't.

I've tried to coordinate play dates for him, with kids his own age and have actually said to absolute strangers, "Hi, you don't know me, but it looks like you have a son approximately the same age as my son, you wanna get together sometime?"

There are a number of parenting challenges when you work full-time. Coordinating social activities for your preschooler is but one of them. Although it probably would help my coordination efforts if Henry was always with me, when I approach the parents of potential playmates.

The party was at 2:30 and since I needed to pick up a gift first, I had planned to leave the house at 1:00. But as it always happens, things popped up that required resolution. Like lunch for the kids. I mean, come on. Didn't I just feed you breakfast a few hours ago?

At 1:30, I realized I needed to walk out the door, right that very second, or we'd be late. And I hate being late to birthday parties. Especially when it's my son's very first one and it was only scheduled to last an hour. Including cake consumption.

So I bundled Henry in to his many layers of winter gear and we rushed out the front door, only to realize that the van was covered in snow and ice. For the next several minutes, I ran around looking for the vehicular snow removal equipment (i.e., scraper) because it was missing from where it was supposed to be and .... CHARLIE!!!!

Help!

Me!

Another several minutes later, equipment was found and I began the snow removal process. Which took some time, because I also removed the snow and ice that had accumulated on the top of our extraordinarily lonnng van when I remembered that last year, I almost crashed when a huge chunk of ice slid off and slammed in to my windshield from the not-fully-deiced car in front of me. I'd prefer to avoid unnecessary accidents.

By the time I buckled Henry in and pulled out of the driveway, it was 1:52. I have exactly 38 minutes to drive to Target - in one direction - pick out a present, wrap it, and drive to the birthday party, in the exact opposite direction. We make record time and arrive at Target by 2:02. We are then in and out of Target within eight minutes. It could've been five, if I wasn't totally distracted by all the shiny and unnecessary items on Aisle 2.

With our gift in hand, we rush out to the car to wrap it - using the paper, tape, scissors and ribbon I'd thought to bring from home. Yet another challenge of working full-time: I wrap more presents on the front seat of the car ~ on my way to parties ~ than I wrap anywhere else. I've come to terms with the fact that in my current situation, I'll never be so prepared as to have a birthday gift ready to go, more than thirty-five minutes before a party commences.

I'm cutting and taping, and beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, we'll be on time and my heart warms with the thought. But as I'm curling the last ribbon, Henry who is securely fastened in his car seat informs me, "Mommy, I have to go potty!"

Of course!

He does!

Based on his sudden and furious kicking and fidgeting, I ascertain that there's no way he could hold it, nor would I be willing to take the chance. So I unbuckle him from his car seat and weigh my options. I could walk back to the store and use one of the restrooms, or I could capitalize on his ability to stand and let him aim beneath the car. The first option is considerably more civilized. The second option is considerably more efficient.

Thirty seconds later, Henry was back in his carseat and we were on our way.

On our way to ..... ?

Hmmm. Where are we going, again?

It dawned on me that I'd left the invitation on my desk and had never fully digested the address. The distinct possibility exists that where I think I'm going isn't where I actually need to be. So with fingers crossed, I head in what I hope is the correct direction.

Here's a photograph of my sweet Henry, clutching his present and wondering as we ride up in the elevator, "Mom, I sure hope you've got this right! I'D BE SO SAD TO MISS MY FIRST PARTY."

Of course he wasn't actually wondering that. It was my Mommy Guilt that assumed a voice which was echoing around my head, "You'd better not mess this one up." My son was totally happy being out, alone, with me. Had we missed the party, he probably would've said, "That's OK. Can I keep the present?!"

When we entered what I thought was the birthday venue, a man who introduced himself as the father of the birthday child, came out to greet us. When they affixed a sticker to Henry's shirt with his name, I felt very proud. We made it. To the correct location. On time.

WITH A WRAPPED GIFT.

It was truly nothing short of a miracle.

Because Charlie does all the drop-offs and pick-ups, I haven't had much of an opportunity to socialize with the other parents from Henry's preschool. So while Henry ran around playing with his friends, I made the rounds, taking time to ambush talk with all the other parents. Focusing especially on those who have boys. Henry loves playing with other boys and seemed lost for the first 10 minutes of the party, wandering around until the first boy arrived.

I've been asking / telling / begging Charlie to line up play dates with his classmates, but the execution of such a concept is not something my husband embraces. Not because he doesn't agree that Henry should play with other kids outside of school, but because it's significantly outside of Charlie's comfort zone. As a man, he'd rather not call around and line up play dates with moms he doesn't know. I get that, which is why I mapped out a schedule of play dates for times when I'll be available, too. The way I see it, play dates aren't just for the kids. They're also a very important opportunity for parents to connect and trade notes. And since I've been out of the play date circuit for so long, I really need to do some note trading.

I didn't mention it during the party, but one of the other parents knew that we had triplets. So she told another mother, who told another of the mothers (and another and another) that I have three seven-year-olds in addition to Henry. And this prompted a wave of excitement and awe. How do you do it? How do you manage? AND you work full-time?

You must be superwoman!

Ah yes. I'm the new generation of superwoman. She's flies around with her hair on fire, encourages her son to void in a public parking lot and half the time, doesn't know where she's going. But I didn't tell them any of that.

I figure it'll give us something fun to talk about during our first play date.

Photographic evidence Henry made it to his first party: balloon and goody bag in hand.

He was thrilled. But I was even more so.

the risk assessment

This morning the children were up early.

I think it was 6:35 when I felt someone poking me with their little finger and asking, in hushed tones, if I'd go get their sled. Two questions swept through my mind:

1) Why the hushed tones, since they're clearly interested in waking me up?

2) The freezing cold attic? Why must they disturb me and not their father?

Not right away, but eventually, I did get out of bed. And we did go sledding. And when I went in to the house to make beds and unload the dishwasher and begin thinking about breakfast, my children were still outside, sledding, by themselves. Within a matter of minutes, I heard someone crying. When I ran out to investigate, I discovered Henry had sled headfirst in to a tree.

(No, I didn't snap off a photo of my injured child. This was a DIFFERENT lesser impact sledding injury and I thought it was so sweet how his brother was helping him up the hill.)

Of course crashing in to a tree was a possibility that I'd considered, seeing as our backyard is a partial forest, but I'd instructed the children to take a route that would be AWAY from the trees and I was hoping that our four-year-old would heed my warning and / or been more successful at steering his sled.

Additionally, I'd reasoned that if one of our children were to strike a tree, they had on a lot of padding. (Including thick hats, which I swear they had on when they went out the door.) They had on layers upon layers, because I'm very good at dressing them warmly. Before putting them on a piece of slick plastic, on a treacherous slope with multiple hardwoods jutting from the ground.

Yes. The safety professional in me sees the flaw in my logic. But it's the realist in me that understands sometimes the most harmless activity - like running across a yard - can cause a bone to fracture. And pulling someone out from beneath the table can result in a premature tooth loss. Small children whipping down a steep hill with mature trees? OK. From this perspective, I can see it's a suicidal obstacle course and I need to hide their sleds.

The important thing is that Henry's fine. Within a few days, the small scrape on his cheek will heal and he'll hopefully remember, from this point forth, that trees aren't soft and it's best to stay out of their way. Unless, Charlie has his say and cuts them all down.

In which case ... risk averted, problem solved!

neither wind, nor hail, nor sleet, nor snow...

We woke up, this morning, to snow and ice coating our world. But the inclement weather didn't stop our girls (and their brother) from getting out and selling cookies today.

Although the weather was difficult, sales were great. Nearly everyone was house-bound because the roads were too bad to be out driving and everyone it seemed, had a hankering for Thin Mints.

Hello! Hello!

I see you in there!

You're trapped and I know it!!

If not for icy conditions, it's highly unlikely we would have sold more than 50 boxes in less than 60 minutes. Yay winter!

i'll do anything to keep the kitchen clean

My husband was slightly aghast that I allowed our children to cook their dinner in our front yard earlier this week. On two separate occasions.

He was worried that our neighbors would see us with a raging bonfire and hotdogs on sticks and what would they think?

I think, that they'd think, "Can I come over?"

we're banking on the cute factor

If you live within a one-mile radius of our house, this is a sight you might expect to see over the next few days...

Remember how I wrote about this last year?

Girl Scout cookie sales officially began a few weeks ago and the first round of orders are due this Saturday. I'd been holding off on the door-to-door sales because I wanted to affix all the Daisy Petal badges they'd earned to their uniforms, first. But when it struck me this afternoon that we only have five days remaining before our initial orders are due, and we have thus far sold ... quick check ... zero! ... our girls threw on their patch-deficient smocks and we hit the pavement. Within an hour, we'd visited five houses and sold 15 boxes.

William came with us to support his sisters. No one could say "no" to three tooth-missing first graders proudly sporting their scout uniforms.

(In return, our girls have promised to help their brother sell popcorn next fall.)

Friends and family, if you're interested in buying cookies, please send me an e-mail (TheAmazingTrips@gmail.com) and we'll add you to the list. They cost $4.00 per box (they were only $1.50 a box when I sold them 30 years ago!) and here's a website with all the details on the various kinds.

Within only 185 boxes remaining for us to meet our goal, I might need to bring the kids to work with me one afternoon. Maybe I should bring Louie, too. He could wear a sign that reads, "Please buy our cookies...

Or, I'll leave a puddle on your floor."

Although, he'd probably do that anyway.