My First Meme

My friend Phyllis tagged me for this Crazy 8’s meme the other day. What, exactly, is the correct pronunciation of “meme”? Is it meem, or me-me? And where do they come from? I’ve been working on it in my spare time (Ha!) and here it finally is, in all it’s splendor, more information about me than you probably ever wanted to know.

Eight Things I'm Passionate About
1. HaShem
2. Madison
3. Zoe
4. Jonathan
5. Judaism
6. My Family
7. Learning
8. Tikkun Olam - healing the world, or at least my little corner of it

Eight Things I Want to Do Before I Die
1. Watch my son take his first steps
2. Fall in love ... again
3. Visit Eretz Yisroel
4. Drive cross-country
5. Learn Hebrew
6. Hold grandchildren
7. Write a book
8. Visit every continent


Eight Things I Say Regularly
1. I love you.
2. There’s plenty of water in the Swamp Bucket.
3. I love you.
4. No TV tonight. It’s a school night.
5. Wash and flush.
6. Please.
7. Thank you.
8. I love you. (Yeah, I know it’s there three times, but I’ve got three kids and I make it a point to say it a lot to each of them. And if I don’t say it to them verbally, I sign it in American Sign Language. A Lot. And yes, Phyllis, I did snatch your brother's hand sign from your blog. Thanks, Harry.)

Eight Books I've Read Recently (or am reading now ...)
1. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone
2. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets
3. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban
4. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
5. Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix
6. Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince (Are you seeing a pattern here? I never read the books when they came out. Mom bought the first six over the summer, and I’ve been reading them as she’s finished them. I just finished this one a few days ago, and now I have to get the final one. And then maybe, I’ll reread them, just for laughs and giggles. And to pick up all the stuff I missed the first time around.)
7. World Without End I just started this one yesterday. It's the sequel (of sorts) to The Pillars of the Earth and I've only read the first few pages, but it looks like it's going to be a really good read.
8. Your Personal Penguin This last one was really hard. I had to make a conscious decision on whether or not to include a kids book here. I decided to include it for one very big reason: I couldn’t come up with an eighth adult book! Now if we were talking kids books, that list would be a mile long. We read all the time. During the day, and at least one book a day at bedtime, before the Shema, the G-d Blesses and Snuggle Puppy.

Eight Songs I Can Listen To Over and Over Again
1. Everything by James Taylor
2. Everything Elton John
3. Everything by Janis Joplin
4. Bat Out of Hell Trilogy by Meatloaf
5. Songs You Know By Heart by Jimmy Buffet
6. Joshua Tree by U2
7. The Lion and the Cobra by Sinead O’Connor
8. Cracked Rear View by Hootie and the Blowfish

Eight Things that Attract Me To My Friends
1. Good sense of humor
2. Love of movies
3. Intelligence
4. Enjoy hanging out
5. Common interests - like triplets!
6. Put up with my kids
7. Good conversationalists
8. Willingness to give as well as take

Eight Things I Learned in the Last Year
1. I’m stronger than I ever thought I was.
2. I can handle change. Change is good. Change is growth. Change is really, really hard.
3. I really am a good mother.
4. It’s okay to ask for help.
5. My kids are amazing people.
6. Resilience is learned, not inbred.
7. I am blessed with some amazing friends, and one terrific Mom!
8. How much fun and therapeutic blogging is!

Eight People That I Think Should Also Do This Meme
1. Tanya at The Dairy Wife
2. Cynthia at Walking On
3. Robin at Around the Island
4. Cecily at My Chaos, My Bliss
5. Jodi at Jodi's Organized Chaos
6. Barbara, all the way across the Atlantic Ocean, at Warm Woolen Mittens
7. The Morgan Mommy at A Morgan Moment
8. Jaye at Just A Mom

Unrelenting Exhaustion

I'm exhausted! This goes way beyond being tired. More than PCOS tired. More than SAHM of Triplets tired. More than I need to lose some (okay, lots of) weight tired. This is even more than PCOS-triplets-I need to lose weight tired. This is that and so much more. Deep in your bones tired. If I had no children and no responsibilities at all and could stay in bed and sleep for a month, I don't think it would help. And it's not depression either.

When I went to my yearly exam, I talked to my nurse practitioner about my exhaustion and other symptoms I've been having. She sent me for the standard blood work. I finally had it done early last week, once I felt healthy enough to do it. No use having blood work done to check "normal" levels when I'm not feeling normal. Stop laughing at me! Anyway, I should be getting the results back on Monday. I'm going to call first thing in the morning, as soon as the office opens.

Personally, I think it's my thyroid. I'm at the age where it's certainly within the realm of possibility. G-d, I hope it's my thyroid. That's relatively easy to treat. And I have many of the symptoms, not just the exhaustion. Unexplained weight gain and swollen feet being the most prominent, although by no means the only symptoms.

If it's not my thyroid, she thinks it could be a few other things. Still horses, not zebras.

I Got My Mammies Grammed!

Unless you've been living under a rock, you know that October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. And since pink is the color of the month, (and since I figured out how to change the color of the font on my posts,) I decided to use pink as my chosen post color ... but only for the rest of October. Come Novmeber 1st, there will most assuredly be a color change. Pink is definitely NOT my color.

Today I did something I never did before ... I got a mammogram. I know I should have done it once I turned 40, but I didn't have any medical insurance and, frankly, after Andrew's death, it wasn't my top priority. Now, at almost 43, it's time.

I've had conflicting reports on the pain level. It's no biggie. It hurts a lot. It hurts a little. It doesn't hurt at all. It's uncomfortable. Large breasts hurt more. Large breasts hurt less. I didn't know who to believe, who to trust.

I'm of the belief that I can handle most anything as long as I have enough information. Forewarned is forearmed and all that. But getting that information isn't always easy. Mom said hers aren't that painful. (C-cup, I'm guessing.) Mom-in-law says she thinks it hurts worse since she's small breasted. (Barely B?) Cousin? Getting routine, she's had so many, after a scare. Thank G-d, no cancer. She's my best resource so far, since she's just 6 months older than me, and is fairly reliable, even though she's a "Barely B", too.

After showering and getting dressed (without deodorant - eww), I was supposed to have lunch with a girlfriend before heading over to the hospital to do the deed. She was a no-show, so I did a take-out run and then headed over to the hospital and ate lunch in my car in the parking garage. I listened to the radio, skimmed this morning's headlines and watched the clock. Tick ... tick ... tick ... tick.

I registered at the Breast Center, filled out a questionnaire, and was taken back to get undressed and have my boobies pulled, smashed and squozed. It was digital, which I hear is a good thing. The technician was able to see right away if the shots were good or needed to be redone. Kinda strange having another person pulling and re-positioning my breasts. Usually I'm the only one doing that as I struggle into an ultra-supportive bra. But the actual mammogram - not a big deal at all. Uncomfortable, to be sure, but mostly since my body isn't used to being in the contorted positions necessary to get a complete view of each breast. The squishing isn't terribly painful either. Just, well, uncomfortable. And it wasn't even the breasts that hurt, but the skin on my chest above the breast as it was being pulled and stretched that hurt more than anything else.

All in all, no biggie. And I'm a D-cup.

And now for my Breast Cancer PSA: Do your monthly breast self-exam, get your mammies grammed and scroll down to the "Tikun Olam" section and click on the pink "Click for Free Mammograms" button. You'll be providing a free mammogram for a woman who has no insurance coverage or cannot afford one. Thank you.

Confessions of a Co-Sleeper

I was reading a blog post today about co-sleeping. Yes, I know the American Academy of Pediatrics frowns on the practice, offering less than solutions to the desire to share a bed with those you love.

Attachment parenting is something I believe in wholeheartedly. In my opinion, it fosters the independence I want for my children, within the interdependence of family members. Does this make any sense? The family bed is something I believe in, too. Co-sleeping is a part of that. Andrew and I shared a room, a bed. Why should a tiny baby sleep alone? Only in the "civilized world" do we require our most vulnerable to spend the night alone in the dark, without a loved one to hug and cuddle. Dr. Sears, my "back-up" pediatrician, is an advocate of sleeping wherever and however the family members get the best, most productive sleep. As an adult, that means sharing a bed with my spouse, my partner. As a nursing mom of three premature babies, that meant sharing my bed with my daughter, Zoe.

We co-slept with Zoe from the day we finally brought her home from the NICU, weighing a zaftig 4 pounds, 9 ounces. She slept between her daddy and me every night (in my arms), until Madison came home from the NICU 4 weeks later. At that point, I co-bedded them together in the same crib. And 10 days later, when Jonathan came home and all three babies were once again together, I placed him in the same crib as his sisters, where they all slept peacefully, for two months. After all, they spent 28 weeks, 1 day sharing a womb. Why not share a crib?

After her first growth spurt, Zoe was moved into her own crib, right next to the crib where her wombmates continued to sleep - together, in peace - for three more months when another growth spurt occured. At that point, Jonathan was moved into his own crib. In their small bedroom, three of the walls were occupied by cribs, in a "U" shape. No one was alone. A sister; and/or a brother was always nearby.

At 3 1/2 years old, I moved the girls out of their cribs and into a double bed. Why split them up now? They climbed into each other's crib, and into Jonathan's, too. (G-d, how he hated that! The screaming was horrible, especially if they woke him from a sound sleep.) Why put them into twin beds when I knew I'd find them sharing a a single bed in the morning? So they share a double bed now. That is when they aren't in bed with me.

Since Andrew died, the girls have climbed back in bed with Momma. Some nights I'm joined by one, some nights by two. Some nights, I sleep alone. Those nights are coming more frequently now. I miss those nights. I hate to sleep alone.

What a (Blog) Rush!

I finally saw one of my own posts on Blog Rush! I was visiting The Egel Nest and as I scrolled down the page, I noticed Bradley's widget in his sidebar. I always check them out; you never know when you'll find an interesting headline that you might want to click on and read. And there it was: "I'm A Happy Camper" by Thrice Blessed Momma. That's me!

I'm a Happy Camper

Thank you Phyllis! I checked out the 5 places you've been and discovered the HTML code page and tried it. Woo hoo! I can do it! No thanks to Blogger, I found a work-around to adding color to my posts. Now, if I can find a work around for hyperlinks, font style, etc., I'd be a really happy camper!

10:02 a.m.
Well, I figured out the work-around for hyperlinks! Phyllis, Todah Rabah!

Happy Anniversary, Sluggo!

I’m an intelligent woman with thoughts and opinions of my own and I’ve never played the “dumb blonde” role in order to attract guys. For some reason, you’d think college guys would be attracted to smart women, not ditzy air heads. Or at least they wouldn’t be intimidated by smart women. C’mon, it’s the late 80s and it’s a coed university. For crying out loud, you’ve got to expect that there will at least be a few women out there with some brains. Granted, college is a time for exploration and spreading your wings, and many people do go a little crazy when first out on their own. People drink (sometimes too much), do drugs, whatever. Since I’m smart, and the guys at Kutztown appeared to only be interested in girls with big boobs and no brains, I didn’t date much. Even though I did have one ... er, two of those qualifications.

Don’t get me wrong. I had plenty of friends, both male and female. Except that it didn’t take me very long to discover that many (but certainly not all) of the guys who became my friend did so because I had a hot roommate. With brains. And no boobs. Go figure.

By the time I got to Kutztown, I’d done all my “wild child” things and was really ready to get down to business. I was planning to enjoy myself. Don’t get me wrong; I just wasn’t going to go dog nuts doing it. I started there as a second semester sophomore, transferring in midyear, with an Associate’s degree under my belt and looking forward to not working a full-time job while going to school full-time. I was planning to enjoy myself, make new friends, perhaps even get an education at the same time! I never planned on meeting my future husband, though. I was considered a non-trad student, one who didn’t fit the standard - graduate from high school, go to college right away - mold. I was a 22 year old undergrad, older than most of my classmates. I never really clicked with any of the grad students.

During my senior year in college, I took a few classes with a really cute grad student who was also extremely smart. Now, anyone who knows me knows that I am not easily intimidated. But this guy intimidated the bejesus out of me. This guy was smart. No, seriously. I mean it. He was MENSA smart. Every time I opened my mouth to talk to him, ridiculous blitherings fell out. Oh, I tried to sound smart, but for the life of me, I sounded like I didn’t have 2 brain cells to rub together to say something even remotely intelligent. He made a great impression on me, but thankfully, I barely made one on him.

Fast forward several years. Hot roommate, Kris, and her husband are living in a duplex in a small town outside K-town. Next door is a young woman, about our age. We all became fast friends. I’d go visit some weekends and we’d order pizza, rent movies, go dancing, crack a few beers, BBQ in the summer. You know, hang. Little did I know that Kris and Sue, the girl next door, are plotting. Seems Sue has an older brother who she thinks would be perfect for me. They plot and scheme, trying to get us together. Plotting and scheming fails miserably. Weekends he can visit don’t work for me. Weekends I can come up don’t work for him. Weekends when we can both visit are few and far between and when they do coincide, something always came up and one or the other of us had to cancel. It seemed it wasn’t meant to be. Oh, and did I mention that I knew nothing of this?

Congratulations! Sue is getting married. We’ve been friends for several years now and of course I wouldn’t miss her wedding for the world. She’s a terrific friend and her soon-to-be husband is a great guy, too. Wedding weekend arrives and I plan on spending the whole weekend with Kris and Lew. At the reception, we have a grand time, laughing, talking, dancing, eating and drinking. Oh boy, did we do some drinking! During dinner, this really handsome groomsman is walking around the room, schmoozing people left and right when he comes to our table. I was just staring at him when the proverbial light bulb flashes. “I know you. You went to Kutztown!” He looks at me and smiles. He recognizes me, but just barely. Certainly not enough to remember my name. I introduced myself to him. He said, “Hi, I’m Andrew, Susan’s brother.” He schmoozes our table a little more, and then moves on. A while later, he comes over to me and asks me if I’d like a drink and perhaps some fresh air on the terrace? He’s really cute, and of course I agree. I feel like I'm back in high school and the BMOC chats me up in class.

Out on the terrace, drinks in hand, we talk. And talk. And talk some more. About Freud, Jung, Ellis. And my favorite, JJ Rousseau. For many people this sounds crazy. But not for us. We’d talk for hours about psychology, and we’d argue. Freud was this. Jung was that. But what about what Kant said when ...? This could go on for hours, and sometimes did. We decided to go for a walk. It was October and there was some mist on the grass. I was wearing this beautiful pair of navy peau de soie pumps, and never gave it a second thought, until later. I RUINED AN EXPENSIVE PAIR OF SHOES FOR THIS MAN!

We walked and talked. At one point we stopped talking and he put his hands in my hair, ready to pull me in for a kiss. Oh, he was smooth. My hair was damp and he felt it. He asked why. I said, “I don’t know. Must be dew.” I told you that when I got around this guy I was unable to make intelligent conversation. (And for many years later, we laughed about it. "Must be dew." What a moronic statement. Madison’s middle name, in Hebrew, is Meital. It means dewdrop.)

He kissed me. Oh boy, did he kiss me. Remember those old movie kisses, when the man would kiss the woman and her leg would bend up? Yeah, one of those kisses. Just thinking about it now makes my heart beat a bit faster and curls my toes, too. And those arms, I felt so safe in those arms. It was getting late and we headed back to the terrace. Before returning to the reception, Andrew asked me if I’d call him if he gave me his phone number. I said, “No.” He looked so dejected. I quickly explained. “I was raised that a woman never calls a man. Yes, I know it’s 1995, but I can’t do it. But I’ll give you my phone number, and if you call, I will return a call. But I won't make the first call.” I gave him my number.

On the drive home after the reception with Kris and Lew, they pumped me for information. Not being one to kiss and tell, I let them know that I was hoping to hear from him again, and that I had given him my number. It was only then that I had found out about all the plotting and scheming that Kris and Sue had done over the years. But instead of our meeting being an awkward setup, it happened naturally. I like to think that’s why it worked out so well.

A few weeks went by before I heard from him. I had a new roommate at the time, Slutty McTramp. She answered the phone the first time he called, and as she handed me the phone, said loudly, “I’m going away for the weekend if you want to get laid.” Needless to say, I was mortified. By what she said AND by the fact that I knew he had heard. Andrew and I talked for a while. A few days later we talked some more. This went on for about two months. No dates, though. Scheduling conflicts that couldn’t be changed. Work, family obligations, upcoming holidays. And for a while after that, I didn’t hear from him. Time passed. I’d ask Sue about him, but it never worked out for us.

A few months went by and I started dating someone else. Nothing serious. More like a male friend who was there when I needed a man on my arm for something. Or if he needed a woman on his arm. A mutual escort service, without the sexy side benefits. I got an invitation to a wedding for Sunday, March 16, 1997, and so I asked him to be my escort.

One Thursday night, right after Valentine’s Day, the phone rang almost immediately after I got home from work. Damn! I planned on a quiet evening watching ER and then going to bed. But I picked up the phone and heard “Hi. I bet you have no idea who this is?” in an incredibly sexy voice. “Keep talking. You sound familiar.” As much as he kept talking, and as familiar as he sounded, I couldn’t place his voice. “It’s me, Andrew.” And we talked. Around 2 a.m., I finally hung up the phone and fell into an uneasy sleep. The following Tuesday, I was visiting a girlfriend and her family for dinner. I told her about the phone call. She asked me if I’d called him back since. When I admitted I hadn’t, she kicked me out right there and told me to go home and call him. Thanks, Heidi. I did as she ordered, and wouldn’t you know it, he wasn’t home. But I left a message.

The next night he called back, and once again we spent hours talking. Another night of uneasy sleep. Friday evening, three hours on the phone. I woke up in the middle of the night with terrible stomach pains. It took me a while to realize that what I was feeling were hunger pains. I hadn’t eaten since Wednesday! This was nuts. This guy was getting to me and we hadn’t had a single date yet. The following week was much like the previous one: phone calls lasting hours followed by restless sleep. I finally had enough. I told him we had to see each other. I needed to know if what I was feeling was real, or not. Due to a medical condition, he wasn’t able to drive, so if I wanted to see him, I had to go to him. We decided that the next morning I would pack a bag and spend the day with him, then sleep over. Before I could object about his assumption that I’d be spending the night, he told me I’d sleep in his sister’s room. I got to his house, took one look at him, and realized that this was the man I’d be spending the rest of my life with. Don’t ask me how I knew; I can’t tell you. I just KNEW.

Our date was fairly innocuous. We went to the mall, hung out, talked, had some coffee, talked some more. After dinner, we went to Karaoke night. We talked over the bad singing. We went to a diner and talked some more. We talked about kids. I already knew I was in love with this guy, and I wanted to know how he felt about having children. I wasn’t going to waste one more minute on him if he wasn’t interested. So I asked him, point blank, “How do you feel about kids?”

Andrew: Oh G-d. You’re one of them.

Me: One of them? What does that mean?

Andrew: You probably want to have six or seven.

Me: No, four or five.

Andrew: Well, how about we start with two or three and see how it goes?

I knew, then and there, when he said “we”, that this was a guy worth hanging onto. This was the man I wanted to father my children. This was the man I wanted to spend the next 50 years of my life making happy.

We finally rolled in at 5 a.m. A few hours of sleep and I had to be home. I had a “date” that afternoon for a wedding. Lou knew about my date with Andrew, and asked how it went. I told him I was officially “done dating”. I’d met the man I was going to marry, and I wasn’t wasting my time with anyone else. Beware the Ides of March. You might just fall in love.

We dated for several years. During that time, I was having some troubling periods, or lack of periods, and other nasty symptoms. I finally called my doctor, went in for testing and came out with a diagnosis of PCOS, polycystic ovary syndrome. PCOS is metabolic (endocrine) disorder, with a constellation of symptoms. Five to ten percent of women of childbearing age in this country have PCOS. Some women have more of the symptoms than others. Some have them more severely than others. But one of the more common symptoms of PCOS is infertility. Punch me in the stomach and kick me when I’m down. I was handed a diagnosis that I would never be able to have children. I tried to end my relationship with Andrew, but he wouldn’t let me leave him. We’ll adopt. Surrogacy. We’ll figure this out ... together.

So, on a beautiful, crisp and sunny Sunday morning, October 22, 2000, Andrew and I got married. I took my final pill on our honeymoon in Asheville, NC (a place we wanted to return to someday). And we began trying to get pregnant.

Happy Anniversary, Sluggo! You promised me 50. I only got 5. You owe me.

I love you ... Evermore. Love, Me

I've Been Blessed

October must be award month. Either that, or I must be doing something right. My posts are touching people's hearts. I've invited them into my world, and they've visited. Not only have they visited, but they've stayed and become part of the family. I have a saying in my home: "Visit once, I treat you like company. More than once, you're family. Help yourself." I've only been blogging for a few months, and I've met so many amazing people, mostly women, but a few men, too. People who were once strangers, and are now family and friends. And like family and friends, I worry about them. I've been blessed to have been welcomed into a community of truly caring people around Bloggerville as one of their own.


My friend, Tanya The Dairy Wife, created this beautiful award a few days ago.

"This is a brand new never been used before award. I created it yesterday because I have read a few blogs lately that touched my heart and won't let go.

It's about reading someone's story that grabs hold of your heart, and after you've moved on .... you remember, and are reminded that you've been blessed. It's about faith, and love and hope for ourselves, our future, our families and those we love. It's about empowering women and standing strong together. It's about the fight we have in us to survive relationships, abuse, cancer and loss of loved ones. It's about overcoming struggles that make us stronger and who we are today. Simply, it's about love. Loving one another."

Tanya has doubly blessed me. Not only has she blessed me with her friendship, but she's given me the honor of being the first recipient of this award. Thank you, my friend.

And so, I will pass this beautiful award to some others who I've been blessed for having known.

First, to my friend Gina, over at Everyday is a Precious Gift. I've known Gina for a number of years, and her friendship has been special from the beginning. She's a very special mom who is always there with a shoulder, a smile. She is a wonderful woman, so from my heart to hers ... she blessed me.

My friend Trista, another triplet mom at Our Five Blessings. She and I were friends long before she conceived her beautiful triplet boys. Like Gina, we've known each other for many years, and like me, she was once a single mom. She, too, struggles daily with a special needs child, who is the light of her life. Despite those challenges, or perhaps because of them, she is a very strong woman. Strong in her faith, strong in her love and strong in her friendships and so from my heart to hers ... she blessed me.

Barb, at Coming Unraveled and Of Insulin and Sugar. I found her blog through Tanya, and stayed. I worry about her. She just recently was diagnosed with Type II diabetes and I worry about her sugar levels, and everything else that goes on when you have diabetes. I worry about her like I'd worry about a friend, or a sister. I don't even know if she knows but I'm glad to know her, so from my heart to hers ... she blessed me.

And finally, to Robin, at Around the Island, because today she really needs to know this. She has blessed me in ways I can't even describe. Although she lives in Israel with her family, she told me she wished she were closer to make me a pot of chicken soup with knaidlach. Perhaps someday I'll get to have a bowl or two of your Jewish Penicillin with knaidlach. Some people would call that "just being nice" or "simply paying lip service." I call that being a friend. Here's to you, chavera, from my heart to yours ... you've blessed me.

NOTE: All these blogs can be found in the "Blogs I Love" sidebar on the left. For some reason, Blogger doesn't like Mac users, and so I can't do all those cool things that PC users can, like bolding and italicizing my font, changing font colors, or creating hyperlinks out of words. Grrr!

Freebies!

Everyone loves free stuff, right. Well, Stef at Triple Take is giving away one of these planners for busy moms like you and me. And she has triplets, too. Enter her contest and you too could be as organized as I am. Scratch that, you could be MORE organized than me. Or don't. That way, I have a better chance to win.

Double Dog Dare

http://people.ambrosiasw.com/~andrew/funny/piggy.swf

Go ahead and click. I dare you. I double dog dare you. Now you have to click. Have fun.

I'm So Touched

Earlier this week, Robin over at Around the Island awarded me the Blogging Star award. Touched doesn't even begin to describe how I am feeling. I cried when I first saw that she had chosen me as one of the recipients. Thank you, Robin, for becoming one of my new friends, and thinking I deserve this award. The Blogging Star was created by Barb of Skittles' Place, who says:

This award is for bloggers who shine their light throughout the Blogosphere. Some do it with humor, others with creativity, and others with their kind and thoughtful natures. We all know more than a few of them so why not give them some recognition? Here's what to do if you receive this:

* Proudly display it on your blog along with a link to who gave it to you.
* Mention that it originated here at Skittles' Place so I can follow its journey.
* Pass it on to any blogger(s) you think should have it.

Thank you again, Robin, for sharing the love. Now it's my turn.

To Cynthia over at Walking On. Cynthia escaped an abusive relationship with her eight children, several of whom struggle with the effects of Retinitis Pigmentosa, a rare genetic disease. She writes with grace and dignity, and makes me want to be a better person for having known her.

To Phyllis at Ima on (and off) the Bimah. She appeals to the spiritual side of motherhood for me, but with all the foibles of the real world tossed in for good measure. And she does it with lots of humor and creativity.

To Tanya, The Dairy Wife. Tanya was my first "pretend" friend in Bloggerville. I'm so glad she found her way to me. She, too, has triplets. She is married to the Marlboro Man, a dairy farmer in Indiana, who is, himself, a twin. Through him, she's given me some wonderful advice about identical twins, from a first-hand perspective.

To Cecily, at My Chaos, My Bliss. She's a mom of three, like me. Two girls, one boy, like me. Her life is chaotic, like mine. And we wouldn't have it any other way. This woman is head-over-heels in love with her kids. And she is a joy to read. She tells it like it is, with lots of humor. Cecily makes me smile when I'm having a really bad day, and for that, I'm eternally grateful.

These women were once "pretend" friends. Once, but no longer. Now, I just call them friends. So stop reading, and go check them out.

NOTE: All these blogs can be found in the "Blogs I Love" sidebar on the left. For some reason, Blogger doesn't like Mac users, and so I can't do all those cool things that PC users can, like bolding and italicizing my font, changing font colors, or creating hyperlinks out of words. Grrr!

Who Makes the Chicken Soup ...

... when the momma's the one who is sick? Yup, I'm sick. I have been fighting this for what seems like forever, but in actuality is just about two weeks. Now, before all you "Jewish Mothers" (you know who you are, and you don't have to be Jewish or a mother to be a "Jewish Mother") get your sheitls or babushkas in a bunch, let me explain. It started out as allergies. Due to the unseasonably warm weather, ragweed season is never-ending. One good frost and it'd be curtains for that runny nose, watery eyes, cough-inducing weed. But Mother Nature (or perhaps global warming) has other ideas. It's going to be nearly 80 degrees today and it's October 18th! But I digress.

So, my nose has been running, my eyes watering and I've had a cough as a result of the post-nasal drip which is compliments of the runny nose and the aforementioned ragweed. I've been drinking gallons of water, trying to get as much rest as possible, remembering my vitamin C. And I've peed said gallons of water, slept as much as possible with active 5-year old triplets who are in Kindergarten and refuse to sit quietly and not need their momma. What can I expect? They are normal kids. Sitting quietly is not in their vocabulary. What I really need is a two-day bender, "drunk" on NyQuil. That stuff will knock the stuffin' out of any cold. I don't know if it's the nasty taste, the alcohol or the combination of the two, but it works! I could be a NyQuil commercial: sniffling - check, sneezing - check, coughing - yep, aching - uh huh, stuffy head - ditto, fever - nope, but 5 out of 6 ain't too shabby.

Well, I've come to the conclusion that at some point in the last few days, the allergies have magically turned themselves into a full-blown fall cold. No fever, just a general malaise. My entire body aches, I'm so tired I can hardly move to get out of bed to get my kids up and ready for school, dinner consists of super easy things, like chicken nuggets, frozen pizza and take out. Anything that I don't have to spend a lot of time thinking about or actually cooking.


What I really want, need, though, is a pot of my Dad's Jewish Penicillin. Yeah, good ol' fashioned chicken soup with knaidlach. For those of you not conversant in Yiddish, knaidlach are also known as matzo balls. My Dad's were light and fluffy, and would fall apart in the soup. I wasn't a huge fan of them, because I like the ones that sit in the pit of your stomach for days on end. Dad eventually modified his so that they were firmer, and I relaxed my standards, too. We met in the middle, as it were. But he made the world's best chicken soup. His soup was made on a sort of "sliding scale". The standard soup was one chicken, an onion or two (at least one was left whole), celery, carrots, parsnips, dill weed, a bit of salt and pepper and the SECRET INGREDIENT. The sicker you were, the more chickens went into the stock pot. A cold was one-chicken chicken soup. Pneumonia was three-chicken chicken soup. Matzo balls were for the really sick, but you had to be at least two-chicken soup sick. Otherwise, it was flat egg noodles for you. What I've got now is decidedly a two-chicken chicken soup cough and cold. With noodles.

When my kids are sick, I make them soup. Not soup from a can. Canned soup is good enough for a regular, let's have some soup for lunch kind of day. But not if they are sick. Then I usually defrost a container of homemade soup and give it to my precious, suffering offspring. For a while, I was defrosting Dad's chicken soup, but I ran out shortly before he died. So now I make the chicken soup. When I make it, I make it in a very large stock pot, 12 quarts I think. And when I'm done and it's cooled, zippy bags or plastic containers and into the freezer for just such an occasion. But there isn't any in the freezer, and I'm too sick to drag myself to the grocery story for a few fat roaster chickens, just so I can make some soup. For my kinder, you bet. I'd walk on glass for them. But for myself, no. I don't make the knaidlach; egg noodles have to suffice for my kids, now. My soup is good, but Dad's was better. I add all the same ingredients, even the secret one. Maybe it just tastes better when someone who loves you makes it for you, instead of making it for yourself.

Oh yeah, the secret ingredient? Well, it's really very simple. Dad's secret ingredient was LOVE.

My Two Daisies

Last evening, the girls and I attended our very first Daisy Scout meeting. It's official; my girls are now fully registered members of the Girl Scouts of America. When I was a kid, we started with Brownies in first grade. Not anymore. Now, Girl Scouts begin earlier, in Kindergarten. These pre-Brownies are called Daisies. And two of the newest live with me.


Instead of badges like the older girls earn, they will earn a total of 10 petals to complete the large daisy on the middle of their tunic. No itchy, scratchy, ugly uniform for them. Their uniform is really more like a cobbler smock, in a bright cheery blue, with an American Flag on the right shoulder, troop numbers on the front, just under the flag, and a large daisy centered in the middle. I can't wait to see them all dressed in their uniforms and ready for their next meeting.

The Great Virtual Breast Fest

It's 9:58 a.m. The Great Virtual Breast Fest is about to begin. My daughters are taking a bath to get ready for school, and I'm sitting here at my computer, thinking about what I want to say about breastfeeding. Maybe a list will help me organize my thoughts, or at least get these random thoughts out of my head and onto the blog.

1. I first saw a nursing breast "up close and personal" when I was about 13 years old. My cousin was nursing her daughter, and I thought that was the coolest thing in the world. Then the baby pulled away and an arc of breast milk shot across the room. I laughed so hard at that. I still do.
2. Nursing was, hands down, one of the smartest decisions I've ever made.
3. I pumped for the first time less than 12 hours after my babies were born.
4. I hated pumping, but had no choice with three micro-preemies hospitalized for 8 1/2 to 14 weeks.
5. I pumped in the NICU, at my children's bedside. All three babies were lined up along the wall and I sat facing them.
6. I did NOT hide behind a curtain, or throw a blanket over myself, but was very discreet and wore specially designed nursing tops.
7. Human milk fortifier was added to my pumped breast milk to increase calories.
8. Andrew fed Zoe her very first breast milk, through a tube down her throat and into her tiny belly. She was thirteen days old.
9. When my children first started eating, they took less than 1cc of breast milk at a feeding. 30cc is roughly one ounce. You do the math.
10. I nursed Zoe for the first time when she was over a month old.
11. I once nursed my daughter Zoe in a movie theatre and in a restaurant in a sling. No one even knew I was wearing a baby, let alone nursing her!
12. I stopped nursing and pumping for my daughters at around 10 weeks, because they were thriving and only nursed and/or pumped for Jonathan. He was so sick and we thought we'd lose him. I truly believe that my milk made the difference.
13. Jonathan was a boob man, my champion nurser!
14. I called myself "The Dairy Queen", "Elsie the Cow" and "The Milkman" during those days when I nursed and/or pumped.
15. Three babies, two hospitals. I tried to make sure I didn't need to shlep milk to both hospitals on the same day. If Jonathan needed milk, I went to CHoP first; if the girls did, first stop was PAH.
16. Each day before I left the house to visit the babies, I'd call the hospitals and ask if they had enough milk for that day or if they needed more.
17. I still regret having to give up nursing sooner than I had planned. My body just didn't keep up with demand.
18. I never made enough milk due to a hormonal issue. Not uncommon for women with PCOS.
19. I am proud of my breasts. They did what G-d created them to do.
20. And because I am proud of them, I take care of my breasts. Monthly breast self-exam. Mammograms. Supportive bras.

Whew! It's 10:40 a.m. I got that list down and ordered in a relatively coherent manner, all in about the same amount of time it would have taken me to nurse one baby.

Babies rock! Mothers rock! Breasts rock!