Thirty Fingers and Thirty Toes

Skating & Cerebral Palsy

2018-08-06T07:34:00.000-07:00

It's been crazy! Cole and I skated his program "Universal Child" (by Annie Lennox) last month and the video post went viral! Not in the millions, but over 200k as of today. I knew it would be well-received, but did not expect this. I'm just happy I stayed upright, and that Cole enjoyed it so much.

Here's the link to the full video, and a 30-second preview:

2018-06-05T13:43:00.001-07:00

#justsayin

Good Bones

2017-04-15T23:07:00.002-07:00

Came across this. Beautiful, yet heartbreaking.

Good Bones, MAGGIE SMITH

Life is short, though I keep this from my children.
Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine
in a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways
I’ll keep from my children.
The world is at least fifty percent terrible,
and that’s a conservative estimate,
though I keep this from my children.
For every bird, there is a stone thrown at a bird.
For every loved child, a child broken, bagged, sunk in a lake.
Life is short and the world is at least half terrible,
and for every kind stranger, there is one who would break you,
though I keep this from my children.
I am trying to sell them the world.
Any decent realtor, walking you through a real shithole,
chirps on about good bones: This place could be beautiful, right?
You could make this place beautiful.

Top 10 Reasons I Should Not Write My Life Story

2017-02-09T11:05:00.000-08:00

From the home office in Dubuque, Iowa, here are the Top 10 Reasons I should not write my life story:

10) My catholic school upbringing is boring. Unless you count the infusion of Judaism and extra servings of guilt dished up by both competing organized religions. And grandparents. Nah, still boring.
9) Writer's block.
8) Writer's block again.
7) Hemingway said you should ‘write drunk and edit sober’. I'd be inclined to go the other way. Not sure that would sell.
6) Blocked. Might not be writer's. But at least it's no longer religion.
5) See, nothing to write about.
4) Lots of travel, might be the interesting part.
3) Triplets - this part is just full of poop.
2) No more travel, not much exercise, way less sleep.

And the number one #1 reason I should not write my life story:
1) Dave Letterman sure didn't beat me to it. And now he's off the air. But at least there's wine.

Book Publication!

2016-04-01T15:28:00.001-07:00

If I have not yet shared this news with you, I will now. I submitted an essay to an anthology about multiples. It was accepted, and the book is now available for pre-order! The official launch date is May 1. I now have an author page on Amazon and Goodreads! Please leave a review of the book if you read it. It helps. I hope you enjoy it!

Review on Agoura Hills Mom

Here is where you can find it online:

Multiples Illuminated

Amazon

KINDLE

Barnes and Noble (Nook)

iBooks

Kobo

First & Eight

2016-03-12T15:45:00.000-08:00

My kids have spent the night at their grandparents' house a few times. Mostly that was when one of them was in the hospital. I don't consider that a sleepover, certainly not in the traditional sense. When our daughter was five, she wanted to have a sleepover with a friend, and decided it would be better if her friend stayed with us. She was fearful of sleeping elsewhere. It went very well, and no one was more relieved than me.

Now they are eight. Eight. I can hardly believe that part. While I digested this and the birthday presents wrapping paper has barely been cleaned up, two of them were asked to have sleepovers at friends' houses. On the same night. This would be a first. My son worried that he needs to sleep with the light on, and how to deal with that. We figured that part out, and packed both of their sleeping bags and PJs, and . . . off.They. Went.

Though I was struck by the fact that they are old enough to have a sleepover with friends, I was more struck by another feeling. Sadness. Not because they are growing up. That's a normal feeling that I imagine most of my mom friends have. This was different. I struggled to identify it, and then I realized what it was. My third triplet. He is a very capable child. Smart, SUPER social, impossibly cute (by more than just my 'being-his-mom' standards) and funny. This, in spite of his Cerebral Palsy and having had a major stroke after an 11-week premature birth.

The reality is that he is still in diapers and has some mobility issues. We are so grateful he does not have more severe conditions. However, this does not negate that he still has therapeutic needs and support. This precludes him from things like attending after school programs, play dates and - sleepovers - without support. Thus far, he has been to one home for a play date without one of us. That friend happens to have a mom who is a nurse, a very kind and lovely friend who is willing to help him and change a diaper if needed. This is not to disparage any of our other friends and moms in any way. I just would not presume or even ask that anyone step in this way.

So last night, as two of his siblings left for sleepovers, his face crumbled. It began to dawn on him that he would be sleeping alone. His sobs became uncontrollable and his face contorted in a way that broke my heart. I swallowed the lump in my throat and managed to get him into some deep breathing to calm down. Then I reframed the situation. This is the approach that seems to work best, but often takes a few tries until it sinks in.

"Yes, they are sleeping at their friend's homes, but guess what?"

(sob, sob) "Wh-what Mama?"

"You get Mama and Daddy and your big brother who is home from college, ALL to yourself!"

More tears but it slowly sunk in and a smile spread across his wet face. Through his fogged up glasses I could see a small twinkle in his sky blue eyes when he realized he would be getting something the other two have never had. Plus hot chocolate and staying up super late with us watching a movie. I told him that second part once he really calmed down.

The thing is . . . though his siblings tell me he knows more people than they do at school and has more friends, he gets invited to precious few birthday parties, play dates and certainly no sleepovers. His classmates are a wonderful, friendly and accepting group of kids, so I cannot explain it, other than maybe his social situation is not as in depth as it is wide. From time to time I get reports from my other two that my son does not play with anyone except his aide. Or that he only plays hopscotch or with hula hoops, but not with friends. This makes me sad, to think of him alone on the playground. At this age the boys are definitely more rough and tumble, playing soccer, catch, climbing on things. While I am not a fan of the word 'can't', this happens to be true for my son in relation to those activities. For now. He has overcome an amazing amount of disability thus far.

Throughout the evening he randomly began crying, as part of his brain trauma affects his memory. He forgets things he already knows and has to be reminded frequently. Other things he remembers produce perseverating behavior. This is where he reminds US all too frequently. He was thrilled to share hot chocolate with just us, and fell asleep on us in the living room. We knew this would be the only way to get him into bed without complete disaster. We had agreed in advance to leave his bedroom door open. Fortunately it all went off without a hitch. This morning he got up and hung out with his older brother, had a donut and played on the computer. Uninterrupted. Once he called out to share something with his sister, and then realized she wasn't home. No tears. Whew.

We made it through this one. But what about the next time, and the next? I should not borrow trouble, I know. In no way do we try to remove obstacles from our children's paths. we firmly believe they need to grow strong by learning how to get past difficulties. But how does that translate to a child with special needs? In figuring out what this means for each of our children, we have learned that one size does not fit all. I have often told the triplets that 'you don't always get what everyone else has'. And I mean it. That was severely put to the test last night. #walkthetalk

What it means is that we learn the best way to describe situations to the kids and help them, and ourselves, learn how to see and approach things in the best light possible. Also, with a healthy dose of reality. Reality is important because no one can be good at absolutely everything. No one can do absolutely everything. You don't even have to try absolutely everything. Finding what you like and what you can do best, that's the thing to do. Football moves at a goal pace of 10 yards per down (try). We may be moving at a goal pace of eight years per try, maybe less. But as everyone woke up this morning seemingly unscathed, and all had an enjoyable night and morning, I'll consider this first pass a touchdown in our own personal Superbowl.

Life Lists & Bucket Items

2015-12-27T11:46:00.002-08:00

I've been reflecting a lot on 'if not now, then when?'. I often wonder (when

the glass is half empty) what life holds next for me. Sometimes I also wonder (when the glass is half full) what I hold next for life. I decided to make a list of odd/interesting things I have done and enjoyed thus far, just to see what kind of perspective it would bring me. The spirit of the ah-ha moment means you don't see it coming. So while I do not particularly have a bucket list of must-do items, I do have a few lines yet to fill, which brings me to the ponderment of 'if not now, then when?'.

I have . . . .

- Danced down Main Street in an official Disneyland parade
- Traveled alone through Europe with no plan
- Been selected from the audience to be on a TV show
- Won numerous radio contests (including $1,000, a trip to NY and
various restaurant cards)
- Sung Jingle Bells at a crowded United Airlines gate to get an upgrade to first class
- Had triplets
- Spent New Year's Eve on the Champs-Elyseés in Paris
- Quit a career on the spot to begin a new one, across the country
- Organized a Locks of Love event that produced 286 ponytails (26 lbs. of hair)
- Threw a dart at a U.S. map and relocated to the nearest big city
- Took a solo driving trip around the U.S. (to get to that city and back) covering 23 states plus the lower part of 2 Provinces in Western Canada
- Camped under the desert stars with strangers I met on I-25 in the New Mexico wilderness (on the way to that city)
- Lived in 11 U.S. cities (as a result of that dart)
- Driven solo through 16 states (as a result of the relocations instigated by that that dart)
- Rock climbed in the desert
- Seen a UFO
- Visited 3 of the 7 Wonders of the World (Macchu Picchu, Christ the Redeemer and the Roman Colosseum)
- Met an odd collection of celebrities in unexpected places (Bill Murray, Harold Ramis, Roy Orbison, OJ Simpson, Hulk Hogan, Sandra Bullock, John Candy, David Hasselhoff, Cheech Marin and more)
- Seen someone die inches from my face (obviously not a bucket list item)
- Seen a UFO

Reading this back to myself, I realize that every single thing on this list has been a spontaneous event. Very little if any forethought was involved. I'm not saying that has always been a positive outcome initially, but eventually for sure. The ah-ha that has now been produced is that if you put yourself in the right frame of mind and place, and allow yourself some freedom, interesting and amazing circumstances can develop.

What's next??

__________

__________

__________

__________

Bye Elfie

2015-12-26T16:05:00.002-08:00

Almost There

2015-12-24T17:55:00.001-08:00

Only one more night after tonight, and Elfie will be on his way back to Santa's home at the North Pole. Another year that my children believe, another year I almost forget, every. single. night. to move the damn elf. But it really is worth it. There have been just a hint of questions about how Christmas works. Mostly a slight curiosity. In an instant it vanishes when the subject changes to what they want from Santa. But I wonder. When will they know? Will they let on? Will they spoil it for the ones in our home who still believe? Are we almost there? I hope not.

While we haven't placed formal wagers, my money is on my daughter to spill it, just to torture they other two. In an Ally McBeal style moment of thought, I envisioned her sobbing and devastated because she had 'ruined' Christmas for everyone. Indeed, if she did spill the beans, she would not have done it to eliminate Santa, only to torture her brothers. She unwittingly however, does things to torture them that backfire, and this would be the granddaddy of them. Thus, late at night, after my husband has obligingly cut paper and wrapped gifts (because I have been injured and spent too much time at the ER from self-inflicted sharp object accidents) I find myself in the garage peeling packing labels off boxes. This is where I imagine my daughter discovering the sender of said boxes and sharing her discovery with her brothers.

When I was a child, we posted our wish lists on the refrigerator. My brother and I still are convinced that we never got a single thing from those labored over lists. Maybe so, maybe not. I do know that my mother believes it's what the giver wants to give, not what the recipient wants. I suppose that's one way to look at it. My husband and I have not been particularly creative or overly romantic/demonstrative over the years with our holiday gifts. It's less important to us than the rest of the year. I used to really like the element of surprising him, but I'd rather he really enjoy what he gets, or just skip gifts altogether. So we ask each other. The kids are delighted when he and I open the gifts and it's good for them to see us exchange an item of affection. This is where I think Santa for my kids is exciting. Everything is still new to them at seven years old. Everything is exciting and full of wonder. While we don't go overboard with their gifts. Just enough for them to enjoy that fast fading bastion of childhood beliefs in something mystical, fun and exciting. I don't know when that will change, but every passing year brings us closer to it. Almost there. But not just yet.

For as long as they believe, I will.

Found Around

2015-12-24T17:55:00.000-08:00

Found hiding in a bedroom he's never been in before.

Elfie left a little surprise for the kids.

Elf sweetened lip balm in sugar cookie, candy cane and hot cocoa!

He was looking down at the Elf village we built for him one last time. Tonight he goes back to the North Pole!

Hanging Around

2015-12-23T18:23:00.001-08:00

Yesterday Elfie was chewing on a candy cane in the house,

upside down of course.

This morning, the kids were distraught when they could not find him. I wondered aloud of they had been behaving well enough to make him want to stay. Because we're creating a police state, of course.

He was found, perched on my rear view mirror in the car. I guessed that he missed the cold, since we actually have ice on the windows here on the West coast. Despite the fact that our friend's elf Trina, had a to build a snowman out of TP. No snow in Michigan right now as it turns out.

More Silliness

2015-12-22T16:59:00.001-08:00

He hid behind the sunflowers.

Then he tried to pass himself off as a Christmas card.

Marshmallows & Candy Canes

2015-12-19T22:32:00.001-08:00

The kids freaked out when they could not find him. He was perched on our older son's dresser. Then, he moved again and decided to have a marshmallow milkshake with candy cane straws. The squeals the kids let out when they find him each time are worth all of it.

And of course, he HAD to take a marshmallow bath.

No doubt he stirred the 'water' with his candy cane

to make it just the right temperature.

Perhaps . . .

2015-12-15T14:05:00.001-08:00

In the midst of Elves, Santa, El Niño and finals, I woke up this morning to text messages out of control. Before I could read the over 30 messages, my phone rang. It was my friend, another mom from my kids' school.

"Are you sending your kids to school?" She sounded frantic and I did not know why.

"Yes, of course. Why?" I replied.

"Turn on the news". We don't have cable, so any news I get is from Facebook or online sites I may visit. Ostrich head in the sand or not, I have to say I have been much happier not watching the news on television. Also, my kids never see commercials or sensationalized versions of anything newsworthy or otherwise. I suppose this could be called the 'homeschool' version or current events. In any case, I checked the local ABC station and discovered that the Los Angeles Unified School District had closed based on a 'credible threat' they were as of yet analyzing.

I repeated to my friend that my kids would be at school, and she hurriedly said she would call me back. She didn't, but I caught up with her at school later, where her daughter would not leave the car. In the meantime, I quickly scanned Facebook and CNN, and determined that we were under no threat here. The only threats being made here were my unaware seven year olds annoying each other. As it should be, I thought.

Once I had them safely at school and some coffee safely in my bloodstream, I began to better process what was happening. My mother, a retired LAUSD teacher, was home, safe and sound. My children do not attend LAUSD. We do not live adjacent to LAUSD. However, being in Southern California, we are certainly close enough to any action that might occur to have some concern. While I ran down the gratitude list, I head on the radio that New York had received the same threat. It was also being stated that the email had been an anonymized hoax based in Germany. Perhaps of someone trying to evade finals at school? Who knows.

This hoax comment gave many relief, including my fellow mom friends at school. A few comments from people on Facebook referred to the snow days of their youth. Now our children have 'bomb threat days'. What a sad world.

This nostalgia sure hits the nail on the head. Perhaps one day my family will get to experience what my husband and I had as a child. Probably not though. My friend, Kim Tracy Prince, pointed out a phrase from the LAUSD Superintendent, 'an abundance of caution'. Some of my friends were annoyed that NY called the LAUSD's decision an overreaction. They would rather have a cautious decision made than to send our children off to an unknown danger.

We are pretty direct with our little ones when they ask questions. When they come home today I wonder if perhaps they will have questions. I wonder what, if anything, they will have heard.

Though I felt no fear of sending my children to school, though I felt no worry for my mother, though I listened to the news and heard the comment about it being a hoax, I began to consider that perhaps this incident is a trial. Perhaps 'they' are testing to see what the reaction would be? Perhaps 'they' want to make us squirm without actual physical harm.

What is so damaging about this, is that though nothing appeared to actually happen, something did happen. More fear was spread. And that, perhaps, is the new weapon of choice.

Elf Mischief

2015-12-10T18:00:00.001-08:00

The kids were delighted my husband could not touch his Oreos.

We think he was climbing up to be with the angel.

My daughter is convinced he's in love with her.

Just to throw my daughter off, Elfie decided to do a quick

zip line from upstairs to the downstairs.

Write Time

2015-12-07T00:41:00.000-08:00

In the midst of soccer ending, kids' after school plans, our Elf, house cleaning and holiday activities, it is so easy to miss the little things. Sometimes the little things turn out to be the big things. Blink and you'll miss them.

One of these little/not so little things occurred last week as I sat down with my children after school to help them with their homework. They had gone to a play date right after early dismissal, with the promise they would focus on homework as soon as we returned. Riding high from the fun at their friend's house, they really did not want to sit down and do something required of them.

All three of the triplets approach nearly everything in different ways. Homework is no exception. They all enjoy reading. But this day, they needed to write. Not just write, but fill an entire blank page. One will fill a whole journal given the opportunity. One needs a little nudge at the beginning of each sentence. The third, he needs a complete explanation, detailed instruction, a pencil, a pencil with an eraser, PLUS hand holding.

I took my son to my office and just looked at him for a minute. He was coordinating his paper and lap desk, and I had suggested he use an additional piece of paper for notes. I thought about what he likes and understands. He is a very smart, observant child. He loves to create things by building them out of nothing. He has been making his own transformers out of legos for a couple of years and really enjoys science. So we sat together discussing how to break things apart and put them together, in word form. The last time he had to write a full page, he had a ferocious meltdown and it nearly took an act of God to drag three sentences out of him.

This time, my approach worked like a charm. I asked him what he thought the first step was. He shrugged, and I explained that writing actually means a lot of thinking. A little more bewilderment as he looked at his pencil. "My pencil can't think, Mommy". I chuckled, and explained that note taking and thinking are very important parts to writing, before you get to the actual writing. I asked him to read each part of the instructions one at a time. Then we attacked each one. As we did, he wrote down a few key words to remember what he wanted to write. Slowly, his frustration with the blank page lifted ( I can so relate!) and he began to - ENJOY - himself. I saw it flicker across his face as the pencil etched descriptives on his outline. Once he understood the process, he took off. I repeated the whole set up with my daughter, successfully. I was both relieved and amazed at the outcome.

First and foremost, I had the privilege of watching my children cross over from one way of learning to another, and truly love it. The icing was enjoying with them something I love to do, in a new way. I remember learning how to outline somewhere back in middle school, and not liking it at all. I wanted to write and I did not want anyone to tell me how to make it logical. It seemed to me that writing should be felt, not tidied. Obviously that was the thought of the young, yet-to-be-schooled writer in me. I still feel writing, only now I know how to tidy it (mostly) where necessary.The gift of teaching this to my children, especially the first time, was energizing. It was a new kind of excitement for me seeing the excitement in them.

The best part was convincing them that they could write about whatever

they wanted. It was a freedom that seemed contrary to the directions they are so accustomed to following. They were uncertain with how it felt. I know that uncertainty. I asked them if they had any questions for me. Suddenly the light that had turned on became brighter, and they pummeled me with questions about creating stories and connecting sentences. Part of parenting is figuring out how to open doors so children can discover what is on the other side. Like teaching, you do not always get the privilege of experiencing them walking through that door. This time, I got to walk through the door with them.

2015-12-06T22:34:00.002-08:00

Shy, or coy?

Elfie's Village

While the Cat's Away, the Elfie Will Play

2015-12-03T22:12:00.001-08:00

This morning we awoke to find Elfie reading "Robots Rule!" Apparently Cole's fascination with robots has already rubbed off on Elfie. Elves, robots, triplets, clowns, jokers . . . whatever.

Since we were out all day, the kids' heads were exploding with wonder of whether or not Elfie moved while they were at school. Sure enough, that cheeky imp was lounging in the chandelier.

He looked like he was doing the backstroke. And he left us a couple of goodies!

Elfie - Blending In

2015-12-03T00:01:00.002-08:00

He hid amongst the decorations . . .

leaving a scrolled message . . .

And then, he decided to go fly a kite.

NaNoWriMo

2015-11-30T15:37:00.003-08:00

This month, I participated in an online project called NaNoWriMo. If you have never heard of this, it stands for 'National Novel Writing Month'. Each November, people all over the world commit to the effort of writing at least 50, 000 words. The intent is for novelists to get a jump start on that book they long to complete one day.

Years ago, when my babies were very small, my husband's aunt, a lifelong writer, mentioned that she would be MIA in November so she could be part of NaNoWriMo. That sounded suspicious to me, but I did not investigate further. At the time, though a lifelong writer myself, I was not in the frame of mind to sit down and crank out a novel rough draft. About all I could crank out were tears and just enough breast milk for the babies.

Fast forward to now, when I have been involved with a small writing group of ladies I have known and gotten to know in the past couple of years. Each time we meet, I would talk about the four book outlines I have, and how I have a few sample essays or chapters on paper. They encouraged me and never made me feel bad if I did not move a step forward from one meeting to the next. Unconditional support.

Finally, this year I felt that my kids were in a place where I could actually start thinking instead of simply going about the rote business of every day and merely surviving. So I started organizing the files I already had journaled and published, paying attention to the goals I stated in writing group. Little by little I began to realized I could actually cobble something together.

Just before November began, I looked into what the project was all about, and made an 11th hour decision to sign up for NaNoWriMo. One of my writing group ladies had done it last year, and was participating again this year. Once November got underway, I felt pressure. I cannot say that I technically wrote 50,000+ words this month. But the combination of what I had already written, plus what I added, actually amassed just over that threshold.

This last day, I reviewed my manuscript, and adding and deleting, and furtively updating my word count, I felt like squealing when the number hit. I entered the entire text to have my efforts validated officially by the NaNoWriMo website, and this popped up!

While it's an 'on your honor' system, and theoretically you could type in the same word 50,000 times, it was kind of cool to see it happen.

I had foregone food today, save for a necessary cup of coffee and some oatmeal. I was suddenly famished and had to pee, but I had to run out the door to pick up the kids. While waiting in the pick-up line, I had time to reflect a little. I felt good about this. I also felt like I had only scratched the surface, and that it is definitely a marathon, not a sprint. It is in need of so much refinement, but I have a giant jump start to something that really matters to me.

I am not the typical NaNoWriMo participant, as, like I mentioned, its intention is for novelists. I am considered a 'rebel' by their definitions. The support is there for anyone who wants it, but I am not surprised I fall into that category. I always stick out like a sore thumb. Always have probably always will. After this month of writing I now have a sore brain to go with it. I also have far more than I had 30 days ago. It was 200 pages when I printed it to a PDF. NOw I need new goals.

Return of the Elf . . .

2015-11-30T11:51:00.001-08:00

It's that time of year again. Whether or not you can get behind the whole Elf on a Shelf thing, I have to say, my kids love it. We started it a few years ago, and it was fun when I tried to think of all the creative things I could do with the Elf. Pinterest is LOADED with ideas. The first year i just moved the elf around a bunch, a la 'Elf on the Shelf for Slackers'. Then, last year, I got much more creative. Sadly, what I did was set the bar much higher. Now I am the one who has to uphold it.

So I did what any ~~smart~~ ~~normal~~ crazy person would do: I planned it out in advance. Yes, yes, I can hear you laughing. I just have so darn much going on in my life that I figured if I planned out what the little red guy was doing each day, it would help me stay on track. Now I not only have my own to do list, I have one for a stuffed elf who keeps my kids in line better than I do. What just happened?

This morning we set up Elfie's door, because you know, he needs a place to get in. Last year we made the door, the fence, wreath and sitting area for him. So I dragged that out and we set it up. They kept asking me if he might come a day early this year, like last year. Early? I have no recall of that. Whatever. We set it up and they went off to school squealing about behaving and seeing Elfie soon. They insisted on illuminated lights to his front door, and plan on making him ornaments for his (multiple) trees. Last year he only had one. We only have one for crying out loud.

So this is Elfie's front door, and if I can get away with it, I might not decorate anything else, except our tree.

I sound sarcastic maybe, but when we finished and they were at school, I started thinking about how little time there might be left for them to believe the way they do now. If one figures it all out, they might tell the others. It won't be like an older sibling keeping the secret for the younger one(s). With multiples, I imagine that they will move through most rites of passage at the same speed.

And thus, I will be consulting my elf activities/antics spreadsheet daily until Christmas Eve. We'll see what trouble he can get up this year! Hopefully the next 25 days will produce well behaved kids and sustained belief in the wonder that is eventually chipped away from us. The next best thing to having that wonder live in you, is living with little someones who have it living in them.

Looks like he's ready to go!

Hey, that's MY coffee . . .

2015-11-18T10:16:00.001-08:00

Featured today on "Great Moments in Parenting"!

My son, the artist.

It’s the Great Pumpkin Spice Latte

2015-09-21T13:57:00.004-07:00

Oh coffee, there is so much to say about you. I did not like you at first, but at 22, I found that with a proper amount of sugar and cream, you were tolerable. We’ve been through so much, you and I, since then. I even thought I could get by without you, but lo, you waited patiently for me to lose my senses and dive back in.

In my single days in San Francisco, I frequented Starbucks, well, frequently. My Starbucks branded mug could journey to the nearest store with my office staff and the baristas knew what needed to be in it. That my friends, is an addiction. Fast forward many a few years, and I find myself practically intravenously attached to my local Starbucks. “I’m spending what?? I’m consuming how much??” You could stop to think about this and it will make you dizzy.

Time, Money and Calories –

Save It Or Spend It?

The average Pumpkin Spice latte can cost about $6.50, give or take. If you take it as it’s listed on the menu, it can add up to about 470 calories. Now, I’m no math wizard, but a healthy diet can be in the 1300-1800 calorie range. Just one latte can cut into that by almost a third. But there is hope!

Don't know what or how to order? These aren’t new suggestions, but they are effective.

The Great Latte Swap
Option #1
• Order an Americano instead.
• It contains steamed water instead of milk.
• A Venti is about 20 calories and has four shots instead of the three in a comparable size latte.
• Ask for one pump of Pumpkin Spice instead of the ‘half a bottle’ they put in.
• Add flavor, sugar, milk, etc. from the condiment bar.
Cost: $2.95 +/-

Option #2
Have the latte, but add an espresso shot (.75 cents)
• Ask for one pump (see above).
• Request nonfat, soy or coconut milk.
• Ask for extra foam. It has the consistency of light whipped cream, but it’s practically air. You feel like it’s a treat, and it fills up the cup, so less milk goes in.
• Calories and price are still there, but lower.
Cost: $4.75 +/-

Now it’s your turn . . .

"Come here you big beautiful cup of coffee . . ." Oops. That's my line.

YOU: “I’d like a Quad Venti, Nonfat, one pump, extra foam, Pumpkin Spice Latte”.

Please.

Crack

2015-07-10T13:23:00.000-07:00

Back in April, I had the honor of reading an essay I wrote, at the 2015 production of Listen To Your Mother (Orange County).

I am grateful to my friends and family who came to see the show. Sharing the stage with 12 other amazing writers, we took our turns, crying, laughing and hugging, as each piece was read. It was a unique experience, and I encourage anyone, writer or not, to consider auditioning for a future production.

A huge thank you to the producers of our show, Ciaran Blumenfeld, Cheryl Rosenberg, Angela Camacho and Katherine Kotkin. To my mother-in-law who flew all the way from Connecticut to be there, and also a very large MWAAAA to my friend Julie Gardner, who sort of held my hand to get me there. Lastly, to my fantastic writing group. I love you ladies!
Kim Tracy Prince
Charlene Ross
Rina Nehdar
Laurel Byrne

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Created by Ann Imig (Ann’s Rants), Listen to Your Mother began in 2010 and is now produced in 39 cities nationwide! LISTEN TO YOUR MOTHER offers an opportunity for 12 people to share their voice from a moment in their journey through parenthood. Not only is this a chance to go with each reader as they portray motherhood through their journey, but LISTEN TO YOUR MOTHER gives back to the community by supporting those in need. This production supported the WISE Place in Santa Ana.

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Full text of my reading:

“There is a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.”

~ Leonard Cohen

I have missed whole seasons. Time has passed and all of a sudden it is 108 degrees outside. The past many months in hospitals has left us haggard and pasty skinned. I woke up this morning and realized that this time last year, we were only hoping to get pregnant.

The wreckage of my body after two plus years of fertility medication and an all too short pregnancy, left me ravaged. Now, my babies are fighting for their lives in two separate hospitals. ‘People’ say life will be easier once the kids get a bit older. Mostly I think these are people who do not have triplets born at 28 weeks gestation. I want to believe it. The reality is that every expectation I had ever had about motherhood has been shot to hell - instantly. One of our sons had just survived a major stroke and his first (of 13) brain surgeries.

This day, as I hover over his NICU isolette, his rapidly paling skin connects with my gut, that primal, maternal howl deep inside that has no words, only action. I know something far worse is wrong. I run back and forth the two feet between his bed and the NICU nurses frantically, until they finally decide to transfuse him. But he is what they call a difficult stick. Every vein blows the moment the needle pierces the thin, premature skin in his arms, his feet, and finally, a vein in his scalp. I begin to lose my mind when I realize this is more than a transfusion can repair. I urge the Neonatologist to call UCLA and have Cole sent back there so his neurosurgeon can evaluate.

My son has a neurosurgeon. MY son - has a neurosurgeon.

The blood test comes back just then. Cole has bacterial meningitis. How did I get here? Where is my breath?

The room spins as I watch the transport team hustle in and painstakingly remove each line from this defenseless, tiny creature, only to reattach him to lines on the portable isolette. As the last one is peeled off his tiny face, I motion for them to stop. Confused, they let me know that the situation is dire and they cannot wait. But for one suspended moment, and for the first time, I am able to see Cole’s beautiful face. As our eyes meet something stirs in me that I cannot describe, and I quickly snap a photo of him on my phone before the lines are sealed back on his face with endless tape strips.

I think I am collapsing. One of the nurses holds me up and points out that even though this is happening to my child now, if he had born healthy, there’s no guarantee that he wouldn’t suffer some other insult or injury later in life. Her intent is perspective, and it takes hold in my head, just not my heart. The immediate threat of his death terrifies me in a way I have never before felt. The flight nurses wheel Cole out and I run flights of stairs to the roof, desperately dragging my husband’s hand behind me. Barely able to choke back my sobs, I am relived to see that the helicopter is still there. I walk toward it as far as they allow me, clutching the flight wings pin they gave me for him, and watch my baby fly away into the sky.

I call my parents and asked them to rush to the hospital, as they live a few minutes from UCLA. I cannot bear the thought of my infant son at the hospital, all alone and sliced open on an operating table. It takes us 45 minutes in traffic, though it seems like hours. Myriad obstacles seem to taunt me: parking the car, elevators, charge nurses with charts to show me. I finally walked to Cole’s post-op bed and look down at the piles of blankets surrounding his small body, in a bed much too large for him. I lift the sheet and run my fingers over his belly. Clear smooth skin that I knew had been sliced irreparably underneath the large bandages there, and the back of his bald and shaved head.

I feel like I am going to crack into pieces. I am overwhelmed and want an escape. I hadn’t planned on having triplets at 40. I was uber-ready for one baby, not three. I try to take a deep breath and count to 10. But this is so far past that or any coping skill I know. What happens now?

It breaks my heart that they bore a hole in Cole’s skull. It breaks my soul to realize my limitations. I feel selfish for being limited. I want to think it will pass, like a teacup that has broken and been repaired. I hope I can be tea-worthy again, ready to have more poured in, no matter the heat.

You’ll only see the crack if you look closely.

Shower of Poetry

2015-05-27T11:53:00.002-07:00

Its been long since the hour

I had time for a shower

Now I know why the French wear perfume

I can only hold hope

And pretend to not mope

That when I do enter a room

No one should wrinkle

Or be caused to crinkle

One single facial muscle

Their sensitive sniffer

Should be free of a whiffer

Of Mama.