Packing

Packing. For myself and five children. Should be simple, right?

No.

There are approximately 2,157 steps to take in packing for a trip with children.

The clothes are the easy part. Pants--done! Shirts--done! Pajamas--done! Socks, underwear, swim suit--done! Toss in jackets, toothbrushes, and a hairbrush, and--voila!--packing finished!

Right?

Wrong.

Enter the complications.

First, the carry-on bag. The carry-on bag must be large enough to fit everything (and I mean everything), but small enough to stow comfortably under the airplane's seat. It must contain twelve diapers (for three diapered children), a change of clothes for two infants, and multiple items of entertainment that are quiet, non-messy, small, and legal. As you pack, fool yourself by thinking that the entertainment might last longer than twenty minutes. Add a couple of plastic grocery bags, in the likely event of excess trash, barf, wet clothing, and the like.

The carry-on bag also must contain enough food to last two infants for eight hours of plane rides. The food must be in a quart-size freezer bag, along with the hand sanitizer and play dough and bubbles and Desitin. Make sure you take spoons for the food. Add two disposable bibs. Toss in the printoff from the TSA website, which reads that jars of baby food and juice larger than four ounces are allowed as carry-ons for infants. (I have been burned before on this one; not all TSA agents know their rules. A printout should help: "See, Mr. TSA Agent with the white gloves and badge? SEE? It says right here--the baby food is allowed! Truly, no bomb-making materials are inside!") Roll up two small baby blankets and then add loveys. Binkys are a must. Leave room to add the DVD player later. Finally, add a couple of snacks and a thin--very thin--magazine for yourself.

Above all, make sure you pour the Benadryl into a 3-ounce container, wrap a paper towel around it, and put it in that quart-size bag. You'll need it. (I used to frown on parents who gave their infants Benadryl to help them sleep on a plane. But after many, many trips across the country, I am a believer. Sue me.)

Next, go lift a few weights in preparation for hauling this bag, and accompanying carseat, across an airport terminal while also pushing a double stroller and keeping track of three pedestrian children. Happily remind yourself that on this trip, at least, your husband will be joining you.

Listen to your husband remind you that you and he may not be sitting next to each other on the plane, and thus, one bag for two babies, not sitting adjacent to one another, may pose a problem.

Lovingly ignore his comment.

Now move on to the carry-on bags for the older three children. Summon said children to provide assistance. Veto many toys and precious gems that they eagerly bring to add to their plane bag. Allow them two books and coloring. Give them each a quart-size bag, into which they pile chocolate, gum, three varieties of crackers, and fruit snacks. Add Hot Wheels and stickers to toddler son's bag. Add play dough to his bag. Remove play dough and add it to the quart-size bag of questionable materials in your own carry-on. Send daughters to sharpen their colored pencils. Wonder silently if sharp colored pencils are legal on an airplane. Send daughters to get DVDs. Choose Baby Einstein DVDs for the babies.

Next, move on to the toiletries. Prescriptions--there are two. Dental floss. Vitamins--count out three kids per day times eight days. Add some for you and hubby. A baggie of ibuprofen, Tylenol, Neosporin, Band-Aids--just in case. Add baby bottles to the suitcase. Sunscreen. Hair things--elastics, a couple bows, one or two scrunchies. Comb. Brush.

On the kitchen counter, make a pile. Small insulated bag, to be filled immediately before departure. Cameras, portable DVD player, Leapster--all these items need their batteries recharged.

All the while, make a list--a list of things still to add. Your sunglasses, currently in the car. Jeans, now in the laundry. Cell phone charger. Itinerary. And so forth.

Remind yourself repeatedly that the trip will be fun--once you arrive. Remind yourself repeatedly that you can do it--you've done it before. Remind yourself repeatedly that it will all be worth it for the wonderful vacation that awaits. In the words of a friend, "Mickey himself had better greet you when you arrive."

But this is the sacrifice a mom makes for a family vacation. Mom does moutains of prepwork--shopping, packing, organizing, cleaning--and the memory of that work dissolves as the vacation memories take their place.

Because the fun that awaits is so worth the effort--worth the endless packing, the lists, the airline restrictions and hassles, and the blood, sweat, and tears that go into flying with children. The fun that awaits on the other end of the trip consists of family, adventure, sunshine, and sights new and wonderful.

We can't wait!

(In case you were wondering, we are headed to Disneyland.)

Taking Votes, Comments, Insights

I have two ongoing dilemmas when it comes to this blog.

I would like input, please, on either or both of them.

FIRST, I really hate that this blog is private. Can anyone give me good advice on this? I'd like to hear both viewpoints.

SECOND--choices, choices--should I keep my ultra-cheesy blog title of "Only He Who Sees" or change it to "The Whatever Years"? (This second name was coined by my dear friend Cindy as a description of life with young children. I remind myself of it often when the going gets rough.)

Thoughts?

Thank you.

hairspray

A few nights ago, a few girlfriends and I went to see this show:

While it wasn't my favorite Broadway show, it was still delightful--colorful, whimsical, and just plain fun. Many thanks to Sydney for the invite!

February Traditions

There are countless reasons why I love the people whose names are written on these red mailboxes.

Each day for fourteen days, I get to leave them a note leaving one reason I love them. Just one, out of the many.

Next year, we'll add our little twins to the mix. And then I will have many more "I love you because..." messages to choose from.

Until 2010.

Random Recent Pictures

I am terrible at taking pictures--terrible at framing them, terrible at making them look lovely, terrible at taking enough of them to record the details of our lives. My photo collection is pitiful, to say the least. But for the sake of family history, once again, here goes:

The twins have discovered the wonders of an open fridge.

Our friend Jacob took Nathan for a bike ride. Nathan didn't like it too much.

Last Sunday afternoon, since Brian was working, the kids and I hiked up a trail to Monticello with our good friends, the Andersons. The kids slept very well that night.

Madeline got some fashion tips from her sisters. (Why do I feel like all of our pictures of the twins are of them sitting in their high chairs?)

In the space of forty-five minutes, Nathan pieced together no less than four puzzles, almost entirely by himself. Three of those puzzles were sixty pieces.

Finally--triumph!--all five kids sat still long enough for Dad to read them a story.

Attack of the Green Foam

Santa failed us.

At Christmas, he left Emma and Clara some fun "foaming shapes body wash" in their stockings.

The pink bottle, seen below on the left, was plugged, unfixable, and never worked.

Then the green jar wreaked havoc on our unsuspecting eight-year-old.


In the shower last week, Emma began screaming mercilessly. Brian and I rushed upstairs, thinking she had been seriously hurt.

We discovered this:

Green foam covered the walls, shower fixtures, and floor. I tried to flush it down the toilet, to no avail. I tried to scoop it and put it in the trash, but there was too much. Finally, after twenty minutes solid of rinsing, it disappeared.

Nothing too dramatic, but it sure gave us a good laugh afterward.

This Week

Enough with the sickness, already!

In the last ten weeks, our family has had:

1 case of appendicitis
6 cases of strep throat
5 bouts of the barfing flu
1 sinus infection
3 nasty colds
1 ear infection

I get to have the ear infection. I have newfound sympathy for my children and the ear infections they've endured. Pressure, sound distortion, and, well, JUST STOP THE RINGING ALREADY! Thank goodness for these little gems:




I think we're all on the mend--for now.

And yes, we did get our flu shots.

Jen Chills with Franklin and Eleanor

I spent the cold month of January hibernating with this book:

(That's No Ordinary Time, by Doris Kearns Goodwin, in case you can't decipher the text.)

I am a sucker for World War Two anything. A Sucker. And I can't believe I hadn't read this book several years ago, when I first discovered my Suckerness.

Now I want to read a few more--one of them being Truman, by David McCullough.

But I digress.

I've now decided that biographies, in general, pose a unique problem: Reading them does away with the invincible, omniscient hero, and leaves you with nothing more than a normal person. When I say "normal," of course I mean smart, ambitious, and talented, but really just normal. Normal problems. Normal relationships. Normal weaknesses.

I admit, I felt a little let down to discover that the Roosevelt's marriage wasn't paved with roses, to learn that FDR was arrogant and more than a bit of a ladies' man, to find out that Eleanor in her brilliance was also very difficult to live with. (Although I absolutely loved her for being a woman far ahead of her time.)

In spite of their ordinariness, look at what they accomplished.

WOW.

In reading the book, I (somewhat sadly) lost the naive hero worship, which was replaced by a profound respect for these ordinary people placed in extraordinary circumstances.

It reminded me, once again, that "genius is 1 percent inspiration and 99 percent perspiration." Yes, it is.

My favorite part of the book was a mere two paragraph blip that told of FDR's visit to a military hospital in the South Pacific. FDR never allowed himself to be photographed or seen in his wheelchair; every time he was in public, he either rode in an open car or stood with the aid of braces or another person. On this visit, however, he visited the amputee wing of the military hospital. There, he allowed his aide to push him in his wheelchair, moving slowly down the corridor and greeting each individual soldier. He wanted those young men to see his disability and recognize that it had not stopped him, his life, or his success. After 500 pages of reading about this man, the mental image and its accompanying message were powerful.

So, I loved the book. Just had to share.

Multiples Galore

Has anyone else noticed headlines such as these recently?

Five Times the Fears
Husband Overseas, Quintuplets' Mother Overwhelmed by Demands, Expenses

Octuplets' births surprise California doctors

Mother of octuplets has six other children

Full articles can be read at:

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wpdyn/content/article/2009/01/22/AR2009012203995.html

http://www.cnn.com/2009/HEALTH/01/30/mother.octuplets/index.html

http://www.cnn.com/2009/HEALTH/01/27/california.octuplets/index.html?iref=newssearch

Over the last few days, these mothers have been in my mind and heart and certainly in my prayers, as are their little babies. I cannot fathom the road ahead for them. Cannot. Fathom. It. I feel a phsyical ache in the pit of my stomach when I think about the coming months.

That's all.

Newfound Appreciation

I never appreciated my fingertips...

until the last four days.

It all started last Monday, when I bought some new paring knives at Sam's Club.

Several days came and went uneventfully, and then it was Thursday. A bad day.

I was attempting to slice a piece of cheese, and instead I scalped the tip of my left index finger. And when I say scalped, I mean it.

In spite of (almost) continuously applied pressure, the cut bled for five hours. Around hour two, I went to the hospital so Brian could take a look at it. He applied some painful gook to help the bleeding "stop"--i.e., slow it down.

At 4 p.m., the bleeding stopped. Finally.

At 5 p.m. I was cutting fruit for dinner, going slowly and babying that gauze-wrapped index finger, and--

--I DID IT AGAIN. This time, I slashed through my left ring finger.

Same knives. Same hand. Same place, on the fingertip.

My left hand is fairly crippled.

Now, I can barely type. Or buckle kids' car seats. Or change diapers. Or fold laundry. Or do any of the multitude of simple things I do on a constant basis.

I never appreciated my fingertips. I do now. It was a hard lesson to learn.

And those paring knives are being returned.