caroldebrajones

One day rolls into the next.  There often isn’t much to differentiate.  Not that I’m complaining.   I’m just observing the fact.  Often my day begins with me emptying the dishwasher, followed shortly thereafter by my making a list of calls and tasks I need to complete for the day.  You bored yet?

1. Laundry

My list might begin.  Some chores like washing, folding and putting away little pants, shirts and undies are never done.

2. Grocery Shopping

It often continues. I’m just not good at planning a week’s worth of dinners.  Plus I don’t like freezing our proteins, which admittedly narrows my choices if I’m trying to limit the frequency of my visits to the store.  So many days, I find myself quickly navigating the aisles, picking up something to roast for the night’s meal.  I’ve begun to consider myself rather a gourmet cook!  Orange jam sauce on pork one night, chipotle chicken with tarragon the next –feel free to email me if you’re looking for a new recipe.  Thankfully Simon grills our red meats (one of the benefits of year-round warm weather!), saving me the bother of anything but side dishes on those days.

Today it’s cool out, the fall weather finally dipping into the low 60’s and maybe even high 50’s overnight.  Apparently I’m a blanket hog when it gets cold.  So says my husband anyway.  Gotta remember to tuck in his side of the bedding for him.  Loose on my side, tucked on his.  One of the insights I can offer into extended married life (I’m now on year 13) – don’t fight about small stuff.  He likes his sheets tucked, I tuck.  And yes, most mornings I make the bed.  Some tasks just aren’t worth hassling over.

The house is quiet.  The morning rush to get the kids brushed, fed, clothed and lunched is behind me.  Simon took the girls to school today, leaving me peacefully alone.

Now I can focus on my workday ahead, thankfully from the relative peace and quiet of my own home.  This remote work arrangement was a concession to my sanity made about four years ago.  I couldn’t trek to and from our office, didn’t want to doll myself up, just to see a few folks face to face.  I’m much more productive just me and my phone and computer anyway.

I breathe deeply, acknowledging my good fortune in being able to maintain this still not altogether common lifestyle.  I appreciate the view of my backyard from my desk, and even the artificial coral-colored flowers sitting on it that my girls bought me for Mother’s Day this year.  “Mom & Me” says a little metal cutout, placed jauntily inside the flowers’ vase, atop pink sand and seashells.  Pretty, and filled with love.

I guess that about wraps it for today– I do have work to do!

In the words of Deepok Chopra:

“Namaste.”

It’s now “Week three” of back-to-school.  I sigh out loud with relief.  My sister recently empathized, “I know you must be beyond busy and overwhelmed with school starting.”  I almost snorted out loud with the irony of it, because for me, summer “break” is an oxymoron.  Summer is the time that my parenting goes into overdrive.  What’s the activity for the week?  Are we spending money on camp, or taking a family trip?  Each summer, for eight weeks or more, scheduling fun and entertainment for my kids is my second full time job.

Hell no! I replied (or something to that effect).  What I really feel is the calm after the storm.  I can breathe again, I told her.  And construct an uninterrupted thought. Imagine that.

My girls didn’t share my enthusiasm for summer drawing to a close.  Lily sadly remarked, a week before school started, “Our summer break is ending.” And with her wistful expression, my heart filled, because her sadness at seeing summer end validated all the activities and trips I had created for our family.  It meant that summer had been a success for my kids, a happy time, and full of enjoyment.

And so fall begins, and we are planning one last pool party to mark the end of the warmest of our California days.  I finally have time to attend to the mass of papers that have been sitting on my desk and surrounding my computer.   Yes, the laundry still has to get done.  Dinners still need to be planned.  But for six hours or more, the quiet of my home and remote office envelopes me like a welcoming blanket, and I feel at peace.

It may be the end of summer, but it’s also the beginning of owning some real “me time.”

Thank heaven for back-to-school.

It’s 8:30 am, and the girls are out the door, on their way to summer activities.  The kitchen table is littered with breakfast and arts and crafts debris.  On top of plastic cups, next to my daughters’ three, still wet and freshly painted art, dabs of remaining white, orange and red paint remain.

I never was a painter myself growing up, but I always admired others who were artistic.  So as a parent, rather than wash out the leftover paint on brushes, cups and plates, my “waste not want not” side comes to the fore, and I happily serve myself a fresh sheet of paper, upon which I might create my own piece of morning artwork.

My brush uses the left over red to make a sunset sky.  It’s a bit dark, I find, too much of a maroon shade of red, so I add some white to soften it.  Another brush with left over dark blue creates a bottom panel of dark waves.  The left over mustard yellow becomes my setting sun.  A few added touches of white here and there finish off my sea and sky scene, with faint purple strokes of color.  Now I’m finally ready to clean up, and I feel rested by the short playful exercise.

We are in week three of the girls’ summer break.  The term feels a bit of a misnomer.  Mia has been attending summer school, and we have filled the hours with swim team meets and practice, summer camps, a planned trip to visit Grandma and Grandpa back East, and horseback riding lessons.  The never-ending tasks of laundry, bills to pay, and work remain, squeezed in between grocery shopping, meal preparation and social obligations.  Summer break, perhaps, but it’s a break mostly in the measure of longer days with warmer weather, not because Momma has any less work to do, that’s for sure.

I empty the dryer of laundered towels from yesterday, to make room for the load of linens that needs to go in it, and circle back, pausing at the kitchen counter to admire my artwork.  My sea and sunset impressionistic painting sits next to three paintings of hearts, drawn by the girls for their father’s upcoming birthday.  My painting could have easily been drawn by a nine year old too, and fits in with the others, other than the fact that mine does not have a heart on it anywhere.  I breathe deeply, enjoying the serenity of this moment.

And then it’s time to go, to shuttle Mia from summer school to gymnastics camp, and tackle my “to do” list.  A mother’s work is never done.

Allow me introduce myself.  My name is Carol, and I am a mother of triplets.  This is my most supreme accomplishment and I wear it like a badge of honor.  Well maybe not exactly like a badge, more like a Superstar sticker.  My triplet girls (yes, all girls!) at the age of 9, still love stickers, and I totally get it.  I mean, who doesn’t like acknowledgment?  For me, being a mom of triplets, I am constantly acknowledged for it.  When people meet me for the first time, and learn that I have triplets, the typical reaction is that their eyes open wide, and they make a statement along the lines of “Oh my God.  God bless you.”  Or “You’re like a kind of superhero!”

The funny thing is, I’ve never really thought of myself as a superhero, but I do work hard at balancing all the components of my life.  And the people who know me well know that I am constantly on the go, even when it’s just on the go around the kitchen in my house.  And I certainly don’t consider myself an overachiever as a parent.  My kids aren’t doing a different activity every day, and they haven’t perfected the art of any particular instrument or sport… yet.

But an achievement that I can rightfully boast is that I have three happy and healthy girls, they love me and their dad, and they aren’t afraid to show it.  At least, for now, they aren’t.  With any luck that won’t change, but I know, the teenage years are still ahead.  I remember myself at fourteen years old, and it wasn’t pretty.  For my parents, that is.

So allow me to use this platform as my sounding board.  I hope to share my wit, or at least let you be witness to the somewhat uniqueness that is my life.  Not that having triplets is so uncommon these days, but I’ve heard from friends who are moms with one or two children, that hearing about how I manage my brood provides them with some perspective on the challenges they face in parenting just one or two.  The comparison goes something like this: “I thought I had it tough, but gosh…three at once?!”

At the moment it’s 12:08 am on a Thursday morning.  I should be in bed, sleeping soundly, but sound sleep eludes me tonight so here I am.   Please feel free to join me here whenever you feel inclined.  I look forward to sharing my experiences as a triplet mom in the pages that follow.  And be on the lookout for my upcoming book about my early experiences as a triplet mom, Balancing Three, which I am currently pregnant with and expect to give birth to any week now!

I am open to requests and comments, so if you have any subjects you feel I might be able to shed unique light on, please feel free to ping me with a question.  Mothering takes patience and humor, among other things.  So until the next time, stay strong!

Carol Debra Lefkowitz Jones