Since the last time I posted...

Angel has whined and complained numerous times about putting on knee-high tube socks prior to numerous t-ball games!

Isaac has morphed into Indiana Jones.

Angel, Isaac, and Bella debuted in their kindergarten school play, "The Three Billy Goat's Gruff," as a butterfly, a bumble bee, and Fanny Goat.

Over 100 Easter eggs were collected containing enough candy to cost us over $1,500 at the pediatric dentist.

My sassy, back-talking sweet, little Annie celebrated her fourth birthday with a Teddy Bear party theme. (And at this party I confessed to all of the parents that when I found out I was pregnant with her, just ten months after giving birth to triplets, I screamed in terror wept internally at the thought of another little body to be responsible for.)

We took a small trip to Knott's Berry Farm and Palm Springs with some friends who will probably never ask us to travel ANYWHERE-TOGETHER-EVER-AGAIN with them after realizing the chaos that ensues when traveling with the Kamahi Clan!

The girls begged for make-up and curls and I gladly obliged!

Mark and I enjoyed an evening at The Old Spaghetti Factory downtown, sans children!

I escorted Angel, Isaac, and Annie to the movies to watch "Monsters vs. Aliens," and had a hard time dishing out the $48.00 it cost to sit in the theater for an hour and a half, UNTIL I saw my children sporting the super-cute glasses that brought the movie to life in 3-D! (Bella was left behind due to the fact that she was paying up for a consequence she earned after taking 3 swings at her father in a complete fit-of-rage!)

Needless to say, we've been BUSY!!!

No More Walmart

Many people choose not to shop at Walmart for many different reasons.

They put the little guys out of business.

The quality of their products are inferior.

They skimp when it comes to paying their employees.

And the list goes on....

Prior to yesterday, I was an avid Walmart shopper. The greeter at the door of our local store welcomed me with a smile at least three times a week. I was happy to shop there, and they were happy to take in my cash. That was, prior to yesterday.

I didn't jump on the bandwagon to support the previously mentioned concerns.

No, my sweet, darling daughter, who competes with her oldest sister in holding the title of, "Gift for Gab," failed to keep her thoughts to herself, not once, but two times yesterday afternoon.

While perusing the hair accessory isle, we were passed by an employee who was in a wheelchair. I knew the comments were coming when I observed Annie blatantly staring closely observing the employee. And then, the dialogue began, in Annie's obnoxiously loud clearly audible voice.

"Mom. He's in a wheelchair."

"Yes he is, Annie. Some people have to use wheelchairs to get around."

"Mom. He has to be in a wheelchair. I think that he's broken."

With a smirk and a shush, I whisked her away, paid for my goods, and headed to Taco Bell, where Annie added insult to injury.

Because the Taco Bell is adjacent to the Walmart, many of the Walmart employees dine there for lunch. On this particular day, one of the mechanics from the Tire Lube and Express chose to, "Think Outside the Bun." directly across from where Annie and I were doing the same thing.

This mechanic from the Tire Lube and Express was born with female anatomy, but for an almost four year old, her outward appearance proved otherwise. The shaved head and masculine posture made it clear to Annie that this person was indeed a "boy." I'm not sure why I chose to argue the point with her, but I did, continuously rebuttaled by Annie's obnoxiously loud clearly audible voice.

"Mom. Even Walmart workers eat at Taco Bell. Like that boy sitting right there." (pointing definitively at the woman sitting across from us.)

"Annie, that's not a boy. It is a girl."

Thinking I must certainly be confused about who she is referring to, she points her finger a bit firmer and raises her voice just a wee bit louder. "No Mom. That BOY sitting RIGHT THERE!"

"It's not a boy, Annie, it's a girl."

"No mom. That boy who works at Walmart is a BOY!"

I had to remind myself that I am an adult, and there was really no reason to prove to her that the boy was indeed a girl.

I'm convinced that the greeter at the door of the local Walmart will no longer greet me with a smile. I imagine him with a snap shot photo of my daughter with strick instructions to keep her away.

A Gift for Gab

I have no problem admitting that I have a gift for gab! I love to talk to people... my friends, my neighbors, or perfect strangers who are willing to engage in conversation with me. More than one of my friends, on more than one occasion, has teased me that I could make conversation with a wall. Give me five minutes with another individual, and I will know everything about them--I'm not afraid to ask questions! It seems that I have passed this gift on to one of my children.

My dear Angel treats school as a social hour, or social hours, plural. She enjoys very much, talking to her classmates. So much so, that she has been relocated to many different locations in her classroom. I've walked into her classroom numerous times, only to find that the spot she sat in the day before is not the same spot she will sit in today!

Like her mother, she does not discriminate who she will talk to. Baby, peer, adult, boy, girl, animal....they're all fair game to her.

Because I can fully relate to her need for gab, it's hard to come down hard on her for it. Maybe I should just cancel her Spanish class and piano lessons and enroll her in an etiquette class?

Sand Has New Meaning

It wasn't an easy decision for me to convert the kids' extra large sand box into, well, a sandbox.

When we had the yard landscaped, we had a pretty large corner of the yard made into a play area for the kids. At the time, I was not able to approve sand in the sandbox, rather I chose to fill the area with hard pieces of bark, because by golly, bark would be less likely to find it's way into pockets, cuffs of pants, or in between the millions of strands of hair on each of my children's head.

When the bark began to age and splinter and find it's way under finger nails and skin, I mustered up the courage to put sand where it had always belonged. As expected, since that fateful day when we emptied fifty plus bags of playground sand into the area, I have been sweeping it off the porch, sweeping it out of the house, and washing it out of crevices in the body that I will not describe in detail.

So when a family from the kids' school suggested a family trip to the desert, I was less than thrilled to entertain the idea. If sixty cubic feet of sand in my backyard makes me as anxious as a caterpillar feels in a schoolyard full of children, what would miles and miles of sand make me feel like? Probably more like that same caterpillar under the lens of a microscope on a hot, scorching, sunny day!

None-the-less, I committed my family to the President's-Weekend-Family-Desert-Trip. We had a trailer delivered to the spot we called home for three nights, and roughly four days. Although the trailer was delivered more than 8 hours late, and the cleanliness of it resembled that of a bachelor pad that housed 4 grown men, it was a warm place to rest our heads after a long day in the sand and sun. It was no job my two canisters of Lysol Anti-Bacterial Wipes couldn't handle!

I went into the weekend with absolutely no unreasonable expectations, which is why being out of my "comfort zone," was more than manageable, as proven in the following ways:

My heart rate didn't increase one bit when one hour before arrival time, on the side of the highway just east of El Centro, the light on the dashboard reported a flat tire on the front, passenger side. I was just happy that Mark was the one standing outside changing it while being pelted with wind that was probably nearly 40 degrees.

For four weeks prior to the trip I was told that we would only have 35 gallons of water at our disposal. Thirty five gallons of water for four days to wash up dishes for a family of six, wash 12 hands an indefinite number of times, wash six faces at least once in the morning and once before bed, etc, etc. I was relieved when I was informed that 35 gallons was in fact 50 gallons.

I was completely at ease with the fact that my kids spent more time this past weekend laying in the dirt than they did standing in it.

I did not blink an eye when my kids chose to eat red licorice and Blow-Pops for breakfast instead of cereal and bananas. Nor did I blink when their dinner consisted of good 'ol camfire smores!

I didn't cringe at the fact that my girls never once wore a hair bow while we were there!

I was fine with the fact that they didn't once hit the sack at their usual time of 7:30 pm. The fun was still going until at least 9:30 or 10:00 pm!

It was my impression, by the number of times that I was asked, "Are you having a good time?" that no one expected me to enjoy myself. With the company that I was in, my water tank could have held zero gallons, and I would have been A-okay!

My family got to make lasting memories with great friends, that would have never been made had we not agreed to this trip. Sand will forever have new meaning for me! Bring it on!

My Hunny Bunny

I guess I'm not the only one who thinks my little boy is the cutest boy around! Apparently he has some admirers in his class as well!

The other evening, while chit chatting with my girls about when their next play date with their girlfriends will be, Isaac piped in with a look of concern.

"Mom, please don't ever let Kylie Jo come to our house to play!"

Being that Isaac is friendly with everyone in his class, I questioned his request.

"Why don't you want Kylie Jo to come to our house to play?"

"Because, Mom. Today she told me I was her Hunny Bunny."

I could do nothing more than grab him in my arms and squeeze him tight and think of a nice way to let Kylie Jo know that she was wrong....

He will ALWAYS be MY Hunny Bunny!