The following "day in the life" happened a few days ago - I am just getting a moment to write it down. Much funnier today than when it happened :)
H had a routine Pulmonology appt (he was diagnosed with asthma at 9 months). Kelly was not able to arrange his schedule to be here with the other boys so we all piled in the van and headed to Atlanta for H's check up. This is not something I enjoy. Three - three year olds at any doctors appointment is rough but even more so when two of them know they do not have to be there...we all have a difficult time patiently waiting and I am (and have always been) acutely aware that we are being watched by everyone the moment we enter a waiting room and people realize these are triplets. More on this later. So, we survived the check up, good report for H, lungs are clear and all the boys managed to keep the chaos to a minimum.
From there we headed to the farm for our weekly CSA pick up with a quick stop at Chick fil A (an incredible treat as far as the boys are concerned - probably the highlight of their week if you ask them) in between. At the farm we fed the pony, went through the corn maze, got silly on some hay bales and had a great time. And then we began the drive home (the farm is a little over an hour north of our house).
I keep "to do" things - items to be returned, exchanged, mailed, etc. - in my car at all times. It's easier than trying to remember to bring stuff with me when it might be a convenient day to take care of it. On our way home from the farm everyone closed their eyes (not me) for a much needed cat nap. We'd had such an uneventful day so far, and all was quiet as I approached our exit so I made an executive decision to continue down the highway a bit to a nearby sporting goods store where I needed to make an exchange. I thought the boys might enjoy exploring all the sports equipment and I'd be able to check something off my perpetually growing to do list. All was well as we entered. As expected, the boys were very excited to see the basketball goals, football pads, baseball bats and kayaks. I found what I needed for the exchange and everyone was happy. And then I made a rookie mistake...I decided that while everyone was happy, I'd do something for myself - GASP! I've needed a new pair of running shoes (not that I actually run) for awhile. We headed to that section of the store. The boys sat down on a nearby bench, I supplied everyone with cars from the stash in my purse and I turned to speak with a sales associate. As I began to explain to her what I was looking for I heard the scream that every mother knows means trouble. Turning my attention back to the boys, I saw B holding his mouth as he alternately cried/screamed and was able to determine that C's head had collided with his mouth as they were both running after their cars (these head on collisions happen at least once a day at home with varying degrees of injury). I asked him to move his hand so he could show me where he was hurt and the blood started spewing. Let me say here that I am not a very reactive (to injuries anyway) parent. I do not panic, I do not have a weak stomach and I almost always determine that a little ice and a hug will be all that we need - we are rare visitors in our doctor's office. This was no different than usual except we were in a very big store, very far away from the bathrooms and I had three little boys dispersing in different directions while one was screaming in hysterics with blood all over his hand and face. I somehow managed to drop my things, get everyone together, grab all hands and head across the store to a bathroom. Funny observation - in a store that was full of sales people looking to help me just moments before suddenly not one employee was anywhere to be seen. Through every department we trekked, up an elevator, into the bathroom where I placed the two uninjured boys against the wall and told them in my very serious, mommy means business voice not to move an inch. Poor B was still in shock about all the blood on his hand and though it was not hurt at all wanted most to wash it off. We managed to clean him up and determine the usual...a little ice and a hug would be all his fat little lip needed. But I learned a lesson that day. One I should have figured out in 3.75 years of life with triplets. Sometimes one more thing is just one too many and as sure as I think it'll be fine, we are bound to have an unforeseen adventure to laugh about later - once the horror of poor judgement has passed.