It’s noon on a Sunday. It’s a blue sky and white puffy cloud type of day. We, as in me and the three, are on our way home from a delightfully unorganized play date with triplets three weeks our senior. It was like two cowboys walking into a saloon fresh out of a gun fight. I nod my hat at my fellow cowboy (the other mother), not a lot of words needed, we put our guns down and let our cronies run wild. The tumbleweeds roll. You don’t need a whole lot of nothin’ – cowboys like us, we get it.

So we are on our way home, pushing the limits as we flirt with laying down late for our nap. No biggie, mom – you have toddlers – they have a world to explore, cut the cord and let the nap go. Be that laid back version of yourself you always pray to be.

No better time to be laid back than now – windows down, sunroof open, music on – it’s bliss. I keep thinking, OK – when will it hit? Where is the melt down? It’s coming. They had a measly applesauce for lunch and are late for nap. Overstimulated from exposure to similar species. It’s coming, I just know it’s coming.

I look in my rear view mirror to see all three faces. Little boy red faced and staring out the window as the trees fly by. Girly girl silent and letting the wind hit her hair. And monkey, drooling and peaceful. Tired, yes. Crying, No. NO?! As we keep driving, I notice they are sort of swaying – eyes shut – letting the wind hit their face like a dog out the window. Opposite to the outburst I was waiting for, they are happy. Yes, happy.

I notice monkey is smiling from ear to ear, eyes shut – swinging her head back and forth between the velvety shoulder straps. Singing a quiet and subtle “ahhhh”. The other two, just taking it in, almost like they are enjoying the break from our regularly and rigidly scheduled program.

I am frozen in time. The breeze, the peace, the music – it all seems surreal. This moment is like rocket fuel for all the hard times, the tantrums and the sleepless nights. I take a deep breath and plant myself in this very moment. For once today, the pressure is off. It doesn’t matter what they eat for lunch or what they learn from a book of ABC’s or even when their nap starts.

What matters is they are being taught. Taught from the classroom of life. Taught to “just be”. Today, they are my teacher and the blue sky and marshmallow clouds are our classroom.

What was your classroom like today?

I was a Girl Scout “daisy” when I was a little girl, still wet behind the ears. It must have been kindergarten or 1st grade. When I got a little older, it was time to ceremoniously and publicly, cross the wooden bridge from daisy status to BROWNIE magic. The title of “Brownie” meant a higher responsibility, but also more reward. It was clear, even to my simple 9 year old mind, I had crossed the bridge. Let the new Girl Scout life begin.

I often am looking, waiting, searching for that wooden bridge to cross now, as a parent. I feel like I’m standing in the middle of the bridge most days. Waiting to cross. Waiting to know what the other side looks like. But mostly, dazed and confused about what the original side of the bridge even looked like.

This is real life as a parent. We don’t get to cross ceremonial or physical bridges … nor do we get to see our babies cross them. Those sweet newborns come out as pink and wrinkly love bugs and before you know it, they are more like sticky and running stink bugs. They travel closer to their independence and farther from our safe keeping with every passing day and each milestone checked.

I remember when my babies were so little and sweet, like little piles of syrupy pancakes, barely making eye contact.

I would think to myself, what will it be like when they look me in the eye and smile? A few months later, I thought, what will it be like when they move across the room? And a few months later as they started to babble confidently to everyone and no one, I thought what will it be like when they say, “Mama, I love you”?

In my mind, I think, there will be a bridge we cross together. We will wake up, go to a bridge, and together, we will declare, OK – today, we are embarking on stage # 234. The talking toddler. The toddler will spontaneously declare acts of love and will from time to time, use her own opinion to work against the all positive intentions of the mother. The mother, is now armed and ready and cool as a cucumber to approach this stage victorious. Congratulations, you have crossed the bridge.

If only.

I realized yesterday as I looked at one of their newborn pictures, how much has changed without my permission or notice of a bridge being crossed. I thought to myself, “Look at those babies, they were so easy to love.”

Now, as we approach age two (gasp & choke here), I feel like somewhat of a hybrid: a cross between a rookie and a seasoned vet. So much under my mommy belt, with so many lessons ahead. So many bridges yet to be crossed but so many traveled. Sometimes we just have to open our eyes and realize the bridge doesn’t really end – it just keeps on going… gradually and beautifully.

What part of the bridge are you on – are you resisting or walking with confidence?

There are many days I will call my husband and say, “I did it again. I crossed something off the list.” I will then confess that I once again gave in to one of the items on the list. The “ I will never let my kids do this- because I will be a GOOD mom” list.

I, of course, starting crafting this list years before I even considered having a child.

Things like:

• They will only have breast milk until the age of one
• They will only eat organic
• They will never have a happy meal
• They will never have a sucker
• They won’t eat sugar for the first five years of life
• They will never eat a hot dog
• They will never have juice
• They will not be in public with snot running down their face
• They will never watch TV
• They will not play with our phones and other technology

And then, you have kids.

I had THREE babies at once. I did my best to breast feed them, but I only had two breasts and three mouths to feed – do the math. And yes, I do my best to feed them organic, but the occasional happy meal is a treat when we are traveling now – because it may be the only option. Suckers and sugars? In moderation, they are treats and celebrations. And the snot – come on – if you have kids, you will have snot, enough said. The TV – well, sometimes it is calming – for all of us. They sing and dance and learn, I get a few minutes to catch my breath. And the phones and technology … well, they just want what we have. And thankfully, sometimes our phones and tablets can be educational and fun – for all of us.

I was lucky to meet Dr. Greene at a blogging conference this past summer. We talked about the triplets and their ages, and I think I probably rambled in confession about failing to comply with the above list, since I was meeting a pediatrician that believed in organic, natural approaches. Thankfully, he didn’t judge me. As we talked, he ended up telling me about a new app that would be on the market.

An app?!! For kids?!! You mean I am not a terrible mother for letting my kids play with my iPhone and iPad?

And so we tried it. And ever since the day I downloaded KidGlyphs, my kids have been fighting over the images and words like it is one of those sugary suckers. It is one of the few things that will keep them in one spot while I brush my teeth or make them breakfast. My three twenty month olds are at different vocabulary levels, but with this app, they all listen calmly, smile and laugh at the pictures and always try to repeat the words – at their own pace and level. That may mean half a word for my son, a full crystal clear version for one of my daughters and for my other daughter, it’s often some variation of ba or ma – but I know what she means…

So, I give in to checking off my list. And I’m pleased with myself. Pleased I have let go of my rigid expectations and surprised that most of my ideals weren’t that important anyway. Sometimes things you thought were the worst choices weren’t that bad after all. Besides – they make 100% organic turkey hotdogs and kids can learn to speak from an iPhone app … not too shabby if you ask me.

Breakfast had been served, milks polished off and shoes put on in anticipation of being thrown off in mid air from car seats, while watching Mickey…again. I take Baby A, the boy, and carry him out to the van, as the girls flirt with diving off the laundry steps into the garage. Funny, they always understand snack, milk and bubbles – but “stay put” seems to slip their mind when it’s time to go bye-bye and wait to be loaded.

I kiss the boy and tell him “Let’s go to the park,” thinking of my soy latte I am about to have in my hand, from the convenient drive-thru nestled closely to the large park down the street.

He throws his body, purses his lips, turns red and all 32 pounds of him pushes with force against my every effort to turn Mickey on, promise a snack or give him a fancy sticker. He is gone. He has crossed the line of cooperation and is now swimming in frustration and mad with no way to say it, but scream it.

I am trying to fold down his arms, legs, feet, hands, or at least get the core of his body flat against the car seat, when I notice the girls have escaped from the garage step – now crying, shoes off and raising arms for “Mommy,Mommy!” I start to sweat. Tears fill up my eyes and I feel stuck.

Stuck in this house, stuck with three crying babies and stuck in frustration.

They are frustrated. And I am frustrated. And like a foreigner in another country, we have no way to communicate our frustrations … other than cry. All four of us.

I get them out, giving into their managed control of trying to tell me they want to stay home. I take a deep breath, and let them wander barefoot away from the van and back into the abyss of toys and overwhelming mess that our house often is.

They go over, get the sidewalk chalk, carry it out like three ants marching in a team and sit down to begin drawing on the sidewalk. They are happy, calm and look up at me like “Won’t you join us?” And I do. I join the three bosses of me. But we are happy and it’s all they wanted – a morning home, with chalk and mama on the driveway.

I gave into their frustration and let myself be frustrated. It was the theme of the morning – we were all crying in our milk and coffee. In the end, it was just what we needed. A simple, chalk filled morning just being us. I have them to thank.

Have you ever taken the cue from your child that they just need to be home? Maybe they can’t always say it – but what have your kids been telling you lately?

It was May of 2010 when the ultrasound tech declared with nervous hands and an unsteady voice, “there are three heartbeats.” And ever since that day, we have put those three heartbeats on a pedestal. The only problem is, when you line up three pedestals, you can’t help but compare the wood, the height and the make of each one.

And so it began, that day under the ultraviolet lights, with my feet in stir-ups and my heart in a nervous dance, we began to compare. What is baby a’s heart rate? And baby b? How about baby c?

And almost 2 1/2 years later, I still do it. The curse of comparing your kids.

When we left the hospital with all three tiny and wrinkled bundles, I will never forget one of the nurses saying to me, in reference to my lone boy in the group of two other girls, “Now Mom, he will be slower. He will talk last. He will do things last, he is the boy.” I nodded my head, wondering how that factored into my child, now 72 hours old, and filed  it away for another day.

I still think about that nurse and what she said. I don’t think her words were wise or full of wisdom, in fact, I think just the opposite. Somedays I want to call her and say, “Guess what, my son, you know the one you said would be slow – er … he was the first to say a word. Oh, and by the way, he is the only one that has ‘peed in the potty.’

I used to google rare diseases or think about calling our state funded therapy program with every new milestone ONE of my triplets made and the other two had not even thought about yet. You should have seen the googling going on when TWO of three checked off babbling and the third smiled with a gummy grin, content with no outside communication. Thankfully all 3 walked within weeks of each other, or I would still be googling.

I have learned, and I continue to learn, that my kids, although from the same mother and father, the same womb and even the same birthday – will never be the SAME. I spent so many days comparing “what the book said” to what they were actually doing – and all that came out of it was a nervous mother and a child that just needed my love.

So, each day, I try to remember something I learned in yoga years ago. One will be first and one will be last.

And it doesn’t really matter what order it is in. It just doesn’t.

Have you found a way to let go of comparing your children?