The only thing you need to know about this story is that I have four year old triplet daughters and everything written here actually happened.

This morning I was woken up by a little person whispering in my ear, “Mummy, it’s my bear’s party today.” This was shortly followed by a scratching sensation on my forehead and a slight snapping sound. After dragging a small part of my consciousness out of sleep mode I came to realise that these two sensations were created by my one of my offspring attempting to place a red and white striped party hat on my head. My first thought was not, it’s too early for this, but rather, I better put this party hat on my head so she’ll hopefully leave the room to tend to other party organisations and I can go back to sleep. Thankfully, she left the room and I rolled over in bed, effortlessly regaining my previous state.

Moments later, another little person entered my bedroom and whispered “Mummy, it’s my bunny’s birthday today. (Of course it is...) We should make a cake and cookies. She would love to eat cake and cookies.” Right. “Ok,” I said, which satisfied her and she left the room.

Shortly after, I heard the back door open and my husband’s chirpy voice stating, “Good Morning, girls!” That’s right, I remembered it was his Brazilian Jiu-jitsu morning, no wonder there was lots of room in the bed. Awesome, I thought, revelling in the possibility of having a few more minutes of shut-eye. Within seconds, there was a third little person, still asleep, being carried into my bed. I snuggled up to her absorbing the stillness. However, it was not long before the little being who was only moments ago a soft cloud of tenderness, became an annoying elastic band who thought that flicking me in the face was the most appropriate behaviour at that moment. She was not just any elastic band, but one that had an inbuilt heat seeking sensor that could find my face no matter which way my body was contorted on the bed. Not even the spiky red and white party hat deterred her.

Having used up all the procrastination I could muster, I got myself out of bed. Hubby and I high-fived each other, our ‘we got this parenting thing’ ritual. After coming out of the bathroom, I found one of our offspring sitting solemnly on a chair. I was still too hazy to realise that she was in Time Out and gave her a big hug and kiss, only then sensing the peculiar way that she was clinging onto me. Hubby walked in to this display and asked, “Did you tell Mummy what happened?” The look on her face was an obvious ‘no’. He continued, “She didn’t like the milk I gave her because it was cold and she wanted hot milk... so she threw it on the floor and it spilled all over the rug.” My internal monologue asked itself, ‘The brand new woollen rug that we’ve only had for two weeks and which is also the only rug we have in the whole house?’ ‘Of course it is,’ I answered myself.
 

I put the timer on for Time Out and went to the living room to inspect the damage. It was as bad as I expected - full cup. As I tried to absorb the excess liquid I began to wish I had splurged on those super absorbent wipes instead of the deceptively unabsorbent ones I had in my hand. I looked at the poor rug with the same knowing eyes of a clairvoyant telling someone that their life was just not going to have the outcome they had planned for themselves.

My train of thought was interrupted by Hubby standing over me and saying “Here, use this,” holding a bottle of white vinegar. Its many uses are not lost on me, however the flashback of our offspring’s complaints about the odour of vinegar after we used it to clean and disinfect poo off the floorboards (that one of them had created and one of us stepped in) was fresh in my mind. I rolled up the carpet and placed the wet part in the bath tub, taking the bottle of vinegar in the bathroom with me in an attempt not to seem ungrateful to Hubby’s intentions to help and washed down the affected area. As Hubby was leaving for work, he suggested that it might be a good idea to place the rug outside to get some sun. This was the forecast for the day:

After watching the dyes running off one side of the rug and into the drain, I was faced with the dilemma of what to do with the rug. Using my MacGyver skills, I grabbed three plastic kids’ IKEA chairs and lined them up, draping the wet side over the backs of the chairs, silently praising myself for my ingenuity and skill.

After breakfast, I put the timer on the microwave and told the offspring they had exactly ten minutes to be dressed, go to the toilet and have their shoes on so we could go to music class. While they did this, I got myself ready, packed the spare clothes bag and made their lunch, audibly thanking God that there was exactly six pieces of bread left to make sandwiches, even if one of them was an end piece. I used my superior judgement to determine which daughter would be likely to be the least affected by the end-piece situation and willingly eat her sandwich.

The timer went off and they were all in reasonable stages of readiness. Offspring #1 was wearing a winter skirt that was about two sizes too big and a summer singlet with fairy wings. Offspring #2 was dressed in a Minnie Mouse costume complete with mouse ears. Offspring #3 was wearing a pink, fluffy dress, two pink crowns and a pink, feathery masquerade mask. “Great! You’re all ready, let’s go!”

Marching towards the car I realised that offspring #3 was carrying a bag that I had only moments ago filled with their gymnastics leotards for that afternoon. Judging by the fullness and the un-leotard-like protrusions of the bag I deduced that there was a good chance they had been replaced.
“Katerina, did you take the leotards out of the bag?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I needed to put my things in.”
Ask a stupid question...

After getting everyone back in the house but trying to keep them focused on the fact that we were still leaving and this tiny detour did not warrant a need for them to discover new things to play with or be distracted by anything shiny or remotely interesting, the search for the leotards was thankfully not only short lived but as it turned out, serendipitous. As we were looking for them, I accidentally found my second-born’s earring that had been missing for a week, and which is a valuable tool in identifying her. When people ask me ‘how do you tell them apart?’ I say ‘there’s the blonde one, the one with the hoop earrings and the one with the stud earrings,’ and as it happened, the one with the stud earrings had lost her earrings too so this find was invaluable for their teachers who are trained to look for these cues.

Everything was going on track, until I realised that I could not find my phone. Sure, it occurred to me to just leave the house without it, however I am not like any normal person who goes somewhere ten times and then remembers how to get there from then on. So, back to the house we all went as I frantically looked around all the usual spots, including the little tweed basket that I had bought specifically for the purpose of storing my phone. I wished that my phone had one of those popular 80’s key-ring attachments which you would whistle at and it would beep back at you so you never had to worry about lost keys (and which my dad used to attach to our remote controls). In a half-hearted attempt and mostly for my own amusement I asked the offspring:

“Girls, have any of you seen my phone?”
“Yes!” One stated, though I was not convinced as history has taught me that they often like to pretend to know where things are and then an hour later you wonder why you have been following your child in an unsuccessful treasure hunt.
“Where?”
“I unplugged it. I’ll show you.” Still sceptical, I followed her into the kitchen and was amazed to be led right to the familiar bright pink rubber elephant phone. It was next to the speakers that I had completely forgotten I had been using to put music on only minutes before, and which my daughter had apparently taken the liberty of unplugging after her numerous requests for me to turn it off were not met due to the nature of her request being located way down on my priority list.

Take three, and we were finally in the car on the way to music class. We listened to a new story CD while driving (the only way to keep them quiet and focused on something other than practising their untrained kung-fu moves on one another). It was the story of ‘The BFG’ (The Big Friendly Giant) and I spent a good portion of the ride explaining to them what words like ‘cannibal’ meant and the fact that man-eating giants are only pretend and that they did not have to be afraid of giants coming into their room at night and snatching them in the same way as the girl in the story. The second half of the car ride was spent consoling them about the fact that they were never going to meet a real life giant, at the end of which I ended up promising to try and find one and ask him to visit.

Once we got to the music school and I successfully got two daughters out of the car, I realised I was parked too far off the kerb and decided to straighten the car slightly. I lined up the two that were already out on the fence of the school and made them hold onto the bars, explaining sternly that they were not to move a muscle. After I did the minor parking adjustment, one of them started questioning me why her sister was in the car while I was driving it and why she was not in the car and demanding that I put her in the car and drive with her while her sisters had to wait because it was just “not fair”. I had literally travelled less than one metre. I diverted her attention with a promise of doing it next time, which I could not believe she fell for.

Walking half way towards the class, I realised a storm was imminent, so I decided to take the troops back to the car and check for rain coats and umbrellas. Score! I found the rain coats and put them on the girls so I did not have to carry them on top of the food bag, the spare clothes bag and my handbag. But oh no, disaster... Only two umbrellas. I tried without success to shut the boot before they were seen but I struck out.Two offspring grabbed umbrellas and the third just stood there looking at me with her mouth quivering. The two umbrella clad sisters opened up their umbrellas proudly and literally began to strut, knowing full well their other sister was missing out. And so began the battle over who had to share their umbrella with their sister, at exactly what time frame and proximity this exchange needed to occur, and whether there would be any rotational systems in place for this arrangement. Although I tried to convince them that they indeed did not need to have the umbrellas open, my ludicrous suggestion was met with much distaste and abhorrence.
“Of course we need to open our umbrellas!”
“What for?!”
“To shelter us from the sun and rain, of course.”
“Ok, but... It’s not sunny... or raining.”

Finally, we entered the music class, triplet #1 with her skirt falling off, triplet #2 still in costume with her mouse ears falling over her face and triplet #3 still wearing her masquerade mask. The hour-long lesson was travelling at a favourable pace, with minimal complaints about the usual things such as the keyboard not being loud enough or being forced to be put on the ‘piano’ setting instead of ‘mandolin’. Then, the teacher said, “Now, go and get your books....” and I thought Oh no... their books! Cue three expecting sets of eyes, waiting for their music books and one defeated mother trying to explain herself. Their expressions and outstretched hands basically stated ‘ummm... we’re hearing what you’re saying but the teacher asked for the books... so... we need the books... now... the music books... how will you give us the books because you don’t seem to have them...’ Thankfully, the teacher was kind enough to let them borrow her book... which promptly ended in an argument over who got to use it first, which in turn ended in the book being taken away.

The class was asked to come to the board one by one and draw a note. The last of my offspring to have a turn stated “I’m the cheekiest one,” as she drew hers. Everyone laughed and so did she. Pride overwhelmed me at her confidence and ability to make a joke.

The lesson finished and we exited the classroom. The rain had not only begun but was now in full swing. A part of me was thankful we could not stay to play as the previous week I had been chastised by a grounds worker who was unhappy with my offspring’s treatment of the sandpit, in particular the transportation of a small portion of sand onto the play area to make a ‘cake’ for their ‘party’. They had even made the effort to decorate it with leaves and were so proud, but he did not seem to care for the art of cake decoration and was more concerned with having to clean up the sand with his electric blower.

I put the girls’ raincoats on, picked up all our luggage and convinced one of them to let me use her umbrella, not without hesitation and only after I explained that if she did not let me use her umbrella then the bags would get wet and that included the lunch bag with the cookies in it and if that happened then the cookies would get wet and soggy and we could not eat them and would have to throw them away. Done deal, the umbrella was mine. However, it was a kid size umbrella... so the joke was on me because apart from a small section on top of my head, the rest of me (including the backpack with the spare clothes and the food bag) all became wet in the trek back to the car.

Somehow, I managed to get them inside the car after they carefully inspected every puddle (and by inspected, I mean ran through). It was 11:30am - I had not yet made it to midday. The triplets still had enough in them to finish a triathlon, yet I was already eating doughnuts by the sidelines even before the day began.

I deliberated over how to fill three hours until gymnastics. Every option led me to the same conclusion - drive home and put on some dry underwear. Instead, however, my friend Vanessa invited us for a play-date at her house, and despite knowing full well that she was about two sizes smaller than me and any spare clothes she could offer me would not be sufficient, I took one for the team and made my way over.

Half way to her house, the girls finished their lunch and as I turned to collect the empty lunch boxes from them I caught a glimpse of one of my offspring without her Minnie Mouse costume on.
“Irini... are you... naked?” I asked her.
“Yes.”
“Why?!”
“Because all my clothes were wet.”
Well, she gets points for initiative, even if it does involve stripping down. Feeling uncomfortable in my own wet clothes, I wished I had the same opportunity for opting out.

Once at Vanessa’s house, I hoped to have a few minutes to sit and banter while my offspring played with her daughter. Instead, they all simultaneously channelled their inner Stewie Griffin and began a chorus of “Mum..mum.. mum... mamma... mamma.. mummy.. mummy... mummy... ma... ma... ” and so on and so on, complaining and whining and demanding all sorts of crazy things until I finally snapped.

“Why do I have three children if you won’t even play together?”
Evangelia, the eternal problem-solving offspring replied thoughtfully, “Well, you need to have three more children. And then there will be someone to play with all the time.”

The next few hours were spent entertaining the four girls, which included a well-intended cupcake making session which unfortunately ended in one of my offspring emptying a whole tub of coloured sprinkles on top of her cupcake, all over the table, all over the floor and all over us. In that split second after it occurred there was a deadly silence where contemplation ticked over in the girls’ minds about whether the appropriate course of action would be to leap onto the table and try lap up all the sprinkles, and if they did, how much of a competition the rest of the contenders would pose.

Getting everyone to the car and on the way to gymnastics involved the gruelling tasks of changing them into their leotards, getting them to put their shoes on despite the complaining that they were too wet (because of the puddle jumping), giving them enough incentive to want to leave the house which was of course still posing many opportunities for play and new toy experiences, and also packing up all the things that they had brought into the house which were contained in a travel suitcase that they insist on packing with toys and other essential items before we leave the house to go anywhere.

The rain was once again picking up, and the traffic was so slow that we arrived at gymnastics fifteen minutes late and I could not find parking. I double parked and thankfully I spotted Vanessa who offered to take the girls inside with her daughter. Woo-hoo! Later I asked her if the girls went in ok and she said yes, although apparently as the coach had seen them walk in he exclaimed, “Oh, I thought I was going to have an easy day today...”  His sentiment was not lost on me, as the previous week he looked ready for a whiskey after class finished. Aside from not listening to him, they had insisted on continually tricking him and telling him the wrong identity, a plan which they had been scheming in the car on the way to class and which I had explicitly advised against.
After class, Vanessa asked if we were going to the Lebanese bakery across the road. I instantly remembered the seven pumpkins that were sitting in my kitchen, and the grand plans of making a soup that had never come to fruition. Seven pumpkins, not for any other reason except the fact that every time I take the offspring to the fruit shop they insist that we need to buy one, even though I try and convince them that we already have some.

So we went to the bakery and ordered cheese pizzas. The girls could not wait patiently for the five minutes it took to cook, deciding instead to pull up a chair next to the arcade machine, stand on it and pretend to play. Pushing, shoving, screaming and hair pulling ensued, along with complaints that none of them could see the screen. The fact that the machine was unplugged and there was nothing showing on the screen was irrelevant.

All four girls ate their meal in an acceptable manner, and I was relieved that their drinking yoghurt did not end up spilled all over the floor as it had on previous visits. On the way to the car, one of my offspring decided that it was extremely unfair that she did not get a big straw like her friend did (i.e. a straw shoved into another straw to make a ’big’ straw). By the time I figured out what she was talking about, recalling vague images of Vanessa struggling to make this creation only moments prior, we were halfway to the car. I tried to convince my offspring that walking all the way back to the shop to ask for straws was just not a reasonable request. This was not an easy battle.

“What would you even DO with a straw like that?” I asked.
“Just hold it. And wave it around like this.” Offspring answered, waving her index finger in a formation perfectly sufficient to carry out the task that she required of the big straw.
“We have straws at home, I’ll make you one at home.”
“No, but I need THOSE straws.”
“Well... we can’t have straws from there.”
“Why not?”
“Because a big swarm of ants came and walked all over the straws and now they are all dirty with ants and the shop keeper has to throw them away.”
“Oh. Ok. I don’t like ants.”

Before I got the offspring into the car, I proceeded to change them out of their leotards and into regular clothes. Thankfully, the rain had ceased so I was glad to finally be getting a break. But, like in any sitcom, just when I thought things were turning around, another complication arose. I changed triplet #1 and clipped her in the car seat as part of my checking-off process. She promptly undid her seatbelt and began to move around inside the car, knowing full well that I would be preoccupied with her sisters to tend to her misbehaviour. Eager to keep the process going, I changed triplet #2, after which she told me that she needed to do a wee. So I left her outside the car and decided to change and strap in triplet #3 before tending to the toilet situation, which was basically going to consist of me hovering her over some grass near the bushes and trying not to get my shoes wet.

As I placed triplet #3 into the car, I turned back only to realise that the toilet-needing daughter had her pants down and was crouching down onto the grass, urinating. Well, at least that is one less thing to do. But my relief was short lived because as she got up, I realised that there was urine all over her undies and pants that I had only moments ago put on her. So, I changed her once again and finally, put her in the car. I looked at the first child and I thought... why is she looking at me like that? Immediately, I spotted a black eyeliner pencil in her hand and the mischievous expression on her face instantly made sense. She had used my eye liner, which I have no idea how she found, to draw all over the roof of the car. It was not even recognisable drawings, like a flower or a person, just squiggles and smudges. And furthermore, it was not even a sharpen-style pencil where once you use up the tip you have to sharpen it, no, it was one of them twisty ones that you can just keep winding and winding until the whole pencil is used up. And it was. I was dumfounded and I could not move, trying to comprehend what would motivate a four year old child to do that, especially after drumming into them “we only draw on paper” following the “water colours all over the wall while mummy and daddy sleep-in” incident.

After the girls were all strapped in the car and we were ready to finally go home, I remembered that my To-Do list consisted of an unchecked item - buying milk, bread, eggs and toilet paper (nothing essential, thankfully). I had a flashback of our last shopping experience, where in a split second of me reaching for the cheese, one of my offspring climbed onto the side of the trolley (which I had just moments prior told them all never to do). Her sisters were seated in the trolley seats, so as she reached for the banana sticks that I told her she could not have any more of, she tipped the whole trolley over on top of herself with all the groceries and her sisters toppling out. They were not hurt, though I did get a lecture from a complete stranger that it was ‘very dangerous’ for her to be climbing like that and also that I should not scold my children for not listening to me.

I decided to call Hubby and ask him to pick up the groceries we needed on the way home. Unfortunately for me, the offspring heard my conversation and a massive protest ensued as to why we were not going to the shops. For them, grocery shopping equated to receiving those infamous banana sticks that I use as bait to keep them circulating close to my trolley instead of running off. Seeing as we never end up bringing any of them home and always end up scanning an empty box at the checkouts, they associate the grocery store as the place where they get to eat banana sticks.

The short drive home was elongated with the offspring’s idea of fun, which at that point involved engaging in intermittent screaming, alternating between what a dinosaur might sound like and the equivalent of a hyena giving birth. The screaming was interrupted for only a moment when the daughter that had made the joke in music class earlier in the day began to question why everyone was laughing at her. She did not accept my explanation that she had made a joke, and clearly pointed out that it was not a joke and she did not like it that everyone was laughing at her and she did not want to go to music class ever, ever again.

Finally, we arrived home and I parked the car, realising suddenly that I could not pinpoint the exact moment that my clothes had become dry. Before getting out of the car, I had to contend with one offspring insisting to cash in on my previous promise of me adjusting my parking while she stays in the car and her sisters have to wait outside.

Entering the house, a distinct smell of wet wool hit me, and I remembered the rug that was still dripping wet in the bathroom. I decided my only course of action was to try and dry it off with my hair dryer before Hubby got home and pointed out the OH&S issue with leaving a dripping rug on the bathroom floor. One offspring came to investigate the noise, at which point another offspring came to her and said, “let’s play ‘Scream At Me’,” which as the name suggests, involved each of them taking turns to chase each other around the house and once they caught one another they would just scream in each other’s faces. It did not take long before one of them came to me claiming her sister had bitten her on the back and insisted treatment with band-aid and ice and for her sister to be placed in Time Out. I dealt with that situation (minus the band-aid and ice), and went back to drying the rug. Another offspring then came in and sat down beside me on the toilet to do a poo and insisted on telling me a story. She was not deterred by the noise of the hair dryer - it simply made her talk louder. The only break in her storytelling was to ask me why we were not making any cookies for her bunny’s birthday.

Shortly, I heard the familiar sound of a hero’s welcome, which indicated Hubby had returned home.
After all the hugs and kisses, Hubby asked the offspring:
“What did you do today, girls?”

I kid you not, this next thing is exactly what happened and is also the reason why I am absolutely convinced that my life is actually embroiled in some type of Truman Show experiment. The girls simply looked at him and replied:
“Nothing.”

Born in Skopje, Macedonia, Daniela Ifandoudas is a high school teacher and mother of triplet daughters living in Sydney Australia. When not preoccupied with crowd control, chauffeur duties and keeping up with her offspring’s ridiculously busy social schedule, she makes time to write and spend time with her loving husband Peter... mostly strategising over the best way to tackle crowd control, chauffeur duties and offspring’s social schedule.