Breaking Tradition

This has not been a year of traditions in my house.

Didn't get to see 4th of July fireworks because we were driving into Richmond, our new town.

Didn't get to smell a turkey roasting in the oven on Thanksgiving because I ordered food from Cracker Barrel.

Didn't wait until Christmas morning to open presents because we will be out of town, so we had Christmas today.

This year has been different.  So many changes.  Houses.  Schools.  Jobs.  Communities.  Friends.

This week has been challenging.  The plague seems to be going through our house, as almost everyone has been sick at some point.  The thought of a long weekend stuck inside with 4 kids, and few distractions seemed like cruel and unusual punishment on myself.  So we sent an email to Santa and suggested that it might be a good idea that he come early.

He set his alarm for 4am to leave gifts under the tree, to fill stockings, and to leave a note upstairs by our bedrooms.  Since this was unexpected, we didn't actually all get out of bed until 7:30, which was nice.  The kids are happy, enjoying their gifts, and hanging out.  Since most of them are still sick, we didn't even attempt church.

I have never once EVER let my kids open their presents early.  I always had to wait for Christmas morning.  So would they.  It's TRADITION!!

But on Christmas Eve, we will be heading to my parents house.  The 6 of us and a St. Bernard in a mini-van.  It doesn't leave a lot of extra room for a sleigh full of gifts.  Plus, the older boys wouldn't be able to use their presents until we got back home, so it just seemed like a better idea to do everything early.

I haven't decided if this year's break with our normal holiday traditions is just a healthy adaptation to the changes in our lives, or if it's just laziness and apathy.

Probably a combination.

Did you drop (or add) any traditions this year?

Skinny Jeans

Skinny jeans.  An ethical dilemma in two parts...

This is going to be short and sweet.  You're welcome.

Background:

My daughter has a fear of public bathrooms.  This has created a problem in Kindergarten.  On occasion  she has an accident that requires a change of clothes.  These are usually kept in a ziploc bag in her backpack.  But I have 4 kids, I'm forgetful, and there have been times that ziploc bag remains empty on the floor of my laundry room, and the school has been kind enough to lend her clothes from their emergency stash.

Now...to my ethical dilemma...

PART 1:

She had changed immediately into pajamas when she got home from school on Monday, so I didn't realize that she had had an accident, and that the nurse had lent her jeans.  The next morning she put them back on.  They were skinny jeans.  They had sparkly buttons.  She was rocking them.

I muttered a bad word under my breath.  It rhymed with itch.

I seriously stared at my 5 year old in those skinny jeans and was jealous.  J-E-A-L-O-U-S!!!  I don't think that I ever would have looked that good in a pair of jeans.  Even at the age of 5, years before my bottom half was distorted by pregnancies and a long term carb addiction.

Dilemma 1...is it wrong to be completely jealous of a 5 year old girl that can rock a pair of skinny jeans?

PART 2:

She looks so good in those jeans!  I'm talking "sisterhood of the travelling pants" good!  I want to keep them, and send a different pair back for the stash that the nurse keeps in her office.  I mean, to look that good in a pair of jeans is a very special thing, right?  I have every right to vicariously live through her, right???

Dilemma 2...is it wrong to send back a different pair of jeans (or 2) so that my daughter can look completely adorable?


Since my moral compass is apparently broken, I would appreciate any input.

As long as you say that I won't go to hell for being jealous of a 5 year old, and that I can send in a different pair of jeans.  (or 2)

the great un-birthday experiment...

So my birthday was last Monday.  With it came the end of an experiment I started last year on my birthday.  I decided to go an entire year without wishing anyone happy birthday via facebook post.

Why?  Just cuz.
No really...why?   Because!
Seriously, why????   Because facebook happy birthday postings are annoying!!!

OK...don't get me wrong.  I am a huge supporter of making a big deal out of people's birthdays.  I spent an entire year terrorizing the women in my Sunday school class with what stupid thing I would do next, just for the sake of their birthdays.

Blindfolded and kidnapped for ice cream?  CHECK!
Kitchen cabinets and drawers re-arranged?  CHECK!
A birthday breakfast in bed for the night owl among us?  CHECK!
A car full of balloons and shredded paper?  CHECK!
A Happy 40th birthday message on the sign at the grain elevator when the birthday girl was only 37?  CHECK...wait...they did that to ME!!!  (Payback is a bitch)

A properly celebrated birthday is a joy forever.  I love when people make a big deal out of my birthday!!  This year's desk full of "stephanie" confetti was the highlight of my day!

Facebook happy birthdays aren't the same thing though, are they?  ARE THEY?  Facebook makes it too easy to wish someone a happy birthday.  They remind you about the birthday for a week.  On the day of the birthday, they remind you to comment.  (You don't even have to go to someone's wall anymore, they have a quick add feature where you can just cut and paste "Happy Birthday!! Have a great day" as many times as you need, click enter and done.)

Easy Peasy Lemon Squeezy!!

TOO EASY!! And now they have facebook gifts...so you don't even have to think about what to buy.

I am a traditionalist.  I feel that birthdays should be an honored part of the annual "Transfer info to the new calendar" ceremony.  They should be handwritten on squares that are too small.   They should be written in ink as an act of love and commitment to a friendship.  (Except for my husband's.  His is written in pencil.  One time...ONE TIME...the first year we were married...I wrote his birthday on the wrong date.  18 years later and I still haven't heard the end of it, and now I always have to second guess myself when asked when his birthday is...the 22nd?  the 25th?  Crap...)  Keep in mind, I love my google calendar that is synced to my phone.  And all the birthdays are in there anyway, so I have a back up...but those people that are handwritten in...those are the special ones.

And there are those that you may not actually write in the squares any more...time and distance and circumstances might not require you to celebrate.  But you should remember them.  I remember that November 17th is Cindy's.  She was my best friend in 1st grade.  March 22nd was my friend Beth's.  She passed away a few years ago.  October 19th is a big one.  I have 3 friends with that birthday.  Haven't seen any of them in at least 10 years.  November 25th is my sister in law's...which I forgot to put on the calendar on my refrigerator, but remembered every single time that I walked passed it for a month...then was appropriately chastised by my 7 year old son for not writing it on there when she was visiting for Thanksgiving.  Monica, it is on there now...in crayon.  I love you!  Remember all the things I do right, OK??

So, while I appreciate all 67 birthday greetings I got this year, I doubt that the cousin of a high school friend who needed more neighbors in farmville 2 years ago REALLY cares whether or not I had a great birthday.  She probably has me hidden from her news feed anyway.

My co-worker sent me this last week...after listening to the verbal form of this post in its original form.  Classic. Brilliant. Truly a laugh out loud moment:

Precedent!  The mother's milk of, you know, makin' your point and bein' right!! - Donna Moss

Happy Birthday...I hope you had a great day! - Me

Too Young to Die

We moved to Indiana over the summer because my husband took a job Earlham College.  It is a small liberal arts college founded in 1854 by a group of Richmond Quakers.  A few months later, I got a part time position working at the college too.  I am an administrative assistant in a small office in a refurbished house on a quiet corner of the campus.  I applied for the job for a few reasons.  It was  only for 10 hours a week, hospitality was part of the job description, and I was desperate to start meeting people.

I've been working in the office of The Newlin Center for Quaker Thought and Practice since August.  I've been learning a lot about Quakers, and how they think and practice...which is to say that there is a lot I still don't know or understand about Quakers.  Also, the joke about eating oat meal and wearing the big black hat is only funny a handful of times.  Then it gets old.  Or maybe it just wasn't funny to begin with.

One of the programs run out of The Newlin Center is Quaker Fellows.  It is a program offered to Quaker students that promotes their spiritual development as well as to encourage and train them to be the next generation of Quaker leaders.  The students have to write written reflections, meet one on one a few times with my boss (the Director), meet as a group weekly, go on retreats, participate in activities across campus.  They become very close to one another.

And this afternoon, we said goodbye to one of them.

A few weeks ago, our campus experienced one of those tragedies that you see on the news, but happens many towns or many states away.  Far enough that you understand it's signifigance, you feel bad for the community, but it has no real impact on your life what so ever.  Three of our students, in a moment of questionable judgement, were too close to the rail road tracks when an oncoming train was heading toward the Depot District of Richmond.  They were struck.  One young woman was killed instantly.  One young man was severely injured, but released from the hospital about a week and a half later.  And then there was our Lenore.  She was critically injured, but survived several surgeries.  The reports from the hospital were cautiously optimistic.  Enough time had gone by, and many of us had taken the "cautiously optimistic" mantra to heart, and had begun to start anticipating her recovery time, and no longer thinking of the alternative.  Yet Monday morning, the news of her passing was like a band-aid being ripped off the grief that had started to heal on campus.  She had not made it.  There would be no recovery.

I actually had never met Lenore.  I am new to this office, and my schedule did not overlap with when most of the students in the program would be in our building.  Also, she had a field trip to go on the weekend that the Fellows had a retreat, so I didn't get to visit with her at all on the drive to drop them off or to pick them up.  Really, the only communication I had with her was through email I sent to the group, and a frantic call from one of the students who had borrowed and then lost track of Lenore's jacket on the retreat.  That was it.  So my grief is different than the groups.  It is different than the students.

My grief manifests itself in the need to support the staff of my office who have organized the gatherings and the memorial services.  It is to hold in prayer the counselors, the staff of residence life, and my husband and his Department of Public Safety as they walk the students through this time of  mourning, and the new normal that comes after the things we can't imagine when we are young.

It means I make sure there is enough Kleenex in the meeting house for the memorial service, and that people are eating.  It is doing what I can when I fell helpless to do anything else.

I sat there today, my first time in the silence of a Quaker meeting house, watching the young people in their grief.  They think they are adults.  They can talk at length of philosophy and the economy and how to bring peace to the middle east.  Yet the unthinkable happened to two of their own, and they looked so sad and lost and I just wanted to grab them and hug them and say "Shhh...there...there."  And I thought of Meagan, and Kelsey and the other college students that we left behind in Illinois, and thanked God for their health and safety and the joy they have brought to my life.

While I never met her, in the last few weeks, I have learned much about Lenore.  She was funny, and liked to play practical jokes, and there apparently some long standing joke about writing names in other people's underwear.  I still haven't heard the full story, so I will leave it to the students to remember on their own.  I understand inside jokes...if everyone is in on them...they are not so funny.

The service this afternoon ended with a video.  It's on youtube, so I am assuming it is OK to share.  Please take a few minutes and watch it:

This video made me laugh for several reasons.

First, because I wish I had seen this before the train.  If I had, I would have given her a hard time, but would have loved her, because it was clever and funny.  

Second, because I thought of it as a cautionary tale...what youtube videos will they be playing at MY funeral? I had better be careful.  And I guarantee it WON'T be of my belly button talking.  

Third, because who doesn't love dessert...for breakfast, for lunch, for dinner, for dessert???

If you pray, I ask that you keep the families and friends of these young women in your thoughts and prayers.  I ask that you  pray for the students and faculty and staff of our school.  These deaths were not the only ones that we have mourned this fall...it has been a hard year.

But most importantly...I ask that you go eat some Lucky, Lucky Charms and remember a young woman that you probably have never met...and celebrate her legacy of humor and laughter and joy.

Making a new box

My brain is a very cluttered place.  At any given time, I'm thinking about 4 different kids at 3 different schools, 2 different part-time jobs, adding to 9 different lists, and mentally writing 3 different blog posts.

Because of all this mental chaos...I usually don't get anything accomplished.  So I have decided to compartmentalize my thoughts and rantings in an effort to simplify my life.

I realize that posts about running, or dieting or any kind of exercise are not for everybody...so I have built myself a new box to put all that in.  And by box, I mean blog.  

I'll keep posting here on a semi regular basis, but for anything fitness related, please check out my new blog, Fat Girl TRI-ing.  

Here is a link to my maiden post:

http://fatgirltri-ing.blogspot.com/2012/11/today.html

I hope to get a facebook page, domain, and all that good stuff eventually...but for now...I consider it a success to have actually gotten the post done at all.

Kill them with Kindness

I have decided that the American Travelling population as a whole must just SUCK.

We must be a huge group of rude, demanding, angry and frustrating people.

Since today is the "return trip" for many Thanksgiving travelers  I thought I would tell you about my recent return trip home from Austin.

I got to the airport 2 hours ahead of time, and breezed through security. And by breezed, I mean that I dumped all my carry on crap, my shoes, my laptop, iPad, phone, change and coat into about 17 plastic bins.  Sent it all through the scanner, then had to try and get it all out of the 17 bins and into my purse and suitcase in about 14 seconds so the guy behind me would stop glaring.

Since I had the American Airlines App on my iPhone ( I love technology!!) I was able to "check in" the day before.  Since I still had well over an hour to wait, after I found my gate I decided to find some much needed coffee.

Sidebar:  I don't drink.  Not because of any moral compass or ethical problem with alcohol ..but because I spent from age 34 to 38 either pregnant or nursing.  This was apparently a critical time to abstain from alcohol because I now have ZERO tolerance.  1 beer, I'm ready to fall asleep.  1 sip of wine causes a major headache.  That being said, the night before had been my brother's 40th birthday party.  My inner 7th grader gave into the peer pressure from my co-workers and his friends...and I had 4 1/2 beers.  The last one got knocked over.  So sad.  ANYWAY...this was just to explain that I really REALLY needed more coffee.

I got my coffee, then found a table (with an outlet) right next to the gate, and spent the next 45 minutes writing a blog post that I never published.  I eavesdropped on a Middle-Aged Middle-Management Type chastising coaching his much younger female subordinate on how she improperly handled the termination of another employee.  (In my opinion  she didn't do anything wrong...but what do I know?  I'm just a Middle-Aged Part Time PI/Administrative Assistant/Mother/Blogger Type).

I also was half paying attention to the other travelers around me, and to the gate agent that was working.  I often wonder what exactly gate agents are typing all the time that is so important, or if their keyboards are extra-clicky.  ANYWAY...there was a family with a couple of kids that were flying standby.

Since I had a 2 hour layover in Dallas, and my table (with the outlet) was a nice place to be nosy,  pretend to blog and recover from my 4 1/2 beers, I went up to the gate agent and let her know that since I had such a long layover in Dallas, I would be happy to give up my seat so that family could get on.  She thanked me and said she thought they would be OK, but she took my name anyway.

Fast forward 1/2 hour later to boarding time, and she pulls me out of line and handed me this:

Yes, that is a First Class Ticket.  My First First Class Ticket EVER!!  And all because I offered to wait a bit.  I didn't offer to be kind.  I offered because I had a great table (with an outlet) and I've been through the Dallas airport before.  It's big, it's loud, it's confusing...there is that crazy train that you are sure is going to jump the rails.  I would much rather wait a bit longer in Austin.  That was all.

But when she gave me the ticket, she said that most people don't realize how difficult her job is, and that my generosity made her day, and she wanted to express that with the upgrade.  I'm not lying...I thought she was going to cry.

See what I mean???  We, the American Travelling Public must SUCK!!  To get a gate agent choked up because I offered to wait?  They must be screamed at, abused and bullied on a regular basis for her to react that way.

My First Class experience only lasted 35 very bumpy minutes and we were landing in Dallas.  Didn't even have time to finish my coffee...IN A MUG!!  But that's OK.

Got off the plane, made my way to the train, rode to the correct terminal and found my next gate.  No table, no outlet.  As soon as I settled in, I received a text alert that my gate had been changed.  Made my way back to the train, rode back to the terminal that I started in, found my gate, got something to drink and settled in again.  At this point, the negative effects of the previous evenings peer pressure had settled in.  There was no pretend blogging, there was no eavesdropping, there was just the internal desperation for my Tylenol to kick in.

Fast forward 2 hours and we are in the air.  I'm in seat 27D.  It's nearly the back of the plane, but at least I have an aisle.  It's also a pretty bumpy ride again.  It was the first time I had ever flown and watched the cabin bob up and down and back and forth.  ANYWAY...the lady next to me was kind of chatty.  Which was fine.  She was really nice, and if I hadn't had 4 1/2 beers the night before, I probably would have been even friendlier, and exchanged names and phone numbers with her.  She was heading to Indiana to work for 3 months at some assembly plant.  She wouldn't get to go home for the holidays.  I still feel guilty that I didn't invite her over for Thanksgiving.  ANYWAY...since we were in the back of the plane, it took a while for us to get our drinks or have the opportunity to buy overpriced snacks.   She had barely made her connecting flight and was really hungry.  She had cash in her hand, but I wasn't thinking clearly, so when the flight attendant told her they didn't take cash, only credit cards, she looked devastated because she didn't have a credit card.  I just bent over, pulled out my wallet and gave the flight attendant my card, and told my seat mate she could just give me the cash and I'd pay for it.

Seriously...it wasn't a big deal, right?  I mean...you would have offered too, right????

Because from the reaction of the flight attendant, you would have assumed I just offered up my kidney to a perfect stranger.  I overheard her telling 2 other flight attendants on the plane what I had done.  I was shocked.  I even overheard her tell the captain as I walked off the plane.

Seriously???

I'm not telling you this because I think I am the poster child for good manners or generosity.  I'm telling you this because I was simply astounded that two simple acts could have had such reactions from those employees.  Gate Agents and Flight Attendants must be regularly subjected to the worst in us.  Travelling through airports must bring out the dark side of the American public.

So next time you are on your way out of town...kill them with kindness.

Do you have any travelling stories like this???

Bobble-Boobs

I went to Austin Texas last week for my brother's birthday party.  He's 40 now.  Having one of my younger brother's cross that threshold makes me feel a bit elderly.  But probably not as elderly as my parents feel now...2 kids in their 40's...yikes.

Austin is a very cool city.  It was my 2nd visit there, and since I had access to a car, and a list of party related errands to run, I drove myself around quite a bit.  It was nice knowing where I was going.  Didn't feel like as much of an outsider as I did on my previous visit.  I love all the shops and buildings there.  Everything looks authentically cool.  Even run-down buildings look shabby chic.  I could live there.  If I could afford it.

There are a lot of people there with a lot of net worth.  My SIL is a personal trainer, and most of her clients are incredibly wealthy.  I joked with her that I am her pro-bono client, and all the rich women of Austin help pay for my training.  Thank you very much rich women of Austin.

While I was there, SIL and I went to the YMCA to work out.  I took a spinning class, and SIL did free weights. She's bad-ass.  Weights still scare me.  Anyway, because she had never been there before, and we didn't know how fast the spinning class would fill up, we got there about 1/2 hour early.  She went downstairs to be all bad ass with the dumb bells, and I found the spinning room.  I'm sorry...it was actually called "Indoor Cycling."  I didn't realize spinning has been around long enough that it required re-branding to remain cool.

It was upon entering this room that I had my very first one on one, up close and personal interaction with another Austin phenomenon...Bobble-Boob Syndrome.

Bobble-Boob Syndrome, or BBS for short, is not my name for it.  I don't know where the name came from, but when you have seen it, you know it.  I'm also quite aware that this is not a Syndrome isolated to Austin.  It's probably a global issue.

SIL explained to me that BBS occurs when a woman is married to either a celebrity or wealthy business man; is fearfully thin; and simultaneously sports a ginormous set of breast implants.

My first interaction with a woman with BBS was eye-opening for me.  She was incredibly friendly and chatty, and told me all about the instructor, how tough the class was, and how much she loved it.  After she got her bike all set up, she started peddling and didn't stop for the entire class.  It was still over 20 minutes before class started, by the way.

She was originally from Indiana, so she told me how much she appreciated growing up in the Midwest  and how Midwestern values were so different from other parts of the country.  All the while, I'm watching her pedal away calories that she desperately needed.

She was very well-tanned skin and bone.  I could see every rib.  I could see the BACK of her pelvis bones.  She had to be a size 0, yet she had DD girls.  All the while decked out in about $300 worth of Lululemon workout clothes.  I was honestly amazed that she her body supported her through the workout.  I have rarely ever glanced at an athlete and had the word "sinew" drift through my head.

Apparently, a large part of BBS is the overwhelming pressure to stay thin in an effort to keep your celebrity and/or wealthy husband.  The celebrity and/or wealthy men of the greater Austin area must really suck.

The class was great.  I had to leave early because we had some party errands to run, but I got a good work out in and sweat a lot.  Me and my $9 XL capri leggings from Walmart headed out to the car.

I left that room energized, and completely grateful for the husband I have.  The husband that loves me even though my ass has probably doubled in size since we got married.  The husband that loves me even if my DDs sag down towards my belly button when my bra comes off instead of standing at attention.  The husband that loves me enough that I don't feel pressure to practically starve myself.  The husband that loves me enough to let me go on a Lululemon shopping spree...

OK...the shopping spree might have been pushing it.  I'll stick with Walmart workout gear for now, besides, Lulu doesn't make much for bigger girls.  But for those with BBS...they'll hook you up.

Half-Marathon...the Aftermath

Done!

2 hours, 55 minutes, 28 seconds.

Not a world record, not last either.

I'll take it.

I got to run with my friend Chrisy.  This is her 9th or 10th 1/2 marathon.  She considered this a training run because in January she is taking the Disney Goofy Challenge.  That is a 1/2 on Saturday, and a full Marathon on Sunday.  (She's goofy)  We also ran with Angie.  But she took off after mile 2 and finished about 15 minutes ahead of us. (Show off)

The first 7 miles were great.  We were doing a good pace that would have us finishing the race in under 2:45, but there were lots of hills.  Hills suck the life out of you.  Also, I had to pee.  At that point, I would have rather peed my pants than stop to use a porta potty.  Plus, there were lines.  But again, hills suck the life out of you and trying to not think about having to go to the bathroom only makes you think about going to the bathroom.  It also became clear that our pace had slowed, and 2:45 wasn't going to happen.

Around mile 9, I got some Gatorade and found a bunch of port a potties with no lines.  I haven't had Gatorade in years because I think it's gross.  But it tasted wonderful, and helped my get through the next few miles.  But there were still more hills.  Stupid freeking hills.

Around mile 11, I was struggling again.  Nothing was hurting, but I had a problem keeping 1 foot going in front of the other.  I did a lot more walking than I wanted to.

Around mile 12, I was determined to run all the way in to the end, but it was a lot harder than I wanted it to be.  More walking.  Except when I saw the race photographers.  I didn't want to have any pictures of me walking.  But we did run in across the finish line.  I was glad to be done, but I felt like I had to puke.  But I didn't.

After you finish,they give you your medal.  (YAY!)  Then water, Gatorade, chocolate milk, and a bunch of different food.  Too much food actually.  I couldn't hold it all in my hands, so I had to carry it in my shirt.

We met up with Angie and our friend Crystal.  Crystal wasn't running the race, but she was on hand to be our cheering section.  She did the entire route on her bike with a "quiver" full of funny posters, stopping ahead of us to ring her cowbell, shake her pom poms and scream her head off as we went by.  She's awesome!

We made our way back to the van, drove back to the hotel, showered, napped and then head to The Melting Pot to recoup all those calories we left on the race course.  Our friends Noel and Becca met us there too.  It was awesome.  We quite possibly might have been on the verge of being kicked out...not quite sure.  We definitely had a blast, and laughed a TON.  Fondue is fun...provided they give you enough dippy bits.

Back to my hotel room, all alone this time.  Iced my foot, coated my legs in Bio-Freeze, and fell asleep.

Will I do it again?  I'm saying no.  I feel really good running up to about 6 miles.  Anything beyond that is just too hard.  6.2 miles is a 10k, and is the distance you run in an Olympic length Triathlon. So I'm 95% sure that a 10k will be the longest distance I run from now on.  But I will confess, I'm easily manipulated, and I really like getting medals.  So who knows...

Now, I need to leave this quiet, clutter free sanctuary that is the Residence Inn St. Louis and head back to Richmond.  I'm going back to my children, who probably didn't realize I was gone because their Dad spoils them when I'm not there.  I'm going back to my husband, who while baffled by my desire to do a 1/2 Marathon in the first place, has been incredibly encouraging and supportive.

Can't wait to get home.  But I enjoyed this while I was here.

I could NEVER do that...

It is 3:00am, and I'm sitting here wide awake in a hotel room in St. Louis.  I can't sleep, and I'm supposed to get up in an hour to eat a bagel anyway.

At around 6:30am, I plan on leaving this hotel room and finding my way to Market St.  I'll need to squirm my way into Corral 17.  That's where they keep the slow people.

At around 7:15ish, I will cross the start line at the Rock N' Roll St. Louis 1/2 Marathon.

I will "run" for 13.1 miles.

I'm hoping that around 10:00ish I will cross thye finish line.

I'm hoping that by 11:00ish I am back in the hotel room, taking a shower, and after coating my hamstrings with BioFreeze, taking a nap.

As I was getting ready to leave for this trip, I had a lot of people say to me "I could NEVER do that!"  I totally get where they are coming from.  I have said the same thing too.

Actually, I worded it more like "I hate running with a passion that can't be described with the English language!"  I thought those that ran those 1/2 Marathon things were masochists, idiots, weirdos...

Well here I am.  I am a masochist.  I am an idiot.  I am a weirdo.  And it turns out, anyone can be.

I am a slow runner.  In technical terms, I MIGHT be called a jogger.  I'm pretty slow.  But I get out there and do it.

Starting to run is one of the hardest things I ever have done.  Simply because it isn't something that you can just jump in and start doing.  It takes time.  It takes patience.  It takes baby steps.

Back in January of this year, I couldn't run more than 200 yards without stopping.  But I kept at it.  A little at a time.  Small improvements.  Longer distances.  Fewer walk breaks.  And here I am.  Timing chip on my shoe, race bib all ready to go.

I will never be an elite athlete.  It is unlikely that I will ever win a race.  But I have accomplished something even more important.  I have surprised and amazed myself.  I have broke through the self-imposed limitations that I have had for myself for decades.  I have accomplished something that I never thought possible, even if I don't make my goal time today.  And I now impart on you a well known cliche...

If I can do it, YOU can do it.

Seriously...have you seen me?  It's true!!

I hear a lot of talk about people's bucket lists.  I think we should also work on our "I could NEVER" lists.  Because saying "I could NEVER..." is sort of like saying "I'm not good enough to..."

Turns out, that's just a load of crap.

I'm not saying that you need to get up and start running half marathons for the rest of your life.  They are brutal.  This will be my last.  But there are other things that we tell our selves that we will never be able to do.  Some are realistic..I'll never win a gold medal at the Olympics.  But others are just on the other side of the limitations that we set for ourselves.  It could be running, or doing a triathlon, or going back to school, or trying out for a part in a play, or singing in public, or any of a million things that we think we could never do.

I'm going to go eat my bagel now, and try and get a little more sleep.

What's on your "I could NEVER..." list?

SPINNING AND SPINNING!

Turns out it doesn't matter if you live in civilization or in the sticks.  Life has a way of spinning out of control and catching you unawares...

You might get a part time job (I did)

You might be training for a 1/2 marathon (I am)

You might have mountains of laundry to do (I do)

You might have piles of paperwork stacking up around you (I do)

You might be frustrated by lots of working out, and little to no weight lost (I am)

You might have children that continually leave their crap everywhere (I do...times 4)

You might get yelled at because you started a new blog and then never post anything in it (I have)

You might have organized a really awesome craft table for yourself and never find time to use it. (Me again)

You might have vacuumed the same corner every other day for 6 weeks and still haven't managed to bend over and pick up the Lego piece that no-one else seems to notice. (Guilty)

You might have 14 half written blog posts in your head but decide not to type them out because they are either about someone specific, something specific, training for a half-marathon or whining about the world at large (Uh-huh)

You might have a fancy DVR and On-Demand cable, but still not manage to be able to catch up on your TV shows because of all of the laundry, working out, lack of typing, multiple part time jobs, messy children, piles of paper and total lack of motivation. (What?  I was taking a nap and you are rambling again)

That is all...

Back to spinning.

BOOM!

Where I used to live, my office was also the laundry room. 

At this new house, I've moved NEXT to the laundry room. 

I have a large room that is 25% office, 25% craft table, 35% storage and 15% dog bed.  It is a haven of multi-tasking, organization and storage.  And it's laundry room adjacent.  Lucky me.

It's the storage part that went BOOM.

I got to go to IKEA yesterday, one of my happy places.  I bought a cheap rug for under my desk and chair so that I stop sliding away while working.  I was all excited to go lay it down and have the office/craft/storage room complete. 

I spent last week re-organizing all the storage in the room.  We have totes and totes and totes full of pictures, momentos and personal belongings from my husband's late parents.  The priceless stuff that you can't depart with, but have no idea what to do with.  And seriously, there are just so many pictures.

Tom's dad was 84 when he passed away 3 years ago.  His Mom passed away 5 years before that.  It astounds me that after distributing, selling, auctioning and donating the possessions they gathered during their 48 years of marriage...it can all be condensed down into 12 plastic totes.  The truely priceless things that we want to hold on to are the photos and worthless trinkets that are full of memories.  After all the packing, unpacking, reorganizing and shopping I've done in the last few months...I need to keep this in mind.  What really holds value in this house. 

There are also totes full of our momentos from growing up.  Beloved toys, old school papers, gear from the many phases of our lives. 

It's not wrong to hold on to my karate gi from college is it?  Hey, I made green belt...and I broke a board in two with just the side of my hand.  It shouldn't matter that no amount of dieting or working out will EVER get me to fit my thighs into that thing again!!

Also...totes full of clothes for the kids to eventually wear.  3 boys equals lots of hand-me-downs.  A generous sister of a sister-in-law with a shopping addiction and two daughters equals lots of pretty dresses, jammies and shoes in Grace's future. 

We got stuff.

In addition to the totes, there are wooden shelves (also from IKEA) with framed pictures, my unfinished craft project collection, sewing stuff, seasonal stuff.

It was looking pretty tidy.

Then I got home yesterday and wondered why my little bottles of paint were all over the floor.  And why my husband's high school art projects were strewn everywhere. 

BOOM.

Apparently the bottom tote on the farthest stack collapsed.  (Note to self:  when you are organizing and stacking totes, if the lid looks a bit bendy, it WILL bend eventually...so don't put 125 pounds of old photographs and tax returns on top of it)

The tote collapsing made the whole stack tip over. 
Which dominoed into the next stack. 
Which dominoed into the shelving. 
Which snapped the temporary strap I used to secure it upright. 
Which fell over onto my craft table. 
Which scattered stuff all over the floor.

So instead of laying down my rug.  I'm cleaning up.

Well, that's a lie.

Because of instead of cleaning up, I'm sitting at my desk, with my back to the mess, blogging about the fact that I need to be cleaning up.


See...even when it's trashed...the room is still a multi-tasking haven.

If your tasks include avoidance and procrastination.

Time Flies

I took my two youngest to their new school last week.  One will be in 2nd Grade, and the other in Kindergarten.  The first day is tomorrow.

Time flies.

It was just a few weeks ago that their older brother got on the bus in front of our house and went off to Kindergarten. (2001).  I was left by myself, having resigned from my job at Pier 1 imports to stay home with Nathan, and prepare for JD's arrival.

It was just a few days ago that I barked at poor Jodi A when she asked me "What's it like to only have one at home now?" when my JD started kindergarten.  I was standing there with Peter, a 2 month old red head in a baby carrier.  The previous year, JD had been in full-day preschool.   I told her that I was backsliding. (2005)  I was still sleep deprived at the time, so I was a little grumpy.  I think I went back home for a nap.

It was just 20 minutes ago when Peter climbed out of the van and walked up to the door of the school for his Kindergarten debut.  He looked so small next to JD.  It was a heartstopping moment, watching my little red head with his adorable glasses and his huge backpack walking away. (2010)

In less than 24 hours, my youngest child and only daughter Grace will wave goodbye to me.  Sporting her sparkly new, light up back-pack and Barbie lunch box, she will start a whole new life.  She will make new friends, she will sing new songs, she will read new stories.  She will walk into that school, leaving me to go back to an empty house.   

...sigh...

...

...




SCORE!!!!

When I grow up...

It finally happened.  I finally realized what I want to be when I grow up.  It has only taken me 42 years, 8 months and 12 days.

When I grow up, I want to be Missy Franklin.

I know, it seems strange that a grown woman would want to become a 17 year old again.  But this isn't just any 17 year old. 

I'm sure that down the road, Missy's character flaws will be discovered and paraded around the media, but for right now, she appears to be the perfect young female athlete. 

She...

• Is Smart (an honors student)
• Is Driven (you would have to be to reach the Olympics at 17)
• Is Well Grounded (passed up endorsement offers so that she wouldn't loose her eligibility to swim in college)
• Is Loyal (Asked "If it ain't broke, why fix it?" to those that suggested that she leave her one and only coach...who had never coached an Olympian before),
• Is Enthusiastic (just so darn excited and happy about being in the Olympics),
• Has perspective (told a reporter "I don't think finishing 4th in the OLYMPICS is anything to be disappointed about)
• Is Poised (I know for a fact that I would be a giddy idiot with all those media appearances)
• Can SWIM!!! (understatement!)

Although I spent most of my childhood in the water, I didn't swim on a team until high school.  By then it was too late.  Or I was too intimidated to put in the work.  Or I was too lazy.  Or I wasn't mature enough.  All I know is that I didn't swim very well in high school.

I swam at my community college for a season.  I loved being on the team, and I loved practicing...but I still wasn't that fast of a swimmer.  So when you are not fast, you are put on the distance races.  I am proud to say that I placed 3rd in the equivalent of the state meet in the 1650 Free.  That is a mile of swimming, by the way.  33 laps.  All at once.  Without stopping.  And I placed 3rd.  I was pretty excited. 

Oh...by the way...there were only 3 people in the race.

So I guess it wasn't as impressive as it first sounded.

As I sit here thinking about it... I that it's not that I WANT to be Missy when I grow up, but more that I WISH I had been more like her AS I was growing up. 

Instead of being insecure I'm too slow, I'm too fat, I'm not as cool as those girls on Varsity, Sue B. is always better at me in everything!!

I wish I would have had the confidence to stick with it, work hard, push myself and see what I was actually capable of. 

Oh wait...

This unflattering picture is an over heated, exhausted, slightly heavier than recommended woman crossing a finish line at a Triathlon in LAST PLACE!

Upon closer inspection, we see that that woman crossing the finish line in LAST PLACE was actually ME! (With my dear friend and partner in crime...Pat Nixon aka Crystal).

I can assure you that I was too slow this day.  And the rolls around my tummy show that I should probably lay off the butter pecan, and everyone there had cooler bikes and better gear and looked adorable in their LuLuLemon outfits that I will probably never fit into, and Crystal is better than me in everything. 

So all those issues I had in high school are still there.  But the 42 year old me decided to say screw it.  I decided to push myself and see what I was actually capable of. 

So while I will never be the athlete Missy is, and I will never be 17 again, and I will definitely never be as tall as she is...I hope that when I 'grow up' that I will be able to be well grounded, have perspective, be driven, be loyal, be enthusiastic and remain poised when I'm a world famous blogger/speaker and I'm interviewed on The Today Show...just like her.

Congratulations to Missy and to all of Team USA Swimming. You guys rocked it!!!

I love TV...don't judge me.

My family has always known that I have a severe television problem.  I love TV.  I love the news, I love dramas, I love comedy, I love documentaries.  Since I was a little girl, I have always loved TV.

Don't judge me.

Thankfully, with the discovery of the DVR, I don't watch as much as I used to.  Only the stuff that I really like.  Only good TV.  Never Whale Wars.  Or Swamp People.  Ugh...I lost brain cells just typing those titles.

My son has been a Netflix addict this summer.  He decided that he would watch the original Battlestar Gallactica.  That, by the way, was one of my favorites when I was in 4th grade.  (I-heart-Apollo)  JD waked into the kitchen and asked me why there was a gap between the two seasons...1978 and then 1980?  Why wasn't it in 1979?  I quickly answered "Because there was a stupid writer's strike in 1979 and it screwed everything up for months!"  I was 10 at the time.  But I was bitter.  Apparently I still am.   It was over 30 years ago, I should probably let it go.  This just shows that 1) I'm old and 2) My love for television was firmly established while I was a child. 

Memories of a 1985 made for TV movie with Penny Marshall called Challenge of a Lifetime that made me think it might be possible to do Triathlon earlier this summer.  I didn't quite do the Iron Man, but I did a whole lot more than I ever thought I would be able to a year ago.

For some reason, the best TV shows coincide with important events in my life.  This makes them extra special to me.  We found out who shot JR on the night of my 12th birthday party.  ER premiered on my wedding day, and I watched the first episode of Friends on our honeymoon.  I was sad to see those shows go off the air, but relieved that my marriage had more longevity.
The Closer is another one of my favorites.  I watched the first episode in the hospital the day my son Peter was born.  It's only got a few episodes left.  Again, thankful for Peter's health and longevity.  Last week's episode left me crying like an idiot. 

SPOILER ALERT:

The last scene has Brenda walking in her guestroom to bring her Mother a cup of coffee, and let her know that breakfast is almost ready.  She leaves the coffee on the nightstand and turns to walk out when Mom doesn't get up.  She gets as far as the door when suddenly the detective side of her realizes what has happened. Yet the little girl inside of her still holds out hope that her Mom will roll over and get up for pancakes.  Brenda walks to the other side of the bed...

I don't know what happened after that.  I couldn't watch.  I had to get up to leave.  See, I knew it was coming.  Years of television viewing help me to recognize foreshadowing, and I'm usually pretty good at guessing where a script is going.  So it wasn't a shocker that Brenda's Mom had died in her sleep.

The shocker was my physical reaction to it.  It hit too close to home.  Seven years ago, my Mother-in-law died in her sleep.  When I got to the house, she was comfortably laying in bed, holding on to the edge of the blanket.  It was nearly the exact same image.

This is what good tv does.  It kicks you in the gut.

It sucks you in and makes you care about the characters.  Just like a great book...sometimes even more so.  It leaves you wondering about them when they're not on screen.  What are Ross and Rachel doing now?  I wonder what Doug and Carrol's twins look like.  How is Brenda going to make it through the next few weeks?  Did Josh and Donna actually get married?  Did Santos run for re-election?  Will Leonard and Penny stay together?

These are the things I think about in the midst of laundry, parenting, trolling facebook, grocery shopping, working, cleaning and playing Words with Friends.

Don't judge me.

Welcome to Elsewhere

About a month ago, my family picked up and moved from 'small town' Illinois to 'bigger than a small town, but not quite a metropolis' Indiana.

This is the first time in my entire life that I have not lived in the State of Illinois.  I'm kind of confused, and attempting to adjust.  For example, here in Indiana they have a 2 term limit on the Governors.  In Illinois, we didn't have term limits, but the Governor was usually under a Federal Investigation or already indicted mid-way through the second term...so it was sort of like a term limit.

They really REALLY like the Colts here.  I think they are obsessed.

I have been granted a reprieve from Cardinals mania though...so that's nice.  (Sorry to all my Cards Fan Friends...I was born and raised a Cub fan)  So far, no one has yelled at me while wearing my Cubs visor.  So people here appear to be more tolerant.

There are numerous grocery stores.  I have many many places to choose to shop now.  It's so strange.  I'm not limited to my twice a month Waldi Run anymore. (Aldi then Walmart). 

There are stop lights.  Lots of stop lights.  And one-way streets.  Very urban. 

People here seem to speak English.  There are no strange terms that I'm unaware of, unlike when I first moved to small town Illinois.  (When my husband was invited Mushroom Hunting by the neighbor, I assumed it was code for going to a strip club...who knew that people would actually go out in the woods looking for mushrooms.  How strange).  But I really haven't met too many people yet, so it could be too soon to tell.

We are still looking for a church.  We have tried a couple, but haven't found the right fit.  There appears to be some confusion on the definition of the word "contemporary".   The church we were planning on today started at 9am.  Which we discovered is too early.  Or at least it's too early when you are up at 5am because of severe thunder and lightning, and you crawl back in bed at 7:30 just to lay down for a few minutes and wake up at 9:20.

Haven't made a single Indiana facebook friend yet.  This could actually be a good thing.  It's just less people that I have to worry about offending.

I do not like living in the Eastern Time Zone.  For 42 years, my body has been struggling to deal with Central Standard (or Daylight) Time.  I'm too old to wait until 11 pm to watch the news.  And Brian Williams should be telling me the events of the day at 5:30.  Not 6:30.  It's just wrong.  Thank goodness The Today Show is on at 7.  Now I can text spoiler alerts to all my friends in Illinois on what Matt and Al dress up as for Halloween. 

That's all for now...more useless ramblings to come, I'm sure.

Welcome to Elsewhere...or my version of it anyway.