The collage hanging in our stairway

Guys? This is the part where you lie to me, tell me that, no, it was just the little kid years that flew by like I was blinking, that the rest of it slows way down, that he’s going to stop morphing into a man while I’m standing here, watching it happen.

He went to “shadow” at the second hippie-dippy middle school yesterday, and I’m really going to need to come up with another nickname for it if he gets in, because that sounds like I’m not 100% on-board with the whole concept. It’s not exactly far off the mark when Eric calls me a dirty hippie, myself, so, sure, I’m down with Sam potentially calling his teachers by their first names and stopping to pet the school dog on his way down to the bathroom where they’re growing the hydroponic tomatoes. Cool with me, y’know? More importantly, cool with him. Yesterday’s visit was a particular success, since he actually got to know a couple kids by name, and he got to sit in on a comics class. No kidding. So he likes that school, I’d have to say.

We’re in the waiting game now, where we’ll chew our nails and check the mail to see if his name gets picked in the lottery to attend either charter school. If not, well, he’ll go to Mega-Middle and be a good little cog. I know, I know. I’m not telling him that! I’m being all sugar and cream about the whole business, talking to him about each school’s pros and cons, and he thinks he’d probably be happy anywhere. (Mega-Middle has ROBOTICS. That soothes a lot of worries for a ten-year-old boy.) ALl the same, I heard him pray last night to get into one of the hippie schools, and darn it, I’m not a rock. That twisted my gut.

This is stupid, really. We didn’t do this when I was a kid. You lived in a neighborhood, so you went to that school. My elementary school fed to three different middle schools, and if your parents didn’t like the one you were supposed to go to, well, then, it was the Christian school for you, where they had to hold their hands folded at their waists when they walked demurely down the halls. (I had friends who went there.) There wasn’t a whole lot of anxiety involved, so far as I was aware. Maybe we have too many choices these days. Maybe if this wasn’t going on at the same time as my friends with younger kids are frantically doing the “which elementary school?” dance, which is constantly keeping it at the forefront of my brain. Gah.

In the meantime, little Gabe is obsessed with Pokemon, and that’s JUST FINE. He can stay small, and obsessed with small child things, just as long as he wants.

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Of course, this week, I’m taking things really easy, running-wise. I think I’m putting the kibosh on the Newton running shoes, once and for all, or at least for the foreseeable future. Every blasted time I put them on, my peroneal tendon – which developed tendonitis years ago, and that stuff is chronic – starts complaining, and it takes a solid period of babying it to get it to shut up again. I swear, I only went on a few very short runs this time wearing them, two weeks ago, and I’m still with the icing and resting. So this week I’m going to stick to other cardio for the most part and just let it be completely. I’m not a “Newton runner,” I guess.

Anyway, this week is already going to be goofy. The kids are off school today, which meant I had to go to the Y early to be home in time for Eric to head to work. Then on Wednesday, Eric’s got some medical tests for which I need to be on hand to help chauffeur him; might be able to get a workout in around it, but also possible I’ll want to be at his beck and call, so I’m not counting on anything. Saturday night is his company’s holiday party – a bit late, but nice to have, nevertheless. Lots going on, so juggling will have to happen.

Honestly, though, I have to say that probably the main reason I’ve had success with fitness since I started running (five years ago in June!) is that I decided it wasn’t going to be “optional.” Exercise had to be non-negotiable, like a medication I need to take on a regular basis. It’s not something I allow myself to skip on the basis of “I don’t feel like it” – that way leads to more skipping, and more skipping, until I’d have completely fallen off. I know myself well enough to accept that. I try to plan no later than the night before for the following day’s workout; early morning sessions necessitate having the gear and clothes lying right beside my bed, so all I have to do is step into them and go. It took a long time to become habit, but now it is, and I’m happy about that.

Speaking of habits, housework calls. Trying to make Mondays “Kitchen Days.” Rockstar life!

Sundays are for bathrooms. I think I got more satisfaction from this than from the Packers game...

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Among other things making me feel decrepit and ancient, we had the second middle school orientation. I don’t feel quite as frantic as I did when we were struggling to keep Sam out of his home elementary school; this middle school, although huge and with a reputation toward conform-or-be-bullied, sort of has the flavor of my own middle school: tons of what we used to call “related arts” classes (cooking, shop, technology, etc.), lots of extracurriculars, and a brief lunch period that seems to rely heavily on pizza. (Seriously, the teacher discussing lunch mentioned the pizza no less than five times within two minutes, including the “special pizza” on Fridays.) Part of me wants to believe that with a student population so large, there will have to be other boys like Sam around to, I dunno, share the load of being goofy and frequently strange. I mean, hey, I ran into an old friend there with whom I hadn’t spoken in a couple of years, and she’s nervous about her son going there, since he, too, tends to be the short, skinny kid who doesn’t fit into the group. Maybe Sam won’t be so alone?

Still crossing my fingers for Hippie School #1 or #2 (I visited the second one, and it turns out to be a smaller version of the first charter school in most ways). I get good feelings about Sam fitting in well in those. Heck, everybody I tell who knows Sam agrees. But not going to get my hopes up too high; there are only 75 spots at HS#1 and 50 at HS#2. (Joy, I’d have no problem home-schooling Gabe, but I can’t see it working with Sam. Maybe he’s too much like me; I have enough trouble just getting through a single work session with him. I’ve been having him use Khan Academy to help with some math issues, and for some reason, he takes it as a insult to his pride whenever I so much as glance over his shoulder. Mom is NOT ALLOWED. )

We finally have snow. I’m already over it.

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Told Mom I was going to make this shirt. She could have one, too, I said, since it affects her like it affects me; obviously, if I’m old enough to be sitting in a gymnasium for a freaking middle school orientation, then she, as my mother, must be ancient.

But for real. This kid isn’t old enough for middle school!

Right? And obviously this girl isn’t old enough to have a kid old enough to go to middle school…

…shut up.

(Oh, the memory; she plays cruel, cruel tricks.)

Anyway, it was a very nice middle school, if I have to send my kid off to the dark and horrible place that middle school holds in the recesses of my recollections. This one is a charter school, and it’s all alternative thinking, and no bells, and random dog in the hallway, and calling teachers by their first names. Sam would probably love it and thrive there, once he got past the initial bump of realizing that he would have to be more of his own boss. Then again, it’s a very competitive lottery, so I’m not getting my hopes up, and I’m trying to discourage him from counting his chickens, too. The orientation for his home middle school is tomorrow night, and maybe it won’t be so bad…maybe all those police calls for fighting are, y’know, exaggerated in the newspaper…(somebody hold me!)

So, say Sam doesn’t make it into the hippie-dippy middle school, and my little free spirit becomes a target for bullies at the home school. There are other options, too. Another charter school, from which I’m waiting to hear back. Maybe the Christian school, though it’s private and expensive. And maybe the home school wouldn’t be so bad, after all; some people are reassuring me that it’s not. Demons always seem to rear their heads more vividly in your rear-view mirror than they do through the windshield. He’ll probably be fine wherever he goes…probably.

Man, do I wish I was sending Gabe with him. Not wishing Gabe’s life into fast-forward, of course, but if ever there was a brother willing to step up and defend his brother against all comers, it’s that one, bless him. But they won’t be in school together again after this year – unless, of course, they get into one of the charter schools, which are sixth through twelfth grades. Another reason to keep fingers crossed!

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Unexpected, this, to place in my age group after a year of basically running longer-longer-longer and pretending that things like speedwork and track time didn’t exist. Of course, it helps when the race gives medals ten places deep in each age group, which is practically unheard of, but still. After no speed training for more than a year, and minimal running for the past six weeks on a bruised knee and with a bum shoulder, I logically should have been midpack at best. Guess the legs remembered a little of what they used to do.

Not much to talk about with a 5K; it’s over too fast for a lengthy report. The sun shone, it was chilly but not cold, and everybody was…5K-ish. I told a friend who was there that I think I prefer the low-key “non-energy” before an ultra; no point warming up or doing striders and skipping if you’re going to be running all day. The corral was crowded, full of folks who were Super Serious and those who looked like first-timers. Nobody seemed to have any inclination toward lining up according to how fast you expect to run; I saw plenty of folks near the front who were obviously not interested in trying to hold the pace the people near them were going to be doing. (Quickly scootched out from behind the pack of girls I initially took to be fast, but who began making giggly plans to run holding hands and jumping together. Yeah.)

Within thirty seconds of starting to run, I took an elbow to my sore shoulder from the very tall man running beside me. Ow.

But once I got out of the traditional 5K mosh pit, it was pretty much smooth sailing until the end. Honestly, I could have pushed harder, but, well, I’ve spend a long time now learning to push my endurance and not really having to visit the particular Pain Cave involved with running fast. That’s a different sort of willpower, and I’m out of practice.

Finished in 25:38, which is nowhere near my PR, but which is pretty good compared to what I’ve been running lately. It was even good enough, as I said, for tenth place in my age group. What it mostly is, though, is a benchmark. That Pain Cave I mentioned a paragraph ago? I’m going to be going there in 2012. This will be the year I regain my speed (relative though it is), with plenty of shorter races and such to test myself. I hope to round out the year with a very nice half-marathon. It’s not a “vacation year”; it’s a year of changing the focus. Long is good, but you can be lazy while going long. Sometimes, I hope, it pays to rev the motor a bit, even if you’re more of a long-range trucker than a sports car.

So. Here’s to the end of 2011, which had plenty of ups and downs for my running. Lots of injuries, but lots of milestones, too. I gave up my toenails, and I gained insight into gratitude for the miles. I got to learn about pool running when I was hurt, but I also learned to love swimming as a cross-training tool. I ran 5Ks and ultras, and they both taught me things I needed to know.

Tomorrow? I’m going for a run with my running club. Hope you’ll be out there, too.

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Low-key sort of day. Goose is in the oven – yes, it should have been for Christmas, but when I started to prep it yesterday, one of the initial instructions said to “scald and dry it,” which involved a 24-hour rest period afterward – and quite a lot of Eric’s prized “schmaltz” has already been collected from it. The kids spent a good amount of time destroying various things on their video games this morning, and now they’ve switched over to build mode, having unboxed their electrical sets. (I’ve teased them that when they get all that figured out, they can repair the poorly wired light switch in the upstairs hallway.) Amazing; I don’t understand a lick of it, beyond “must go in a complete circle.” Gabe knows more than I do at this point.

I wanted to get to the gym today, but I’m waiting on a call back about a program happening there for kids later this afternoon; if there’s space available for the kids, I’ll just go work out then. Hope there is. These holidays result in a sudden decrease in regularly scheduled and enforced large-motor-skill time that aggression builds up pretty quickly. I’ve taken to sending them out for runs around the block when they start going for each others’ throats. (Gabe, naturally, has embraced this idea; Sam has a horror of it.) Another session might be approaching soon, from what I’m now overhearing. Maybe I can con convince Sam to take another try on his Ripstik; he was frustrated yesterday by being unable to hop right on and ride, so he decided it was “too cold” and came in after a few minutes.

Goose is done. Smells awesome…

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(For the record, Skylanders is in the basement, wrapped and ready to go after he’s in bed Christmas Eve. )

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Eric was in Germany last week, and a few days into the trip, a coworker traveling with him posted to Facebook a picture of part of the meal they were eating. It was bread, and a bowl of…something. Immediately, there was dubious speculation amongst our friends, made all the more incredulous when the men said it was a bowl of goose fat, brought to the table as a spread, like butter. According to them, and to the disbelief of almost everybody reading stateside, it was delicious.

So Eric came home, and he wanted to share the “joy of schmalz” with everybody here, so he asked me to call the local butchers to see if they had any rendered goose fat. Failing that, he suggested some fresh goose or goose pieces we could roast on our own, in order to get the fat. Nobody had any fat, but one butcher was getting in some fresh geese this afternoon; did I want to reserve one? Well, Eric had told me to…

Fast forward. I came to the store, and was handed:

That is what we call a Whole Lot of Goose. It’s about ten pounds of previously honking, vicious, beaked and winged animosity, and it wasn’t cheap, either – not by a long shot.

I suppose I’ll be roasting goose tomorrow. I’ve never even tried goose before (let alone the rendered fat of one!). This’ll be an adventure, but I guess I’ll have to follow it through to the end at this point. Stay tuned…

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Anyway, I also bought a bunch of mixed nuts today, out of some sort of weird sentimental urge; my grandpa always had a bowl of mixed nuts out during the holiday season (or was it all the time, and I only associate it with now?), with one of those cheap metal nutcrackers in it. Had to buy one of those, too, and the little metal picks that come with it. Gabe is entranced. He doesn’t particularly like nuts, mind, but he’s very impressed with his ability to smash open walnuts. “I must be the strongest person on the planet!” he says, cracking open the nuts and handing over their contents to his brother, who doesn’t like cracking nuts but who finds them tasty. He calls the walnuts “Boss Nuts,” and he defeats them handily, crowing his victories loudly.

Neither child likes the cinnamon candies I got to put on the cookies. So, yay for pork chops, boo for cinnamon, and a mixed judgment on nuts. I’ll take it, I suppose.

Send more walnuts, pork chops, and wine! And pray for Saturday, and Eric’s plane to get here soon.

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Been some confusion about where, who, and how it’s happening this year; there was no news at all, and some folks said the original maintainers weren’t doing it (I messaged and heard nothing). I thought maybe Facebook, and then Kat asked me to join in on a standalone site, so there was that, and then other people started saying that other folks were doing it, and…well, somebody’s doing something, and since the WHOLE POINT is to write entries on your own site anyway, I figure I’ll just do that and just wait for somebody else to tell me where to put the links when it all gets decided.

Not that it matters to you. You obviously got here via other resources. So this is just all behind-the-scenes stuff that can safely be ignored, other than to say: this is what is irking me. A little. But not nearly as much as my annual irritation:

I know. I know. I’ve said it before, but every year the radio starts playing overly ornamented versions of the carol from various pop singers, and they’re all doing it wrong, and GAH. If Santa wasn’t staring down my chimney, that darn list of his in hand with pen poised at the ready, I’d be tempted to start throwing elbows.

But I’ll stay somewhat cheerful today, because my physical therapist was happy with me again. I’ve got lots more range of motion in my shoulder than when I started, and she gave me more strengthening exercises on top of the ones I have, and I feel optimistic that this whole thing will be a memory sooner rather than later. Of course, I did try swimming with a kickboard this morning, and that was a failure after only 400 yards, but I’ve got patience. No rush.

Also, cheerful because my kids are now happily enjoying me reading to them each night from the Wee Free Men books which…just YAY. So glad to have them liking good, fun books that don’t pander. Thrills my heart.

What’s making you happy tonight? If nothing in particular, try this:

Helium walks into a bar. The bartender says, “Sorry, we don’t serve noble gases.” Helium doesn’t react.

Ba-dump bump.

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Should get my toenails tattooed back on. I’ll bet there’re a lot of nerve endings in nailbeds, though. Hmmmm.

Here, have a picture of the ornaments my children made at the company Christmas party. A snowman and a star. I’ll bet you’ll never guess who made what…

Bonus: their letters to Santa.

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HER: “Blood in the urine is pretty bad…”
ME: “But rhabdomylosis doesn’t go away because you drank a couple of bottles of water!”
HER: “…it went away? Oh!”

So she was all apologetic, and the rest of the appointment was fine. She did some quick checks of my shoulder, which continues to improve, and said it was pretty classic rotator cuff injury. The fact that I can now lift my arm over my head, even if it hurts some to do so, means that if there’s a tear, it’s not complete. She gave me a referral for PT, and she told me to stop wearing the sling, since as it heals, I run the risk of getting “frozen shoulder” if I keep it immobile. My knee, she says, is probably just bruised, since it didn’t show any signs of ligament or tendon damage.

I’ll continue to rest until my PT appointment on Tuesday (using the same PTs I had before, when I did Devil’s Lake; I like that they match my preference for aggressive treatment), when I can ask what sort of exercise I can do as I heal. Something tells me running might not benefit this shoulder, but what do I know? I thought broken ribs this summer would mean no running, but I was wrong about that.

In the meantime, Eric’s elbow is bugging him, which he’s apparently been ignoring for a bit, until it’s now gotten pretty bad. How on earth are the two of us going to get a Christmas tree up, I ask you?

One of the boys brought home this brochure from school:

Go on; read it. I'll wait.

Proofreading: it’s your friend.

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Here’s the thing: the boys elected, when asked their opinion, to have a later Thanksgiving dinner today than an earlier one, so the meal preparation has been happening through the day, leaving me to wander through the kitchen, trying not to snack (oh, pearl onions; you seduce my heart completely) but contenting myself with sips of a lovely Shiraz while watching Eric in action. He says I get this way when I’ve had a few too many of those sips, but I’ll contend that this level of maudlin has been reached not via grape, but by watching the man I love in action, serving his family in this very special way, hour after hour.

He said he was going to “wing it” this year, leaving behind fancy preparations and complicated menu options. A roast turkey, with a simple stuffing; green beans with mini potatoes; pearl onions in a cream sauce; mashed potatoes; cranberry sauce; giblet gravy. A homemade pumpkin pie to finish. Knowing that my version of “winging it” would probably have involved StoveTop and Sara Lee as guests, I grinned as I watched him positively dance around the kitchen, juggling pots and pans as everything came into form. He stumbled at the giblets, momentarily caught off guard trying to identify one from another (apparently, the liver joins the gravy well after the other organ meats), but he figured it out quickly. The pie was completed soonest, a humbly perfect pie that sits cooling on the entertainment center as we wait for the rest of the meal.

This is Thanksgiving then, and though I’ve been waxing poetic about the food, that’s not what I’m saying. Thanksgiving is in the feeling I get when I see this man, this man I love, working hard for hours to please us in any way that he can. Thanksgiving is in the warmth in my heart as I see him brush flour from his pants, red-faced from the heat, not slowing a moment as he spins from stove to counter to table and back. I remember that he started cooking when I was so heavily pregnant with Gabe, so tired from chasing a toddler around all day, and he stepped up to help, though it wasn’t something at which he’d worked much before that. My husband, the man of many talents: he works so hard, and seeing him work is to see art in action.

Okay, so I have been enjoying the wine.

Thanksgiving is such a perception-based holiday. It’s hard to deny that we are so much more well-off than so many people in this country, simply based on the way our table begins to groan under the weight of the dishes piling onto it. I’m not blind to that, and I feel sincere gratitude that neither of my children has known hunger. At the same time, I know that the real gift here isn’t the food. It’s the love behind it.

Thank you, God.

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Actually, at this point, most of the ordinary muscle soreness has abated. If my shoulder and knee weren’t aching from the falls, I would almost certainly be gearing up to (slowly) trot through either the 2-mile or 5K Thanksgiving Day runs I have around me. (Not the 10K yet, though.) But despite the fact that I think I am seeing improvement – I was able to use both hands to wash my hair today! – I’m still playing things cautiously. I’ve raced enough miles this year, and I don’t feel guilty for not doing two races inside one week when one of those races was fifty miles.

Sort of difficult to snap a picture of a slinged (slung?) arm.

The official race photographs are starting to be processed. While a few are really nice…

Heading up the first, long, hill.

Feeling goofy on the AT

I just don't even know.

…only one really captures my late-race feelings with crystal clarity:

Bear and grin it!

I recalled reading in The Hip Mama Survival Guide, back when I was pregnant with Sam, how Ariel Gore scrawled herself a note during labor: “NEVER DO THIS AGAIN.” That came back to me several times during the race, making me wish I had paper and pencil to do similarly, since, like her, I had a feeling that amnesia would kick in and make me forget just how bad this hurt. That photo does nicely. On the other hand, I can feel that the amnesia is sneaking in. Would I do it again? Well…

I need to seriously assess whether I can become a better trail runner, or whether I’m destined to forever be the Queen of Fall, no matter what I do. Would practice help? Ankle strengthening? Balance work? Improving form? Or is it a case of general clutziness that can’t be eradicated? That would at least determine what kinds of these races I’d consider in the future, if not totally dictate the yes or no. I love going long, so maybe I should just avoid crazy technical stuff if I want to do that? St. Pat’s was a blast, and I could totally see doing the twelve-hour!

Doesn’t really matter right now; I have time. I’m taking time away from distance for the coming year. Over the course of this training, I’ve noticed my speed ebb away as my endurance grew, and while the tradeoff seemed acceptable, it’s something I plan to fix in 2012. Lots of 5Ks and 10Ks, maybe rounding out the year with a very nice half-marathon, but meanwhile doing all the speedwork I’ve been ignoring for a year. Good news? Fewer 4AM Saturday morning runs. Bad news? I hate sucking wind. Good for the soul, though!

I can’t wait for these injuries to get better. My house is a wreck, but between the knee scolding me when I bend it too much and the shoulder yelling when I reach for things…well, the clutter will have to wait.

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Flew into Maryland, got to Hagerstown; went to the expo to get my race bib. I had prepared my parents for a teeny-tiny “expo,” since their only experience with a race expo was in DC for the Marine Corps Marathon, but I was surprised at how much was there to see. Multiple booths, nice things! I nearly walked out without a JFK50 car magnet, since buying one felt sort of like a jinx, but when I walked out of the hotel and saw all the cars that had those magnets, I decided it must be a “thing,” so I went back for one. It was very intimidating to walk around that crowd, I have to say. The race shirts folks were wearing were all for races I’ve only read about – hundred milers, etc. – and then there were folks in Ironman things, multiple Marathon Maniacs, and lots of people wearing shirts that declared them members of the “500 Mile Club” (people who’ve done the JFK 50 at least ten times). I felt so out of my depth!

I did sleep well the night before, surprisingly. Woke up before my alarm went off, just lying there in the dark and…not panicking. Yet, anyway. I felt pretty relaxed as I got ready, telling myself it was “just a little jog in the woods.” My parents friends showed up, and we all headed to Boonsboro together, where a race briefing was held at 6:20. I saw Mike Wardian stretching out a little ways away from me in the gym beforehand, which was a pretty cool experience. Later, when the race director was having race veterans who anticipated finishing in a certain time stand up, a man sitting right behind me made a movement, and the director said, “David Horton, you’re not even running this year!” I spun around and stared in awe. Ultrarunning fangirl, ’tis I.

Thing was, everybody looked crazy fit and not a bit nervous, which was making me feel extra-nervous. Was everybody there as collected as they seemed? Was I the only “JFK virgin” in the room?! Gah.

We left the gym, and the weather was absolutely perfect. I decided I wouldn’t need the headlamp I’d brought, and I planned to exchange my fleece hat for a cap when I saw my parents at the end of the Appalachian Trail. We all hiked down the road to the starting line, about 1,000 yards away; before I got to that point, I heard the signal to start, and the crowd started moving, but I honestly had no idea where the actual start was. Certainly, there were no mats in evidence, even though it was a chip-timed race.

I fell in with a woman who did the race a couple of years ago, and as we chatted, sharing stories, some of hers sounded familiar to me…turned out, she was Dana, whose blog I’ve read! After the initial climb up the road to South Mountain Inn, where we found the trail for the first time, I lost her; there was no way I was going to try to stay with a specific person on the AT, especially somebody with whom I didn’t train, so I let her go and didn’t see her again.

The trail turns out onto fire road, which is another steep climb that seems to go forever. Honestly, you don’t really get onto the Appalachian until around five miles in, but once you do…oh, my. My regrets about not training more on the Ice Age Trail immediately evaporated; the only way to prepare for running on this trail would have been to run on this trail. Far rockier, far more technical than anything, ANYTHING, I had available to me. I nearly fell very early on, grabbing a tree with both arms and feeling very relieved that I didn’t “kiss the earth” then.

That didn’t happen until mile 8. I landed and slid hard on my side, arm outstretched, and I felt something go “pop” in my shoulder. I knew right away that I’d done a Bad Thing to it, but I also rationalized that you don’t need an arm to run, so I kept going. I couldn’t cross my arm over my chest without severe pain, even in reaching up to brush my cheek, but I had another arm for that, so I put it out of my head and kept going, ignoring the pain.

At mile 12, I fell again, this time gouging and bruising my knee. Surprised I didn’t tear my tights, really, which would have made me angry. I walked for a bit after that, feeling quite frustrated but determined not to be beaten; I did see one woman after that point whose fall ended her day out there, sobbing and unable to stand, so I felt lucky not to be worse off.

Once we reached the switchbacks off the trail, I honestly felt a little better; it was very treacherous and scary, but I finally felt like it wasn’t “just me” – everybody around me was struggling and going extremely slowly and cautiously. Mom and Dad were waiting at the bottom, and they said they saw lots of blood and injuries coming down, along with people tumbling the last part. I gave them my hat, jacket, and gloves and set off again for the towpath.

Now, at that point, I still had about 35 miles to go, and on a good day, that would have perhaps felt okay, but after beating the living Bejeezus out of yourself, it’s a different story. I went to my tried-and-true 9:1 run/walk intervals, which I was able to maintain fairly well, but I was exhausted. I started getting hot spots on my foot around mile 22, so I stopped and reapplied Body Glide then, and getting back up was hard. By mile 29 or 30, I was at an extreme low point. My shoulder was on fire, my knee was aching, and I wanted…something. Anything. I still had 20 miles to go!

Actually, just before that, I had a high point around mile 24, where a North Pole-themed aid station temporarily lifted my spirits. Got my photo taken with Santa and enjoyed a Christmas cookie and the BEST CHICKEN SOUP EVER. That high was great; just wish it had lasted. [EDIT: that was actually mile 34, not 24. My brain is so foggy about the sequence of events after such a long day!]

On and on and on. I leap-frogged particular runners, feeling pretty good if I could pass them with enough distance that they didn’t pass me again on my next walk break. (Blue shirt woman, you finally got the best of me; congratulations. ) I saw my folks a couple more times at different aid stations, but I was in such a haze that I barely recognized them. One interesting thing: several times, I was suddenly taken by an overwhelming urge to cry, out of nowhere, and a minute after that, I’d notice that I was having trouble drawing breath. I’d walk a bit, and both the tears and the chest tightness would pass.

We finally left the trail at mile marker 84, and I was given a reflective vest as we hit the road. There were only about 8 miles left, and I was feeling okay – exhausted, overwhelmingly sore, mentally in shambles, but at least confident of finishing. The roads rolled, and I tried to keep up my 9:1, making exceptions for the steep hills. And then, with about six miles left, the inside of my ankle, which had been aching, though not more than any other part of my body, suddenly decided to step up its game. I could barely walk, let alone run. It was so bad that I began to cry. I walked, and I walked, and I called Eric to cry to him, and I kept walking. When the pain dulled a little, I started doing a pattern of running 100 steps, then walking for 10. Repeat. Grit teeth.

Around the last couple of miles, I switched focus. Wasn’t hallucinating, but I focused hard on seeing Sam and Gabe on either side of me. They pulled me, grabbing my hands and giggling for me to hurry up. Sam told me he could run faster than me; Gabe told me to “man up.” I chanted their names and whispered to them, letting them drive me up the road, nearly crying when I saw the lights at the finish. “It’s here, kids. We made it!”

I finished in 10:19:35, 486th out of an eventual 941 finishers. My time would have been better had I not had to walk so much of the final miles, but I was elated with the time, as I stumbled over the line and immediately yelled for help with my ankle. They took me to the medical area and iced and bandaged me; they also checked my shoulder but weren’t as concerned about it. (Naturally, the ankle is fine today, but the shoulder? Yeah, I’m wearing a sling and going to the doctor when I get back. It’s in agony.)

A scarier moment came after I got home, went to use the bathroom, and urinated copious amounts of blood. Aaaaaaugh! I ran to the computer, reassured myself (it can be normal, from the jarring of the bladder, if there are no other symptoms like fever or abdominal pain, neither of which I had), then pounded water for the next couple of hours, until my urine was back to normal. Phew.

Anyway, I didn’t sleep at all well, due to the pain, and the soreness is getting worse and worse all over now, so the next few days should be interesting. I had been hoping to swim for a bit to help with that, but with a bum shoulder, that’s probably off the table. Not sure what I can do with that. But I’m wearing my medal, my JFK vest, and a huge smile, along with my sling, and I’ll limp with pride when I get to the airport and explain to the security folks just why I can’t get into the machine requiring me to hold my hands over my head. Because the pain? Worth it.

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Never done the whole “Go Go” airplane wireless thing before. I’m in the air, somewhere over…oh, who knows. Not Wisconsin anymore, probably, and not yet Maryland. On my way, and on a very uneventful flight, so far.

Sam was scared of me flying. Gabe was terrified of me falling off a mountain during the race. Nobody is allowed to give him any more scary race details, at least until after I’ve finished running; he was trying so hard to convince me to find another, less steep, path off the trail tomorrow.

Anyway. What time is it? Phone says quarter after seven, but I don’t know if the time zone has changed yet. Let’s just say we’re about 24 hours away from race time, give or take, and all’s as well as I could reasonably expect. Cross your fingers, wish me luck, and pray that this pilot is good at landing – because a crash right now would seriously torque me off.

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As I’ve said before, what’s the point of having kids, if not to mess with them on a regular basis?

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Both Gabe and Eric are now medicated, though Eric’s feeling slightly worse now as Gabe feels perkier. Rather unfair, that, as Eric is willingly taking his antibiotic, while Gabe…well, he doesn’t like liquid medicine, and that’s what he is unfortunately been given. Also, it looks like milk, and he HATES milk. So we’ve done three dosages now, and each has required bribing and arguing and deals extraordinaire. Eric really took it on the chin this last time, taking a spoonful of jolokia hot sauce in exchange for Gabe finishing the dose. It was a sight to see.

Sam and I remain healthy, so far, though Sam’s allergies are acting up a bit in the mornings now. Hopefully, that’s all it is, anyway.

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Of Sam, since toddlerhood, I’ve often joked that he was just waiting for the perfect militant cause to which he could attach himself. He’d shriek to the heavens when he saw litter on the ground; he’d rail against the system when he heard about bullies or cheaters. Now, apparently, he’s been assigned a class project – the details of which are sort of sketchy to me; maybe a position paper? – and his topic is whaling. Oh, my. He found his current cause.

He and his partner, a young lady with similar passionate feelings, are getting more and more outraged with every bit of information they uncover…and their plans to “fix” the situation don’t appear to follow conventional paths. “So, working through the system isn’t your style?” I lamely said this morning, when he told me that his friend planned to use pepper bombs against the whalers, as “red herrings.”

(“Yeah, our teacher taught us that phrase,” he said, proud of himself.)

No, it’s apparently much more his style to go all rogue here, with stealth ships and weapons. He is morally disgusted by the images he’s seen (sidenote: I think I’d have been a little more wary about letting a bunch of ten-year-olds go searching the internet for images of whale slaughter…), and moderation isn’t something he’s really developed yet. So now I get to walk a fine line between letting him do his own homework and trying, for the love of Mike, to get him to please consider the ramifications of joining the Youth Ecoterrorist Brigade.

Meanwhile, Gabe’s education is following a more ordinary path, though he’s regularly cracking me up with it. He prefers to work extremely independently, with the result that some of his assignments look as though they were penned by Nell:

Click to embiggen.

This is an older paper, and in case you can’t decipher it, he was talking about birds in a tree. Yes, “brs” in a “teyu.” Now he’s getting a little better at the phonics, but he still surprises us. This next was from a “Day of the Dead” assignment, where he chose to write about his late Grandma Richmond:

Well, sure! Who doesn’t love to eat some fresh, juicy Florida “oinchjis”? Or maybe have a glass of “oinch” juice?

The spelling isn’t the only creative thing he does, though. From a math paper. Note: the questions he missed were intended to be related to the one above:

Instead of doing the math, deciding whether the numbers could fit logically into the comparison provided, Gabe went straight for practicality. No, Luz couldn’t paint eleven rocks; it would take too long. I guess Luz had other things to do. On the other hand, two rocks would fit neatly into Luz’s busy schedule, since those would take only a “hoat” (short?) time.

Oh, Gabe. You don’t disappoint.

(I didn’t ask what was hanging from the belly of the…fire beast? My best guess is a saddle or a weapon, not what you’re thinking. For all his craziness, Mr. Gabe has a strong streak of Puritan-like modesty in that arena. )

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“So, how does it feel to be seven?”
“I don’t feel different yet. I still feel six.”
“Well, what’s the difference?”
“When I’m seven, I’ll feel all excited and hyper. I won’t feel seven until I’ve blown out my candle.”
“Well,” I yawned, “Then you won’t be seven until late tonight, because you’re not having cake for breakfast.”
“Just kidding!” he yelped, bouncing up off my pillow. “I feel seven now!”

And just like seven years ago, I started my day snuggling with my baby in the big bed. Of course, this time he was much more chattery and far less change-me-nownowNOW. But the wispy hair and the sparkly eyes are the same, as well as the complete unwillingness to be anything less than the center of attention.

He’s crazy, this one, but I think it’s simply impossible to get through a day with Gabe without laughing out loud at least once or twice. He’s a whirlwind of the unexpected; he’s a dervish of emotions. Even at the worst, most volatile moments, so long as you don’t “feed the fire” (a lesson we’ve all learned and continue to learn), he’ll change directions within minutes, apologizing sincerely and trying to make up for his outburst of anger. He’s pure life without a filter.

I could write a book, just of his hilarious takes on the world around him. Last night, in his bedtime prayers, he thanked God “…for mankind, and also for ladykind.” He says that when he grows up, he wants to be a dancer (“I’m comfortable with my dancing!” he says, then, when Sam snickers, “I need to get a new brother.”) and a crossing guard. He loves school; when I picked him up for swimming yesterday, he said goodbye by name to darn near every kid we walked past, then said, with emphasized casual swagger, “Those are my peeps.” In the morning, he vacillates between playing with Legos and doing bona fide front planks on the living room floor (because he wants “washboard abs”).

To think, this was the child who came into the world in the middle of the night with a resounding roar. I don’t think he’s stopped roaring yet. Happy birthday, Gabe. You’ll always be my wild one.

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Caribou this morning, since we ran plumb out of beans here at home, and do you think I could go for a morning without? Ha. Think again, son.

So tomorrow is race day, and as of the official registration cut-off, I stand as the only runner for six hours. This made me fire off an email to the race director, because, honestly, when we made our original plans for me to run in South Bend this weekend, the thought was for a single night at a hotel, then showering and heading back that evening. But the awards ceremony isn’t until the 24-hour finishers are done the next morning…and now I’m the de facto winner of my division. (Never stops being funny.) Would I need to stick around? The RD assured me that they could give me my prize after my race finished – an unceremonious procedure, but it’s an unceremonious win. I thanked her:

Thanks; that helps with planning.

I also wondered: this is my first timed run, and I’m not sure about the mechanics. I know from reading race reports that the 24-hour folks, and probably the 12-hour ones, set up small “camp” areas, where they keep their food and supplies, but for a six-hour, should I plan otherwise? Or should I plan to have a bag where I can keep gels, etc. that I might want? As I said, I’ve never done this before.

Her response:

You will like the timed event.
We will have all kinds of gels, fluids, and food for you.
There will also be an area for you to have a drop bag with things you might like in it. The area around and in the red barn is the area for the runners so feel free to bring a chair or two, change of socks, etc in case you get tired and want rest a bit.

Sounds good to me. This could be my kind of event! Chairs and everything! (Not that I’m planning on taking any extended rest periods; by my calculations, on a 3-mile loop, I have plenty of time cushion to accomplish what I want to do, even accounting for slowing down, but I’m not going to abuse it, either.)

Here’s the only part that has me nervous. From somebody who posted on the event’s Facebook page:

…The challenge comes when passing through the trees in the woods on the bluff section as there is quite a few roots under those leaves. And trees along the river have dropped quite a few of their leaves to the tune of 3-4 inches deep. This area along the river has just as many roots to feel out for. The sad thing is that a recent Xcountry meet took place and someone painted the roots a yellow color. Duh! All the leaves are a yellow color to [sic].

Good practice for the Appalachian Trail, I suppose.

Anyway, wish me luck and good times! I do think I’m going to do this thing with just a handheld bottle, leaving my needed supplies by my bag. It’s just too convenient a plan to skip.

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Somebody hopped off the bus with a plan this afternoon.

Now, we’ve had a few false starts with regards to music and my older son. Violin came to a tragic end when he couldn’t handle the idea of having (::shudder::) people adjusting his fingers for him, and he fought me every time I mentioned practicing; even lessons with the teacher, who was clearly an Educational Ninja, couldn’t resurrect his willingness to try. Choir was a a let-down for him, since it meant giving up all his recesses in the end, not simply the single one the teacher had said would be enough for the group. I don’t blame him for not wanting to do that again. And our church musicals made him uncomfortable, standing in the spotlight, so he’s the sole junior member of the scenery crew for those now.

There is a difference this time, though: with the violin, the choir, and the musicals, I have to admit to being the propelling factor. Well, can you blame me? (Don’t answer that.) I mean, music was my life for so long, how could I help but hope my son might want to share it with me? I didn’t actually force him (except for the church plays, since his age group at class is primarily based around the staging of plays for much of the year, and there’s no other class for him), but I didn’t hide my desire that he’d give them a try…and he did…for a while.

This time, I thought I’d learned, so after some initial asking whether the band started this year and whether he’d try it (“No!” he said “I don’t want to give up my recesses again!”), I let it go. Then, today, he jumped down the bus steps and said, “I want to play the trumpet!”

Okay, so I know the shtick. The band director goes around, demonstrates all the instruments for the kids and makes it sound like being in the band is the rockstar life. I can even remember my own elementary school band director doing the same thing. He let us try all the mouthpieces, and the only one on which I could make a sound that I liked was the flute, and so there I went for the next ten years before switching primary focus to piano (mostly based on instructor preference, but also on practicality; a piano is a much more useful instrument for an aspiring composer, especially with so much being done electronically). Apparently, Sam’s teacher didn’t go so far as to let them try the mouthpieces yet, but Sam liked the sound of the trumpet best.

Well, that was Eric’s primary instrument, so we happen to have a couple of them in the basement. Reasoning that, even if it goes south again, at least we can mitigate cash outlay, I pulled out some mouthpieces for Sam to try. He did a couple of times, puffing out his cheeks like Dizzy. “It TICKLES!” he yelled. After failing to get a good buzz after a handful of attempts, he sighed and said, “I guess it’s not for me.”

“What?!” I laughed. “Did you think you were going to be Louis Frigging Armstrong on your first try?” Gabe barked with laughter, and Sam shrugged and said, “Well, yeah.” At least he’s honest. I told him of my fledgling attempts and failures, and he seemed cheered.

I am not getting my hopes up again. I am not going to push it. If he wants to try this, I’m supporting him, because music education is so very important, and I want him to have every benefit I can give him. But I’ve seen what pushing brings. Time will have to tell, as it always does.

(Gonna suggest he puts down “percussion” or “flute” in the “Second Instrument Choice” blank, though. The latter will also save money, since we’ve got that downstairs, too, and the former is less likely than any of the above to hammer on his sensory issues. No spit valves there, you see. )

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(But we won’t talk about the dental hygienist who asked me, right in front of him, whether the whimpering, upset Gabe was autistic.)

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The kids are being kids, which, well, duh. It’s the last couple of weeks of summer vacation, and they’re apparently all out of energy, except what they can expend in manic bursts as shouts at a computer screen or video game or each other. (Oh, yay, there they go again. “IT’S MY LEGO PIECE! GIVE IT BACK!” as though we don’t have giant plastic tubs overflowing with Legos. That one is special.) We did almost all the school supply shopping yesterday, with the exception of Sam’s oil pastels and erasable blue pens. Beyond the weird specificity of the latter, haven’t we all decided that erasable pens are pure evil by now? They smear, they blot, they don’t really erase anyway…and he already bought some black ones, also found on the list. Why do we need blue ones, too? What’s the bizarre importance, here?

Perhaps I’d mind less in a better mood. But you should have seen the epic tantrum Gabe threw when we couldn’t find them at our second stop yesterday, before I managed to make him understand that we didn’t need to go searching in another place that day. Of course, he was only expressing the frustration probably felt by every one of the parents packed shoulder-to-shoulder in the narrow school supply aisles, but he was doing it with panache. And volume. And what we’ll call “interpretive dance,” so as to give his six-year-old pride a little break. Heck, I was hot and tired, too, so I can understand how his breaking point got smashed to bits there.

My ribs are still fiercely aching, and even my face still hurts some, usually when I forget about it and go to rest my cheek in my hand or put on moisturizer a little too slap-dashedly. Swimming on Monday morning was a failure from the get-go (had to use a kickboard for the entire workout, since stroking with my arms was agonizing), and I called the doctor afterward, who prescribed me some pain pills with instructions to call her if things didn’t improve after a while. Funny thing is, she wants me to take them at bedtime, but the pain is the worse when I wake. That’s when I need help; the first hour after getting out of bed, I’m creeping around like an old lady who can barely stand up without wincing. By bedtime, it’s not so bad; maybe being upright for that long just inures me to the pain or something. Who knows?

Need a cheer-up.

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One of the only “misses” on the trip was the Top Secret attraction, which Gabe was desperate to see, and which he begged and begged for us to go to, and which he happily pranced into…and which he and I had to flee through an emergency exit provided by the tour guide midway through, with Gabe howling in my ear, “THAT WAS HORRIFYING! Why would they SHOW ME that?! I’m going to be TERRIFIED FOR LIFE!” He even grabbed a little girl by the elbow, as she was crossing the parking lot with her parents, to say, “Just so you know, it’s really, really scary in there!” (As a footnote, when we left the Dells this afternoon after Gabe had exchanged an extremely tearful goodbye with his grandparents, he said, “Now we just need to go back to Top Secret! This moment is so bad, that would even cheer me up!”)

But that was the only down side, other than the occasional squabbling about whether we should be splashing in the water park or waving wands at Magiquest, or whether it ought to be the restaurant featuring paper moose antlers or model trains for dinner. That’s to be expected, and there were no catastrophes.

Well, I say “no catastrophes,” and that’s true, though I guess it did come close. I kept up with my running while I was there, and I saved my longest midweek run for a trail run at Mirror Lake. It was worth it; the views were incredible, and I had the whole trail to myself. I picked the one marked with the highest difficulty, a mountain bike trail, and it was very rolling, with plenty of steeper hills mixed in. No human souls, but plenty of wildlife; I shared the morning with wild turkeys, a doe with two fawns darting in front of me, and an adorable pitch-black squirrel that kept popping up. I was in a great mood right before mile four, when I passed a “Do Not Enter” sign; it made me giggle, thinking it really needed a pink ribbon tied to it (I guess I didn’t mention in the race report; the “course” was so rough that every time we saw a “Do Not Enter” or “Keep Out” sign, it was nearly always marked with a pink ribbon indicating that we needed to duck under any barrier and plow forward.)

So I was giggling about that, and my mind wandered for a crucial second, and a root jumped up and grabbed my toe. I took a hard fall to the ground, landing heavily on my rib cage and face. Ow. It took several long minutes for me to regain myself, just lying there, staring at the tree canopy, trying to breathe. After a while, I sat up and spat out big mouthfuls of mud, trying to see whether I’d broken anything really important; my hat had flown off my head and up the trail a ways, and I was a little worried I’d broken my face. My ribs were killing me, but my legs seemed okay, if scraped.

The last two miles were slow and painful, but, you know, you have to finish what you start, especially if you’re the only one on the trail and your car is at the end. Got back to the hotel and iced my face and ribs; happily, that kept my cheek from swelling up into my eye, but there’s still a shadow of a bruise there, and the ribs are pretty sore. My mother-in-law was a nurse, though, and she agreed that I probably didn’t need to go to the Urgent Care, since all they’d do is tell me to ice it and take ibuprofen. It’s not debilitating, just achy. Could have been a lot worse, I suppose.

Anyway, we’re back now, and there’s laundry to do and routines to resume. School starts in a few weeks, and I haven’t bought a single supply for that. Time to get cracking!

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I did my run today at 5 AM, hoping to avoid the worst of the day’s heat-advisory-level temps, but I was sticky before I even got out the door. Thank God this is a fall race, so I’m still in the low mileage zone.

This whole basement thing is creating an interesting phenomenon. My elementary school kids are turning into bona fide frat boys down there. They’re hooting and hollering over video games, sprawled out all over the floor (oh, by the way, want to know what’s better than $45 bean bag chairs for which you also have to buy your own “beans” to stuff them yourself? Giant doggy beds. You’re welcome.), completely oblivious to any kind of social mores; last night, unable to fathom cooking, I ordered pizza, and when I went down to check on them later, the scene was so very Animal House that I almost went looking for hidden togas and kegs. Terrifying.

Unrelated, Gabe now says he wants to be a judge when he grows up. This can in no way end boringly.

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(Moment I came upstairs, Sam demanded to watch the video, giggling, “Do I really sound like that?” And the little rocking chair was safe from catastrophe, too.)

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Happy Father’s Day to my wonderful husband, the father of our awesome little men. We love you so much!

And to my own dad, who I miss so much and cannot wait to see in a few weeks. Happy Father’s Day to you, too!

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It’s no secret that we’re, shall we say, less than fond of this house. It should also be no secret to anybody who’s watched more than a couple of news shows, glanced at a newspaper, or, heck, driven through their neighborhood and noticed at signs in people’s yards that selling a home right now is something of a risky proposition. Houses are sitting on the market…and sitting…and despite all our wishes to dump this house faster than we could blink, it’s probably not a good bet as something we could count on happening. I have friends in the area trying it. I also have friends who have given up and rented out their houses instead, which isn’t something we want to do.

So, what’s a family to do in a situation like this? They make the best of it, take a look around at the things that really, truly bother them about the house, and do what they can to make it better. In our case, that’s started with trying to purge and get rid of piles and piles of crap. I actually started to do this a while ago, when there had been a possibility of moving out of this place, but when it fell through, I lost my momentum entirely; now I’ve returned to the task with a vengeance.

On Thursday, the day before garbage pick-up, I started hauling things out to the curb, where I staged an “Alysia-style” yard sale; I tagged nothing, put up no signs, and managed to make $40 on stuff I just wanted to see gone. Most of what didn’t sell went to trash pickers overnight before the garbage truck came by the next day. Then yesterday and today, I hauled out loads of stuff out of the basement and took them to Goodwill; today, in fact, Eric helped by getting rid of piles of old hardware that has been sitting downstairs for years. Boom. Gone. It’s liberating.

Won’t lie; I’d rather focus on just dumping the place. But we’d have to do this part, anyway, wouldn’t we? No point in waiting until then.

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Well, somebody had the audacity to wake up ten years old this morning. Can you believe that? The nerve! I told him to knock it off right this instant and go back to being the little ball of baby he’s supposed to be, but he just giggled at me! In a voice that, while not exactly changing yet, is way deeper than the giggle I know he had yesterday, when he was pushing his little Elmo lawn mower around the yard, or even playing on a blanket, surrounded by soft toys. That was yesterday, wasn’t it?

Or perhaps not. This Sam has huge feet, and he’s “maybe, sort of” interested in girls, perhaps. This one wobbles wildly between sweet and gentle and filled with raging hormones with which he’s only barely acquainted at this point and has no hope of controlling. He uses that shower gel that’s supposed to surround you with women wild to run their hands through his hair. (Hasn’t happened yet, thanks this mom.) He rolls his eyes at the injustice of having parents who refuse to buy him video games that feature eviscerations and flying intestines.

But he actually cooed this morning when he saw the origami crane and butterflies his great-grandma sent him in his birthday card. He snuggles stuffed animals, and he sees absolutely nothing wrong with taking them out to dinner in restaurants with him. He draws in notebooks, frequently and with great detail. He still can’t quite wrap his mind around schoolwork and organization skills that many kids his age are beginning to handle with ease. And he’s singing to himself in the kitchen right now, completely without self-consciousness: “It’s my birrrrrrrth-day! Happy birrrrrrth-day!”

This Sam chose a bike for his birthday, as he did four and six years ago.

  

The bikes keep getting bigger. That’s easier for me to focus on noticing, not the fact that the kid riding them is also growing, up to my chin with no signs of stopping. In the end, it’s still the same look on his face as he flies down the street, laughing at the wind in his face and loving the way he can move so fast, riding farther and farther away from home, away from me.

And then he turns, looks back, and flies back to me. For now.

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And just like that, school’s out for the year, and vacation ends/begins. (How is it that I never fully appreciated just how much of an anti-vacation summer is for parents when I was a kid? Mom and Dad never seemed more stressed than usual during the summer…but, then again, I suppose they weren’t as shy about administering heavy doses of “eat your breakfast, then get outside and don’t come back until lunch.” I’d try that more often, but it seems to end in more tears and recrimination with my kids than I recall it being with me and my brother. I suppose we had more neighborhood foils to stand between us and distract tension than my kids do.)

Luckily, the playground programs began today, seamlessly bridging the gap between when school ends and summer school begins. Both kids enjoyed their programs, so that’ll take care of afternoons for a while. The rest of today was a bit madcap. I spent the morning on the phone with doctors and pharmaceutical providers, trying to argue my way into not having to mail out monthly paper prescriptions for maintenance meds (don’t ask), in between which headaches I managed to get the grass cut and the kids to the library.

Then, when they were at the playground, I got out the bike, intending to top off the tires with air and go on a ride…but after futzing with the valves and the adaptor for a while, I finally admitted defeat and walked the bike to the bike shop, pump on my back, for a lesson in how to do it properly. Turns out, “properly” necessarily involves a pump that isn’t broken. Well, who knew? At least it wasn’t my fault the tires wouldn’t get full. Rode home with a new (heavier, bulkier, pointier) pump in the bag on my back (jabbing me in the ribs with every jounce).

Then I fed the family, scrubbed the stovetop with the assistance of copious scrubbing powder and red wine (the wine for me, to make the task more tolerable), and sent the kids out to play (“and don’t come back until bedtime or until somebody’s bleeding!”). (No, not really.) (Though it was tempting.) Now I sit here, soaking my healing toes, counting down the minutes until bedtime.

I love vacations, don’t you?

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Gabe’s kindergarten class staged their “graduation” ceremony yesterday. It was an in-class thing, with no parents, so I have no idea what he did besides get a graduation cap and a diploma…and pick up a brand-new set of anxieties.

“I’m scared,” he mumbled this morning, curled into a corner of the rocking chair. “I’m scared of first grade.” Of course, he still has two days left of kindergarten before this should even be an issue, but never mind that; the cap was placed on his head, so in his mind, he’s on to the next step. “What if I get a mean teacher?”

I had Sam try to tell him about his own first-grade experience, for which he had a perfectly lovely teacher, but it didn’t help much. Gabe is a fretter, not the optimist Sam tends to be, and change – specifically, change that he hasn’t weighed in his own mind and made with deliberation and autonomy – isn’t anything he seeks, as a rule. It took him a fairly long time to adjust to kindergarten, and it seems like that might a recurring theme, not a one-off. Doesn’t help that, having the big brother that Sam didn’t, he’s learned about the concept of “mean teacher” as a reality, not a television show anomaly. Mean teachers exist at his school, and it doesn’t matter that he’s unlikely to get one next year; their confirmed presence is enough to inject uncertainty into his mind.

I sort of wish this could have waited until at least midway through the summer. The last few days of school are supposed to be about celebrating the end of one year, not dreading the next one already. Besides, first grade at this particular school is fun especially for a little ham like Gabe is. Remember this? They work on that musical for a huge chunk of the year, and if I know my second-born, he’ll love it. But he’s building terrors already, which means they’ll be huge and hulking by summer’s end. Wish I could know now which teacher he’ll have; if it’s the sweet one Sam had, we could really console him all vacation long.

Oh, well. We’ll just have to keep him too busy to worry much – although, with that child, that’s a tall order. In any case, both kids are signed up for summer classes (Gabe is taking a pottery class, which his friend Nathan is also taking, and Sam is in a science one where they’ll do crazy experiments to solve problems), and then they’ll be in the playground programs as well. (Sam wasn’t wild about how he’s aged into the program devoted solely to sports, instead of the mix of sports and crafts the younger kids do, but there’s nothing I can do about that part.) We changed our gym membership from the barebones gym we’ve been using over to the YMCA, and the kids will continue their swimming lessons and be able to do other activities there, as well. It’ll be a fun summer…if Gabe can get his mind off his troubles.

Oh, and if I can get back on the road running. Okay, four days of no running, and the novelty has officially worn off. Maybe it has to do with how this week’s oppressive heat broke last night, and now it’s perfect running weather out there, and I’m still benched, but…ugh. My toes are healing nicely, with very little pain, but I’d almost welcome a little (a very little, mind) discomfort if it helped to console me about not lacing up just yet. I feel fine! Waaah!

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Sitting here in the land of the nailless. When I went in to the podiatrist on Monday, he shook his head and said, “So close.” The nails did indeed decide to dive into the ends and sides of the toes, which meant, er, ejection from the game. I will say that if you’re going to have nails removed, a podiatrist is definitely the way to do it, especially one who takes you seriously if you happen to say, “Look, I go through anesthetic like it’s dime-store chewing gum. Gimme all you got.” He mixed up a couple different kinds of anesthetic, shot me up with them, and I didn’t even notice he’d removed the first one until he asked me if I wanted to see it. (No. No, I didn’t.)

He also gave me an Rx for some “accelerated healing gel,” which was a little tricky to lay hands on, but which works…in the most disgusting manner I’ve ever seen, but effective. It’s this stuff that, well, looks like this:

You break off a piece (sort of like flimsy, thin clay) and put it over the wound, and as it absorbs the nastiness coming from the (in my case) acid-scorched nail root, it turns clear. And (as was not foretold to me) turns sort of gelatinous, conveniently showing everything it has absorbed. I really don’t think there’s a word in English to quite encompass the squick factor, here.

So I’m off from running for two weeks, until he sees me again, but in the meantime, I can do “all the cross-training [I] want.” Since he knows me pretty well at this point, I’m trusting that he knows what that means for me. I walked six miles yesterday, and I’m going to walk more today, along with possibly a bike ride. My legs are still pretty stiff since the race, which I know wouldn’t be the case if I was able to run and loosen them up, so I’ve got to try other means of working out the kinks.

Three more days of school, and then the beasts are freed from their cages for a few months.

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I began calling it “The Weekend of Impossible Things” in my head, what with the flights and the race, but honestly, the flights probably couldn’t have gone any more smoothly. Eric dropped me off early at the airport on Friday mid-afternoon, and I drank a cup of coffee until it was time to board; the plane was a little late arriving, but they got us on as quickly as possible when it did, so I got to Minneapolis almost when I was supposed to. It was much warmer there than it had been in Wisconsin, which gave me some sense of foreboding, but what can you do?

Kelly and Sean picked me up, and we went for dinner at a sweet little Thai place, where I had a delicious curry; then we went home and I got to meet their adorable puppy, Jetta. Make no mistakes, Jetta is a Good Girl.

Got to take lots of walks with her over the course of the weekend, and she’s really taking to training very smoothly!

Next morning, a friend of Kelly’s came in with her mom, and they, Kelly, and I hit the Minneapolis Farmer’s Market. Oh, but before that, I got up and did a quick 3.5-mile shake-out-the-legs run around gorgeous Lake Harriet, which was only a couple of blocks from their house. Talk about convenient…and talk about busy! The paths around the lack were positively packed with runners, walkers, and cyclists. I was amazed at the number of active people out there! And Kelly and Sean told me that every lake is at least that busy on a regular basis! Most impressive! The Farmer’s Market, huge and bustling, reaffirmed the idea in my head that Minneapolis is powerfully focused on health. Wonderful!

After Kelly’s friend left, she and I went to packet pickup, which was quite well-organized and very “green” – no bag full of coupons and junk that would probably go to waste. Got my chip, bib, shirt, and hat, and then we browsed. I knew my New Balances were going to be officially retired after the race, and I scanned the sale shoes available…but then made a last-minute switch.

Baaaaaaa. Let’s jump on the bandwagon, shall we? But I’ve got assurances that should these Newtons not work out for me, I can deal with a local shoe store and head back to my motion-control clompers. Also got a copy of Danny Abshire’s book, all autographed. Neat.

Went home and showed off our stuff to Sean, his dad, and another good friend, Mel. Sean and his dad worked on various house-related projects, and then dinner preparation got underway; meanwhile, after having listened to me bemoan the state of my own house, Sean’s dad actually sat down and helped me sketch out some plans for fixing things around here! I could actually begin to feel optimistic, almost!

Shared a lovely meal of grilled veggies and some lentil soup, then retired early, a bundle of nerves…which somehow evaporated overnight. When I woke up the next morning, I was feeling bizarrely relaxed, not at all afraid of what was to come…

To Be Continued…

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Turns out, “lightweight” is really subjective. It’s been a while since I tried to actually run with him in it, and it was an effort. On the other hand, it gave me an opportunity to talk to him about the freshly placed flags, and we took a moment mid-run to read the decorated headstones and think about what it all meant. He was very quiet for a while after that.

The rest of the day has been very low-key, with a brief veterans’ parade in the morning, followed by lunch and a return to home so Sam could finish up his homework. It was warm today, warmer than it has been so far this year, I think. I took advantage of it to go out and finish some yard work, the latter half of which Eric came out and joined me to complete. Thing is, I hate yard work; we both do. Honestly, it’s probably one of the biggest motivating factors which makes us think that our next move might be to a condo. I get no pleasure from trying to tame green things. It’s not that I don’t like them; it’s that I like them best when I can leave them to their own, or someone else’s, resources. I don’t get the idea of trying to grow grass. It’s…grass. Look at a field; it seems to be growing quite well without help. Why does surrounding it with a fence, or putting a house in the middle of it, suddenly cripple its sense of independence? Sissy little plant; I didn’t sign on to be your mother…

I swear, though, the Attack Weed-Trees were in full force. Eric battled them. At one point, I heard a loud crack! and his shout, and I turned around to see Eric lying on his back, triumphantly gripping the tree he’d managed to yank from the ground, at cost to his own balance. Victory! We ended up with four big bags of yard waste of which I now have to figure out how to dispose.

Got to go call my dad now. He’s a veteran, so it’s his day!

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But I’ll live. ::sniffle::

By the way, that’s the teddy bear, in the picture, that the boys sent along with Eric on his trip. The photos are all tooth-achingly precious, especially where the folks Eric met decided to get involved. Nothing like seeing your teddy bear perched between a couple of grinning German hotel desk clerks to make a kid howl with laughter. Gabe actually laughed hardest at the photos showing Miles the Bear enjoying his meals, I think. Can’t wait to see the hijinks a stuffed animal can enjoy in Orlando.

Twenty days until marathon day!

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The kids brought home their new school pictures.

  

And I insta-aged about ten years, just looking at them. Seriously, between Sam’s “too cool to giggle out loud” facial expression and Gabe’s Casanova-ish swagger, I just…where did my babies go? I think I’ll just make myself feel a little better:

Ah, yes. There they are.

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So Rachel dropped by my place at 5:30, and we ran for a lovely hour, chatting and enjoying the morning; the rain never materialized, and my legs felt great. I was feeling really optimistic as I got home, grabbed my things, and piled into the car…and then, about fifteen minutes down the road, I realized I’d forgotten my gel for the race. Now, I didn’t panic too much. I had eaten a couple of prunes before running with Rachel (no time to eat anything substantial and have it do anything but sit like a brick in my belly), and I was eating a Clif bar in the car, so I though that I’d be okay for now, and surely there’d be aid stations with fuel along the course. (Dun-dun-dunnnnnnn… [huzzah, foreshadowing!])

Got there, and no rain appeared! I strapped on my race belt, wandered to the start, and chatted with some folks while waiting for the bathrooms (ooh, posh: hotel restrooms right by the starting line!). Then, right on time, we were off. Almost immediately, the people running the Euro Cross-Country route split off from us half and full marathoners, which was a bit confusing, since the guy directing us was speaking realllllly sloooooowly as we approached, and I was nearly on top of him before I knew which direction to go. The answer: up the hill. And for the next eight miles, that was to be the only answer. Up, up, up.

After about five miles, I was beginning to really regret the extra miles I’d done before the race. My hips and hamstrings, especially were unhappy. And perhaps the Euro runners were getting good scenery (they kept meeting back up with us, only to duck down between shadows into what looked like people’s driveways…), but what we got was cattle farms of the more pungent variety. Phew! But we did see one calf frolicking at us as we passed, which was precious and lifted my spirits a bit.

Eight or nine miles in, my hip decided to lock up a bit. Ran through it, and it went away. I was getting a bit annoyed, too, by how the mile markers were placed quite wrongly, and my assumption about the race course fuel had been wrong as well. No fuel. No gels. I did the race on Gatorade alone, which…well, it left me feeling quite bad by that ninth mile on. I wanted to stop, but that wasn’t an option. For one, I’ve never yet DNFed a race, and for another, this was a point-to-point course, and I needed to make it to the end to reach the shuttle back home. I kept running. At least it was flat at this point.

Around mile 12, there were two punishing downhills. My hips and hamstrings got joined by my quads and shins in the chorus of complaint. Everything below my waist felt like lead. Good times.

I finally reached the finish line at 1:57:42, which put me 5/11 in my age group and 95/259 overall. Grabbed my medal, grabbed my water, ran for the boat the finish line volunteer told me was the shuttle back, waited around a bit until it became clear that they were wrong, then hobbled to the bus that was the correct shuttle. I made it back home about 15 minutes before Eric got picked up for the airport, thank goodness.

Ow.

Mother’s Day, on the other hand, was as restful as it could be, considering my husband is in another country. I got bath salts from Gabe, and both boys gave me potted plants they assembled at church. We ate out at a nice vegetarian restaurant, then had gelato afterward. Nothing fancy, which was as my legs would have it. Oh, but I do wonder if I’ll ever be able to make it through a Mother’s Day sermon at church without tearing up when the kids come in to hand out little flowers or candies to all the moms…

Denny’s: not the vegetarian restaurant.

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The long version: I had originally planned to do a three mile warm-up, then the race, then three more miles to accumulate my planned nine miles for the day. After fretting and worrying, though, I changed my mind and decided to do the whole six miles with running club before the race. I knew I’d be a little tired after that, but I figured I’d also feel mentally better for having done it, and it would eliminate a little of the time coordination. Running club’s route was right next to the race course that morning, so it was simple on that end. I ran those six miles with a new friend, casually and easily, which left me with some pep in my legs.

I went and registered for the race after that – nothing like the last minute! – and ran into another newer member of our running group. Nate and I hung around, waiting for the start; it was grey, windy, and damp out, with a chill that had us all shivering with chattery teeth. Greeted a few other folks, including a man from our church, whose son, Eli, just a year older than Sam, was running the race and expecting to do extremely well. The boy was perched right at the starting line, raring to go.

Nate and I headed off at the gun, doing a quick pace and feeling okay. About a mile into it, though, I found us passing Eli, who was visibly struggling. He had a hand clamped to his sides and his face was grimaced. I immediately fell back beside him, checking if he was okay and getting him breathing more slowly. Once he was more settled, I hung with him, encouraging him to keep going; a boy just ahead of us looked to be in his age group, and I muttered, “See that kid? He keeps looking back at you, scared. You got him!” And around mile two, we finally passed him.

By the final curve, just before the finish, Eli said, “When we turn, I’m going to go as fast as I can.” “You better!” I said, and when he kicked, I hollered after him, grinning. It felt awesome to see him fly over the finish. I was thrilled later to find that he’d finished second in his age group – that was more satisfying than learning my own place. (Nate, who had gone on ahead when I dropped back by Eli, came in fourth in his age group.) I crossed in 25:20 Garmin time (I forget the gun time; the results aren’t posted online yet, either).

And my legs felt just fine. Worries? What worries?

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It could have been an evening where Gabe got lots of pleasant, all-to-himself fun time with Eric and me, but unfortunately, his body decided to launch a new gastric attack instead. He spend the afternoon howling and crying and vomiting and moaning, poor kid. I really, really wish I knew how to help him; he’s taking an antacid, as prescribed by the specialist, and he has an endoscopy scheduled for later this week. Praying for an answer, once and for all!

It’s felt like an especially long weekend, anyway, due to both boys being on forced video-game “hiatus” for different reasons. (Gabe threw an epic – even by his standards – public scream-fest over a haircut, of all things, and Sam had an honesty issue.) Tomorrow is Monday, thank goodness, and we can both parole them and be released ourselves from the nonstop complaining. Actually, it’s mostly been Gabe; Sam was upset, but he got over it pretty quickly and found other ways to occupy himself. Gabe, though, has been quite persistent at trying to find ways around his punishment, with semantics and loopholes and attempts at trickery. No outright sneaking, though; at least he hasn’t gone that far.

Tomorrow is Empty Bowls! Eric can go with us this year; last year he was away, but this year he won’t be leaving for another trip until next weekend. Sam’s supposed to have Scouts, but when I mentioned that to Eric, he firmly said that Empty Bowls was more important. I tend to agree.

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And that’s pretty much how the whole thing went.

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Am still so very, very much getting used to it. Be gentle. The story basically goes as thus: I sat in the stylist’s chair, and I said that I had no skills at all at knowing what would look good on me, and all I knew I didn’t want was a medium length that was too short to pull up and too long to be out of my way for running. She played and toyed and finally said, “I think short!” I asked her if it would look okay on me, and she gushed that it would be perfect, so I went with her opinion.

Still thinking…

At least it won’t get in my way when I kiss him anymore.

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For Valentine’s Day, I got Eric a carry-on suitcase, since he travels so much for work and his current carry-on bag has a busted zipped. This one rolls and is much nicer. He asked me whether I wanted him to get me a gift, and I told him no. This dinner, the one he was planning and for which he was not giving me any tempting details, was going to be more than enough of a gift. I was very, very right.

I had mentioned in passing to him that a blogger I follow had very concisely described the vegetarian approach to meal planning as being “a bean, a green, and a grain.” Eric took that and ran with it. Now, he’s not a vegetarian, but he planned four lovely vegetarian courses (the garlicky lentil soup was actually vegan) that left us both feeling perfectly satisfied in both belly and mouth. This beats flowers or boxed chocolates any day of the week, in my book! (I actually want to get him to write down the recipe for the soup, which, like most of the meal, he developed himself; it would be a perfect carbing-up meal for the days before a race).

Running is going adequately. My foot is fine; my groin is mostly recovered. I suppose all things work as they ought to, since I wouldn’t have had time for a long long run this weekend, anyway; Sam’s Scouting pack has “Mike Fink’s Winter Challenge” this weekend, which will involve spending a very long day out in the snow, playing games and such. It’s warmer this week and supposed to rain between then and now, so there’s a good chance the day will be spent in icy slush instead of snow, but I guess that’s what boots are for!

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How much have we gotten? I have no earthly clue, because it keeps blowing and blowing and BLOWING. Last night, our power was continually sagging (accompanied by some very eerie flashes in the sky behind our house; we debated over whether it was lightning or something more terrestrial), and the wind was howling at epic volume, knocking things right and left on our porch. The kids were equal parts impressed and alarmed. School had already been canceled for today, and they’d even been released an hour early yesterday because of the impending storm, so that was a bit anticlimactic; there was no chance for questioning, “do you think they will…?”, even with the utter giddy certainty that the answer was “definitely.”

Then we woke this morning to find that Eric’s work was also closed for the day, which was an unexpected blessing. It’s ugly out there. (But what does it say that my father felt strongly compelled, over the phone, to instruct me not to try to go out running in it?)

Anyway. We have bottled water, toilet paper, and cookie dough. We’ll live. Even if it means I have to take an unexpected rest day from running. (New meaning to “cabin fever.” ALL WORK AND NO PLAY…)

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So I had the MRI yesterday, and it’s a darn good thing I do have the Power of the Intarwebz at my disposal, for the information I don’t have coming fast enough from the doctor’s office. (Eric says they outsource MRI reading to India now. I say that outsourcing is probably meant to expedite things as well as make them cheaper, so READ FASTER, y’all.) Other folks’ docs have prescribed at least three weeks rest, so here’s hoping for minimal sentencing, but it probably axes Lake Geneva, considering I’d need to gently ramp back up after the rest, not dive in where I left off. And that’s assuming that’s all the rest I need. Could get worse.

(Interestingly, the X-ray also showed a bone spur in my heel, which I had been assuming was a mild case of plantar fasciitis. It goes away with calf stretching, so I wasn’t concerned. I intend to remain unconcerned until somebody tells me I should be otherwise.)

Other folks’ docs also treated with things like ultrasound and air casting, which apparently hasten bone growth. I’ll ask about those, praying insurance would cover. I’m wrapping, icing, using ibuprofen and Epsom salt soaks, and walking around in my old boot in the meantime. Proactive: thy name is running-deprived Carrie.

Running-deprived Carrie is also a sad, sad, dejected and depressed Carrie, though. Don’t be fooled by the determination; I’m sitting around, for the most part, feeling about as sorry for myself as I have in a very long time. Epsom baths are great opportunities for moping, as it turns out.

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I thought it was March that was supposed to come in like a lion, not January.  I just hope it’s a month mix-up, not a portent for 2011 as a whole…

Literally, the day began quite leonine, with the traditional running club “run in the year” being done in suddenly below-freezing temps and WIND LIKE WHOA.  Rough stuff! But that’s all good and worth it.  After all, friends make things like gusting weather way more bearable.

What’s not so much fun is figurative lion stuff, or, to cut to the chase, fleeing a football-watching party with a shrieking, struggling, flailing kid in your arms who’s trying to rip off your face.  I hate being “those people” SO MUCH.  So then Gabe got tossed in bed immediately, amid alternating howls of anger and wails of contrition (he was honestly sorry, but he still couldn’t stem the tide), and we all slumped our shoulders in exhausted surrender.  You win, 2011, but only the first battle…

I feel challenged, somehow, to up my game.  Marathon training begins tomorrow.  My primary resolution for the year is to get back to the strength and core training routine I desperately need, but I also want to focus my running a little more clearly.  Hills, speed work…I’m coming for you.  It begins. 

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The nice thing about shorter races (ones I can finish in less than an hour) is that they don’t require nearly as much forethought. I don’t taper, and I don’t worry about the pre-race dinner, and in fact, we spent the evening at Dave and Buster’s. What can I say? It’s a fun time. Frankly, it’s a little terrifying to watch Gabe destroy everybody in his path with guided missiles, much in the same way that I get chills over his knack for knocking out everyone else in boxing games on the Xbox. Belly laughs were had, though, and all will sleep well – including me, which can only help my racing tomorrow. I don’t know how much I’m going to try to kill it, thinking about my typical paces of late, but we’ll see.

I need the ego boost, frankly. Today, I made the mistake of venturing back into another makeup store, and while I stood there looking bewildered, I was accosted by an overly helpful woman (customer, not employee) who informed me that the shade of lipstick I was wearing was very wrong and (her words, not mine) should really be worn only by…women of a certain ethnicity. She recommended mauve instead. I just don’t know how to handle that.

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Not too terribly
upset, in fact; it’s not that
I needed to vent

Wasn’t a bad day.
Not spectacularly hard
in any real way

Most days aren’t, I guess.
No huge screaming fits, brawls, blows
Just a steady flow

Of energy.  Out
it goes, patching leaks, filling
empty, hungry spots

Until there’s not much
left.  No reserves to sustain
the sustaining ones.

Sometimes, though, if we’re
very lucky, we find a
spring in a moment -

An unexpected
instance of giggles and love
that refills the soul.

I kiss my babies’
heads, saying, “Good night,” and I
feel God kissing mine.

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After opening presents, Eric made a bunch of eggs, bacon, and hominy; then, when things were dying down, I put on my new running jacket (in purple!) and went out for a seven-miler. My stomach gave me issues, being full of candy and kringle, but it was still worth it to be out there on such a special day.

More relaxing is in order. I feel all cozy in my new holiday sweater Eric got me (it’s a tradition in our little family for everyone to find a festive sweater under the tree), and my coffee has spiked eggnog in it, which is adding to the lovely languorous atmosphere. Sam’s hit the “full and satisfied” state with all the Christmas goodness he’s unwrapped and eaten; Gabe is BOUNCING OFF THE WALLS, but I expect he’ll eventually hit his peak and descend into exhaustion. Eric is out, (fruitlessly so far) attempting to find a few ingredients with which to complete the dinner he’s got in mind, but if he can’t find anything, we’ll still be okay, as the boys have requested freaking Ramen for their supper. Whatever, man. I’m all about simple requests.

Hope your day is as full as ours. Can’t wait to spend the next week just chilling and resting up for the new year ahead!

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I had a nice run with my running club.

Gabe, though continuing to feel intermittently nauseated, never threw up, and he felt well enough to go out with me as my lunch date.

Both boys went to bed without much argument at all, eager to be asleep before Santa gets here.

The presents all got wrapped, and I finally found a stocking solution that lets them hang from my little decorative hangers without pulling them down onto the floor.

Eric and I watched It’s a Trap while wrapping the gifts, which was quite entertaining. (Not as good as Something, Something, Something, Dark Side, in my opinion, though; still, it’s satisfying to see all three.)

Cookies were baked; Eric’s dumplings were made.

I ran out to Walmart to grab a few items, and while that could have been a catastrophe, it ended up being one of the most hilarious experiences I’ve had in a while, just standing back and being amazed at the chaos. Seriously, how many lanes can there be per aisle in a parking lot? Let’s find out!

It’s not even eleven, and everything’s ready for tomorrow. Amazing.

Merry Christmas. Happy holidays. Silent night, peace on earth, and goodwill to all men. I love you guys.

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GOOD: Our regular babysitter posted on Facebook that she had nothing to do today. I commented that if she was bored, I had a way for her to make some money, and she agreed to sit the boys this afternoon.

BAD: On the way home from picking her up, Gabe started feeling nauseated. We got home, and he kept moaning and whimpering, so instead of getting to go party with my husband and friends, I had to call him home (luckily, from only a few blocks away) to stay with Gabe so I could drive the sitter home.

UGLY: On the way home from that, my van died in the middle of Main Street. I panicked. We were a little late on getting the oil changed, and I knew – I KNEW – that the oil was so low that the engine was now completely fried. Then I restarted it, and it went fine. At Eric’s equally panicked suggestion, I drove, heart in throat, to the nearest oil change place, where they determined that, yes, my oil was low, but not low enough that it should have caused the engine to die. The engine didn’t even feel very warm to them. Good news, but who knows why it died, then?

MADDENING: Gabe is still having spells that make him run to the bathroom and perch on the toilet, metal bowl on his lap for insurance. I am exhausted, and there’s no way I can handle getting up all night long to deal with it, so I just messaged Eric to beg him to take the night shift. He’s grumpy for having had his party stepped on so thoroughly, but he’s willing, in exchange for staying out later than we probably had in mind initially.

FRUSTRATING: To console myself, I ate a kabocha squash filled with lentil soup. It was delicious, but now my stomach hurts.

UNRELATED, EXCEPT THAT I’M SORT OF IN A “SALT THE EARTH” PLACE: Some of the characters on “Avatar: The Last Airbender,” which the kids are currently watching are extraordinarily irritating. Gah.

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That lasted about ten minutes.

After that, we were off to the races, if the racers were Labrador puppies on speed and the event was some sort of mashup of “Double-Dare” and “Jack*ss.” It took until abpu two o’clock to me to hear the first “there’s nothing to do”…which I suppose is what happens when you try to rocket through your day and cram everything into the first few hours.

They made a list, which is shown above, of all they’d like to accomplish before returning to school. It’s actually quite a manageable list, so long as it gets spread over the whole vacation instead of tackled head-on in one afternoon. Tomorrow will be either baking cookies or a trip to Stonefire Pizza; getting them to agree will be the sticking point.

I’ll have to run early tomorrow; Eric still has a day of work before his vacation starts, and I’m so close to my mileage goal for 2010, I can almost taste it. Not giving up or slowing down, no matter how exhausted I already am. (How is it that, for an at-home parent, “break” can mean the absolute opposite? Not that it’s not fun, but it’s certainly no “vacation”! )

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But then I was stupid, and instead of running right inside the moment I got home, I grabbed my own shovel and worked on the driveway and sidewalks. My reasoning was that I was already tired and wet, so there was no point in cleaning up in order to get tired and wet again, but the upshot was that by the time I went in, my feet were numb, and they started to burn ominously as things thawed. Idiocy: let me show you mine. Also, I was tired, as I said, and the added exertion of the shoveling meant that I spent the rest of the day feeling drained.

And tomorrow begins the kids’ winter break from school. Sam whined at bedtime, saying that since there was no school, he ought to be allowed to stay up late, but I rebutted that he had gotten up early today, and bedtimes needed to relate to the day we’re in as well as the one we’re entering. “You want to stay up later tomorrow? Sleep in in the morning!” I suggested. He won’t, though. His brain, like that of most small boys, is hardwired to get as much fun out of free days as he can. This kid actually got up at five-freaking-AM this past Saturday; I found him watching cartoons when I came down at 5:30 to get ready for my run. He’s twisted. At least Gabe will only climb into bed with us when he gets up that early.

Anyway, I don’t know yet what I’m going to do with these boys over break. Luckily, Eric’s company has a very generous holiday shut-down, so only a couple of days will be just me and the kids, but over time, that just means one more person who’ll be counting down the minutes until order and routine are restored in January. I know this, and yet I haven’t made any plans – even tentative frameworks of plans – to stave off that moment. Recipe for disaster, or embracing relaxation in the hopes that being more laidback will pay dividends in lessened stress? You tell me.

Tomorrow, I should really consider wrapping some of these presents. Maybe.

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Well, Eric’s been messaging me throughout the meeting, where he’s apparently the only father in attendance. And none of the mothers are interested in talking with him, either, so since the activities are, I gather, kid-only, Eric’s been sitting in a corner, feeling ostracized. “Not me [next time],” he says. I can understand; even though the other dads were always very friendly toward me at the old den meetings, I know what it’s like to be the “other parent” at these things.

And now the poor guy’s going to have to come home and stay up late making his dumplings for the company potluck on Thursday (he’ll freeze them and then steam them the day of the potluck). There’s no way around it; he simply will have not much time other than late at night to do them, and at this point, those dumplings have become practically a staple of the yearly party. If they weren’t there, I don’t think he’d hear the end of it until the next year’s potluck. I wish I could help him, too, but since the “recipe” is very much an internal process, all I can do is facilitate. Bummer about this meeting; if we’d known how different it was going to be, I definitely would have gone with Sam, and Eric would have been able to make the dumplings earlier.

(Gabe’s finished the card, as well as another picture for his teacher, and now he’s shifted into full-on draw-draw-draw mode. He’ll fill page after page with squiggly little scenes of aliens, monsters, and robots before he finally hits his point of satisfaction.)

We’re supposed to get some snow tonight, too. Since we haven’t really gotten much yet this season, compared to what it usually seems like, I hope we do get a couple of good inches worth on the ground. Unfortunately, they’re also saying we’ll have some “wintry mix” tomorrow morning, which means that my mid-length run could be less than completely enjoyable. Not that I’d skip it, of course. But icy drizzle is unpleasant. Also, my Garmin is behaving abominably this winter, either refusing to stop when I push the button or else going completely nuts and jumping backward and forward in time. I think sleet might inspire it to go completely on strike.

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But when he told them a bit ago that it was about time to leave, Gabe began to panic. Suddenly, he decided that the movie seemed scary, and he didn’t want to go. Moreover, he didn’t think Sam ought to go, either. I comforted him and told him it was okay, but that I thought he might regret not going. We looked at some trailers online, but he still thought he would be too scared, so off went Eric and Sam without him.

The minute the door closed, Gabe freaked and changed his mind; he ran for the door and yelled, “Daddy! I’m coming!” So I bundled him into his coat and sent him off with them, fingers crossed. It didn’t last. A couple of minutes later, Eric called and said Gabe was crying, so he was bringing him back by the house. The poor thing sobbed as I let him back in, saying he was “scared that the movie things were going to come through the screen.”

I set him up with Henson’s The Christmas Toy and a promise that it wouldn’t be remotely frightening at all. He has popcorn and an unfurrowed brow. Sometimes, when you’re six, that’s what you need, especially when so much of the rest of your life involves trying to keep up with and be as old as your older brother. Six is not nine.

A lot of parenting multiple kids comes down to crowd control, and it’s simpler to deal with them as a unit instead of as individuals. I look at videos and movies of Sam at this age, and he seems so much younger than Gabe does. He had more choices to be so, and he didn’t have the same motivation to be older. Today reminded me of that. We’ve had this movie sitting around for a while, too “babyish” for Sam, so Gabe wasn’t about to watch it. But he got his break, his chance to be six, and he’s happier for it.

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Tomorrow, we have the cantata performance, and then Eric has promised to take the kids to see Tron in the theater. It’s possible I’ll be pulled along in the wake for that, but it’s also a possibility that I’ll be back at the house, ostensibly wrapping gifts but likely instead wrapping myself in a warm blanket, eyes closed, brain turned off for a spell.

(But the artichoke dip tonight was transcendent. Yum.)

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And I’m pretty beat right now.

But I hope to hit the hay really soon now, which will give me some good quality rest time, which will hopefully let me spring from the sheets feeling refreshed and ready to go. I’ll need that rest, because not only will it be an early day, but a long one as well, with a choir rehearsal in the late morning and a company Christmas party in the evening. I don’t want to go into either feeling droopy. Shouldn’t be too bad, though; today, as a sign of energy to come, I paused at about five and a half miles into my run and dashed into my church, where a few other choir members were gathering to sing carols to a preschool cookie social. I may have been sweaty and freezing, but I could still rock some “Joy to the World.” (Of course, the remaining miles home felt a little off, having been “fueled” with a couple of peanut butter cookies, but still.)

Anyway, sleep. I need it. Honestly, you probably do, too! Go to bed, guys! Those presents will still be there to wrap in the morning, and you’ll feel better for the extra sleep. Say good night, now; pleasant dreams. Wake up and do it all again tomorrow!

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Gabe is less willing, as it turns out. In his kindergarten classroom, kids are encouraged to “write notes” to each other, which can be put into cubbies to take home later. Last week, one of his friends gave him her phone number, scrawled in crayon, which we found precious, if a little precocious; he didn’t see any sort of implications in the note, so we kept quiet. Today, he brought home a couple more notes from this girl; he only had glanced at one side of them, which featured her traced hand, along with a signature. I flipped them over…and found hearts a-plenty. Gabe, to put it lightly, was appalled.

(I will note: no actual farting happened during the filming, despite any attempts at character slander from my costar.)

I’m relieved that Sam, meanwhile, remains innocent of any further attempts at flirtation with him. He comes home with playground tales that involve both girls and boys, but unless the young lasses see romantic subplots in the recess adventures of “Spy Force Five” (which they’ve dubbed themselves, racing around and solving crimes), it’s all quite platonic. Very relieved to have boys, at moments like this. (Even when they’re fighting, as at present, over what – or whom – to blow up next on Roblox.)

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That was many churches ago. Now we attend a Methodist church, and there’s no book juggling or even robes. I miss that part a little sometimes, but the part I love remains: making music in worship, and especially getting to do so with my husband. I have to admit to silliness between us on occasion, but it’s in good fun. Something about coming together in music brings us back to the goofiness of college, and suddenly we’re picking apart bass lines, critiquing voice leading, or making guesses about the arrangers’ backgrounds. (“That’s no Gmaj9!” I heard him mutter behind me tonight. “And would a French augmented sixth kill anybody?”)

We’re working on a Christmas cantata right now. The bug may have bitten us to offer instrumental arranging work for the next cantata on the schedule; eventually, it seems, all things come full circle. Who knows what comes next? Thank you, Dr. Beall, for this, too. In your studio, I gained so much more than just an undergraduate degree. (And my husband. )

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My kids are many things, but forgettable isn’t one.  We’re at a Boy Scout pack meeting right now, and there’s a presentation going on about animals in the winter. The presenter is very dynamically giving facts about animal habits and tracks and…I somehow knew it was Gabe he was calling on to answer a question, well before I saw, and I knew Gabe wasn’t going to be on topic or know the answer to the pneumonic being discussed.  Sure enough, Gabe’s offering of wisdom was only tangentially related, if valuable: “Never eat brown snow.”

That’s my boy.

I uploaded to Facebook a bit ago some pictures of letters they wrote to Santa; we handed them to Santa’s helpers at the company Christmas party, so some of Eric’s coworkers got to see them, and I guess Gabe is now legend for having the only letter that began with an apology and plea for clemency. 

Again, my boy.

(Oh, crap; he just got a dirty look from the presenter, who was rousing the crowd by having them repeat, “I want pizza with anchovies!” Gabe loudly said, “But I like bacon,” which I guess was irritating.  Okay, then.)

Sam used to be the vocal kid, hand in the air with insights that may or may not have been on topic, but now he’s a little more reluctant to speak up.  On the other hand, he’s in the middle of a crowd of kids I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know, giggling and whispering and making friends.  I always said that Sam could make friends inside an empty closet, and that’s still true. Kids seem to remember him and come up to him in crowds to say hi.

I wish I could be that memorable.

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But nothing today is going precisely the way I wanted it to. I ran out when Eric got home, with the earnest intention of using a store coupon to get Gabe’s Christmas sweater. Well, the sweaters weren’t what I wanted…but I suppose that was okay, because the coupon expired yesterday. While there, though, I decided to try on some boots, since my trusty pink skull-and-crossbones casual shoes are pretty much dead now. I tried on a few different ones, but nothing really rang true to me. One pair was all sexiness, with stretchy leather to my knees, but I wasn’t sure whether heels of that nature are a particularly good idea in the kind of winters we get. Another pair was more practical, but I still hesitated. Carrie Bradshaw, I ain’t; the only time I can care about my footwear, it seems, is when it’s meant to carry me over many miles at a brisk pace.

It’s super-cold here right now, speaking of winters. Got more strange looks than usual while I was out running this morning, and my dad actually called later to tell me not to “do anything foolish, like go out running.” Whoops; too late, Dad.

But tomorrow’s another day, and it’s supposed to be marginally warmer, and maybe I’ll find a store that sells Christmas sweaters that meet my criteria (not too ugly; something festive without being explicitly Christmas only; must be heavy enough to get a body through Wisconsin cold), even if I don’t have a coupon. Perhaps I’ll even stumble across a pair of shoes that are perfect enough to turn even my head, though I have my doubts.

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But sometimes showers won’t cut it. I’m still dealing with the aftermath of the removal of my ingrown toenails a bit ago, and soaking my feet was recommended as a healing solution. I tried using a little basin with Epsom salts, but that got to be a pain in the neck. Also, ice baths after a long, hard run are exquisitely, indescribably painful, but they certainly do the job in moderating soreness, so I take them, amidst shrieks and moans. (My kids know to stay out of the way when Mommy comes home filthy, sweaty, and bearing bags of ice. Gabe tried to “help” once or twice, but I just couldn’t fake that it wasn’t so bad, and now he avoids the scene like the plague.)

And then there are days like today, when the winds are howling and the snow is blowing like crazy. I have no idea how much snow we did or didn’t get; they were calling for a bunch, and I don’t think we got half what was expected, but it’s hard to tell when it blows off sideways before even touching ground. It’s freaky out there, and my bones were feeling sore just looking at it. Then I saw an old Lush bath bomb under the sink, and suddenly the idea of sitting in a tub full of hot, hot water, even if my knees had to be bent, was powerfully appealing.

So I lie here, surrounded by tiny paper hearts, for some reason, and I’m remembering that enough hot water will make the ceramic tub warm enough that it doesn’t matter so much if I can’t be completely under water. I’ve only been interrupted a handful of times, but it’s okay, because I wasn’t particularly trying to escape. I just wanted to be warm, and this has worked wonderfully. Now, do I have to get out? Can’t I just conduct my day from here, like the captain of Golgafrinchan Ark Fleet Ship B? (And won’t somebody bring me some jynnan tonnyx, please? )

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I’m planning. It’s the time of the year when a lot of runners are laying plans, especially folks whose plans require greater time for training, as in for marathons. Discussion while running with the club this morning, and over subsequent coffee, revolved around our 2011 thoughts. Some people were thinking about timing (later spring races mean less snow training; later fall marathons avoid risk of super-hot race days); some were focusing on location. To travel or not to travel? We talked about pros and cons of various races we’ve already done, sharing with those who were considering them.

I’m an addict, and my plans, as many people’s do, boil down to a spring marathon and a fall one. After doing Devil’s Lake this summer, I needed a little time to muse and research (and heal…), but I tentatively began exploring the idea of entering the lottery for the JFK 50 Mile in November. Yeah, it’s fifty miles, but compared to the course at Devil’s Lake, it seems positively runnable; the middle twenty-six miles are all but flat, for heaven’s sake, along the C&O canal towpath. It wouldn’t be easy, by any stretch, but…with proper training, I think I could do it. Getting in, of course, would be the trick. It’s a tough lottery.

So I needed a backup fall race, as well as a spring one. Since travel was a possibility in the fall, I thought to stay local for the spring, and I narrowed my options to Madison, Lake Geneva, or the Des Plaines River Trail Marathon. Tentatively, I’m leaning toward Lake Geneva, though it’s purportedly quite difficult. We’ll see; I haven’t committed to anything. For a brief period, I was also entertaining the thought of Glass City, but it’s a bit early for those of us around here; I’d very likely have to do my 20-mile training runs through snow and ice, which I’d rather not.

As for the fall backup race, I hadn’t made much headway, until one running club coffee, when a friend started getting curious about the Dances with Dirt series, and, well, it looks possible that I’m going to be peer-pressured into doing the 50K in Hell. Rachel heard about the conversation, and she’s likely game, too. Road trip! It’s not too far from Ann Arbor, so it’s sort of “back home,” too. Interestingly, it’s in mid-September; if I made it into the JFK lottery, there’s nothing to stop me from doing both races, though they’re slightly too far apart to realistically use Hell as a training run for JFK. Not quite sure how I’d handle recovery between the two; I’d need to talk to experienced minds.

Anyway, I haven’t registered for anything yet. That’s the beauty of a new year and, as a fellow runner put it this morning, an odometer ticking back over to zero. The world is my oyster! For now, though, I’m focusing on two immediate goals: the Run into the New Year (haven’t decided yet if I’m doing the 5K or the 10K), and my 2010 mileage goal of 2,010 miles. I’m almost there!

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So when he said he wasn’t interested in choir, I may have pressed, though I realized I shouldn’t push and I stopped. Months later, when the actual sign-up information came home, I was surprised and pleased that he had changed his mind and was going for it. (It later became clearer; a couple of his friends were doing it, and he decided to join with them.) Not much more was said about it until he brought home a paper about the upcoming concert. He needed a white shirt and black pants, and the other parts of his outfit were to be provided by the school.

He brought home a brown bag earlier this week. “It’s my bow tie and my cubbernuckin,” he told me, and I was felled entirely. Do you know how long you have to wait between instances of mispronunciations when your child is nine years old? When they’re toddlers, and every other word is a cute little mashup of nonsense, you take it for granted, but trust me, you’ll miss it when they’re all big and intelligible.

The concert was pleasant and enjoyable, much in the way that elementary school instrumental concerts aren’t. (Again, as somebody who’s been through the system quite thoroughly, I’m allowed to say that.) Sam wasn’t the most enthusiastic singer on the risers, but he participated gamely. Meanwhile, Gabe sat between Eric and me, singing along to every word he could, beating our hands to the rhythms with good accuracy, and whispering that he wanted to be in the choir when he’s in the fourth grade. They sang lots of holiday songs, including one Hanukkah tune that Gabe liked. “But it wasn’t the dreidel song I already knew,” he clarified on the way out.

“No, it was a different one,” said Sam, “and we’re learning another song in Hebrew.” After a beat, he mused, “You know, Hanukkah really isn’t much about Jesus…”

…and I was felled again. Twice in one week! A seasonal miracle! (And yes, we had a subsequent discussion about the differences between Judaism and Christianity, and why Hanukkah would be really very light on the Jesus.)

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I can make Christmas cookies with my kids, even as late as Christmas Eve night, to leave out for Santa. I can let my kids decide what time we wake up to open presents without worrying about how it affects anybody’s sleep but Eric’s and mine. I don’t have to worry about wrapping gifts before we leave. I don’t have to worry about TSA screening procedures if I’m not flying anywhere. We can serve whatever foods we want for Christmas dinner, and I won’t necessarily have to assemble a meal out of side dishes in order to avoid meat. We can go to the Christmas Eve service at our own church, singing Silent Night with the choir while holding the beautiful little candles that make the sanctuary look positively magical.

But…

I miss my family. I want my parents to see their grandkids open presents, and I want them to see them all dressed up in their Christmas sweaters. I want to have Christmas dinner with other people, sharing stories of the past year with folks who haven’t heard them, let alone lived them. I want to sing carols with my mom. I want to share coffee with my dad. I want to go running with my brother. I want to see in person how big my niece and nephew got over the past year.

My childhood home isn’t “home” anymore, either, of course. If we were in Maryland for the holidays, we’d be staying in a hotel room; if we were in Eric’s hometown, it would likely be in a guest bedroom. (His childhood house has been sold, in fact.) Eric and Sam have adjusted to Wisconsin enough to call it home at this point, and Gabe has never lived anywhere else. I’m the only one in the family who still feels like a foreigner here. I don’t know when I’ll ever feel at home again, though I’ll hit the seven-year point early next year, which I’ve heard is the average amount of time it takes (can’t find the reference for that right now).

I feel like I’ve lamented about this a million times. Looking back in my journal, it seems like I mostly do it around the holidays. That’s not surprising, I guess.

Anyway, for now, I’m going to focus on that first list of things. There are lots of advantages to not traveling at Christmas. When I was little, I got irritated at having to make the rounds on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, leaving my turf and new toys for only a few hours. Traveling to far-away places for weeks has got to be even harder on my kids when we do it. We’ll have a little Christmas for our immediate family, right here at our house, and we’ll have our own traditions and our own memories made. It’ll be okay. We’ve done this before.

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Anyway, still had to get through today. Had my first “snow run” of the year, where I took my legs through piles of the unshoveled white stuff along the bike trail. It’s good for building character, you know. Those of us who live in snowy places spend a good chunk of the year convincing ourselves that the extra effort now will lead to bigger payoffs in the spring than if we were to have milder winters. (Might even be true…) While I was in the thick of it, something told me to stop for a moment; I thought it was just weakness, but when I decided to listen to the voice and switch off the music, within five seconds, a car pulled up next to me with a desperate-looking woman in the driver’s seat, hopelessly lost and in need of directions. If I hadn’t stopped, I wouldn’t have been in a position to help her, so I’ll call it a happy coincidence!

Then I cheered myself up further, knowing I’d have to go out for more Christmas shopping, by putting on this authentic 1970s tunic. It was my mom’s, and I liberated it from her when I was in high school and we had a Spirit Week with a “Flashback” day. Haven’t worn it in a long time, but it makes me smile when I do. I get looks from folks, and I enjoy seeing the double-takes. I just need a pair of funky boots to go with it!

So far, it’s working; I don’t feel grouchy at all tonight. Even picked up some pre-made gingerbread cookies for the kids to decorate tonight if they’re well-behaved! Ho-ho-ho! Sometimes, I think, you really do need to “fake it ’til you make it.” The more I pretend to be in the holiday spirit, the more I find that I’m not pretending.

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I have a tree up. (Missing a goodly portion of the important ornaments, since I wanted to do some decorating with Eric when he gets back.) My computer is playing carols. I have seasonally-scented candles sending smells skyward (say that three times fast). Blissfully hot coffee is warming my hands (in my Grumpy Donald mug, but no mind). Sam is doing homework with no complaints at all, because he gets to use the replacement laptop we got after the break-in, and Gabe is contentedly writing new movie scripts.

My back door is repaired, and the wall is getting there. Oh, and we spent the morning Christmas shopping, and I’d say I’m about halfway done, give or take. Not bad. I won’t lie and say that the kids were perfect angels at the mall, but they were at least helpful in parts, and they managed to charm a couple of young salesgirls (or else they were very good actresses hoping for a bigger sale to pad their commissions; either way, it’s all good). I even managed to get them to agree to, and mostly happily eat, Indian food for lunch, so I’m a VERY happy girl about that.

We might just save this holiday season yet!

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For toes that healed enough to let me run.

For lungs and heart that held their fitness while the toes were healing.

For best friends who not only welcome you into their homes and family celebrations, but will run with you after a late night of partying and wildness.

For partying and wildness and bad cover band versions of “Freebird.”

For awesome husbands who prepare extravagantly perfect Thanksgiving meals for their families.

For families, especially little boys who positively glow with testosterone-filled camaraderie.

For road trips. For relaxation. For pumpkin pie and butternut squash soup. For coffee and jokes about turkey. For love. For life…

I give thanks, so very much.

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My hair, post-run:

Gotta love it.

Oh, I forgot to finish my thought from the earlier post! Anyway, considering the 50-miler. I had two in mind, “easier” than Dances with Dirt courses, but this weekend at running club, I was chatting with another member, and…well, now he’s all psyched up for potentially doing Hell next year. It’s feasible, considering timing, that I could use Hell (the 50K) as a training run for a 50-miler…or else I need slapped.

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Today, the newborn is somewhat different. (For that matter, as am I.)

But the next to last week of October has been established, therefore, as Birthday Week for 50% of this household, the days of our birth being a mere two days apart. Gabe turned six on Tuesday, and I entered a new racing age bracket by virtue of turning 35 today. (Extra five minutes to my Boston qualifying time, holla…) I imagine there will be some years that we celebrate together and some that involve separate parties; last year, for example, I didn’t really get a party, since I ran the Marine Corps Marathon that week, and so I was happy to share Gabe’s cake when I returned. This year, scheduling worked out so that nobody really partied, but Gabe got a special dinner on his birthday (he picked a tiny little Greek diner, for some reason, and loved it), and I…made crepes for the family. Whatever; they were good. And I went out by myself for a sushi lunch, as well as lots of free coffee from different places via internet birthday coupons, so it’s all good. (BOING BOING CAFFEINE WHEEEE!)

It’s therefore a low-key sort of Birthday Week this trip around the sun, and I think we’re all okay with that. ‘Tis a gift to be simple, after all. As I told the man serving me what I think was my fifth mug of coffee today, “I stayed alive another year! Go, me!” And go, Gabe, too. It might sound like a minor achievement, but from my perspective lately, and knowing and trying not to consider the alternative, I am thrilled beyond words to begin following my second son on yet one more orbit. Let’s go, baby!

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Go ahead. Ask!

All day, since about 8:00 AM, there has been chaos in my kitchen.

Holes everywhere. Dust everywhere. An electrician, uttering such spine-tingling phrases as “Oh, my God,” “Whoa!” and “Man, there’s another one!” By the time he was “finished” (ooh, foreshadowing with punctuation), every last nerve in my body felt positively wrung out. And at the end, just before that, Sam and Gabe got home from school and the madness reached a peak with Gabe SCREECHING WILDLY at the injustice of being caught in a lie (he tried to accuse Sam of bugging him instead of the other way around) and Sam wailing about having forgotten his science book at school, and…DONE. I’m just DONE.

You know, until five minutes after the guy left, when Sam announced that we had no working light upstairs.

So now, with the guy back in our house, trying to puzzle it out (he seems truly mystified now), I think my mind has been truly broken, and I have no faith in its restoration this side of today.

Uploading fast now, before the computer decides to simply explode in front of me.

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Gabe loves salt. This morning, trying to go behind my back and steal a pinch to eat, he managed to spill the entire salt cellar (thankfully a small one) all over the kitchen floor. He tried to clean it up, futilely, before finally breaking down, finding me and confessing.

Dad had his surgery yesterday. The inflammation was too great to go in through his side and manipulate the stone, so they placed a stent in his urethra instead, which had the effect of pushing the stone back into the kidney, anyway. The urologist said, “He’s hanging in there; he’s a very sick man.” Now they say he might be in the hospital another week; the stone was giant, and it was producing gas in the kidney, and the infection was massive and will take time to clear. But we believe it will clear, now that the blockage is out of the way. The pain level, thankfully, should improve soon; Dad’s not in pain now, he says, but that might be due to meds.

Mom said yesterday that, after the surgery, Dad kept saying, “I don’t know why I’m here…I don’t know why I’m in this hotel. I don’t know why I have to play cards for money.” Ah, anesthetic.

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You let negative feelings about putting off tasks prevent actual work.

For example, if I feel guilt for not updating, it makes me not look forward to updating, and I’m trapped. Or else it’s just that there’s so, so much to talk about…

Mom and Dad have been and gone, and it was fantastic. We did the state fair, we played at playgrounds, Dad went on some of my runs with me (following me on a bike), we ate good food, we played games – just a low-key visit, and it was awesome, every moment of it. (Well, except for the evening when I discovered the soggy spot on the kitchen ceiling, which turned out to be a leaky toilet seal, which turned out to be due to soft floors in the bathroom…but at least I had my folks around to keep me from running screaming over the brink when the plumber delivered the bad news!) I only wish it could have been cooler up here; we’ve had the peak of the season’s warm temperatures recently, and Dad was all, “I thought you told me it didn’t get hot up here.” Sorry, Dad. But, hey, back home for you guys, it would have been over a hundred degrees, and we didn’t reach that point here!

So, yeah, our bathroom is going to need a little work in the near future. But do you know what? I was sort of on a roll with the whole “purge the house” thing, and Eric and I are now thinking we’ll keep it going, fix the things that need fixing, and blow this joint. Sell it, and sell it now. We’ve been dying to do that, but we felt overwhelmed every time we thought of the work it would entail. An emptier house is more quickly sold, so…work ahead. It’ll be easier to do that when the kids start school in a couple of weeks, too. (We won’t talk of those remaining weeks, though, one of which will find Eric out of the country. Bah.) I’m thinking I’ll start with the remaining upstairs rooms, and I’ll try to do a little basement work each day (that’s harder, since there’s so much down there that’s either not mine, or else it’s things that we don’t use often but don’t necessarily want to give up yet).

Anyway! On with the show!

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Voila: usable space.

You can see the closet in the bottom two shots. It’s still packed full of toys, but they’re at least organized by type (trains with trains, Playmobil with Playmobil, etc.) in boxes and bins. Very usable, if it can stay that way; I heard Gabe on the phone with each of my parents a little bit ago, informing them both that when they were done playing with something over their visit, it needed to be put back where it was.

Oh, and that big bin under the table in the top picture is all Legos. Yowzers.

The purge continues…I’ve got some momentum, and the basement beckons!

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Ticket to Ride is a very, very fun game. And I’m not just saying that because I won.

(Or because I split a bottle of Lambrusco Rossi with Eric. Yum.)

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Everything here is…going. Nothing wild, nothing wonderful, nothing much new. I did volunteer at a local half-Ironman triathlon last weekend, which was a lot of fun.

I handed out sports drink at an aid station along the run route and got rather sunburnt. But I looked and felt better than some of those athletes, though; it was super-hot, and some of them were pretty destroyed by the time they got to us.

My running has just about recovered from Devil’s Lake, and I’m ensconced in training for the Haunted Hustle, now that Eric’s fairly certain he’ll be in the country for me to run it. That’ll be fun. I don’t know whether to set a time goal or just have fun; think I’ll leave that decision for a little further out, when I can wrap my brain around it a bit better. It’s only been a couple of weeks, after all. There won’t be pace groups or anything like we had at Green Bay, which was a big help to me. This weekend, I’m scheduled for thirteen miles (already? Again?), and it’s supposed to be flirting with thunderstorms, but I’ll manage. Ran in the rain this morning, and it’s not bad, even if it does slow me down a touch. (That was the dark, too; this morning nearly hit two points of my “Do Not Like” trifecta – heavy rain/snow, dark, and strong winds – that will sway me towards the treadmill when all three are touched. But the rain wasn’t all that heavy, and the darkness was lifting, so there wasn’t really much temptation there – just a slower-than-usual pace.)

The kids are kids. Gabe is doing fantastically in his summer class, with his teachers praising him to the heavens. Sam is doing well, too, though he’s had some issues with the older kids in his class, some of whom are naturally a bit sneery at the younger kid who’s there voluntarily instead of having been placed there for being behind. That’s been hard on Sam, and I don’t know if I’d have made the same decision to put him there had I really anticipated it. (He didn’t make things easier on himself by cheerfully announcing on the second day, “I’m here because I’m really good at reading!” ) His teacher’s standing up for him, thank goodness, but…I’ll breathe a sigh of relief when it’s over next week.

Summer is going quickly. How did that happen?

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The short of it is, I finished in 6 hours, 47 minutes, which was apparently good enough for 2nd place in my age group and 12th woman overall. The award for placing in my age group?

Long story:

• Got there about 45 minutes early; got thoroughly intimidated by the parking area full of cars that had plenty of magnets, but nothing less than “50″ on them. (One said, “You ran a marathon? That’s cute.” ) Rachel didn’t roll in until 5:20 (start was at 5:30), so I had plenty of time to fret and feel out of place. Just before the start, I heard my name, and Brian was right behind us! That was cool.
• First leg was going to be the toughest, from my study of the course, and my fretting made it worse; my stomach clenched, I thought I would puke, and I entertained doubts about even finishing. Rough getting started. Running down the ski slope was massively hard, especially due to it having been turned into a mud slide by faster runners.
• The uphills were killer, but we decided to stick quite a bit to a 4″/1″ run-walk strategy whenever we could. It helped break things up a bit.
• I fell hard three times – once just after 7 miles, again near the same spot on the way back at the end, and again not long after that. I was covered in mud and grime, and I was pessimistically convinced I’d killed my phone with at least one of those falls, but it turned out just fine.
• Stone stairs = whoa. That was incredibly intense, and it seemed to go on forever. (I cracked jokes that, geometrically speaking, I’d always thought of “up” as a limited thing, not a line without an end point.) No way to run that – at least, not at my skill level.
• In leg 5, what the packet described as “off trail section of about half a mile through the woods with bad footing”? HA-HA-HA! Nothing but slippery, mossy rocks, which you had to scale by gripping the trees around them.
• Long legs are invaluable in climbing up and down ledges. Rachel has ‘em. I don’t. Had to use my hands and arms to help climb more than once.
• Both IT bands took turns alternating with the pain. Oh, well; at least there was variety.
• By the end, Rachel and I were alone quite a bit, and I was whipped. We got to the final turn and saw the finish line, and Rachel yelled, “Go!” I said, “I’m in ‘go.’ This is ‘go.’ YOU go!” and she took off like a killer was chasing her.

So, Rachel took second in her age group, too, and 11th female. It was massively difficult; other runners with whom we chatted afterward said it was one of the gnarliest 50Ks they’d done. For a long time, I thought that we were the last two women off the course, but just as I told Rachel that, another 50Ker crossed the line, so I guess we’ll have to wait and see when the final results get posted.



Verdict: fun. But mostly in hindsight. Will I do it again? Well, it’s kind of like childbirth, in this case, I think. Ask me when my wounds have healed!



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]]> http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/07/10/race-report-dances-with-dirt-devils-lake-50k/feed/ 16 http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/07/01/impromptu-review-clif-crunch/ http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/07/01/impromptu-review-clif-crunch/#comments Thu, 01 Jul 2010 19:03:38 +0000 Carrie http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/?p=1506 Continue reading →]]> Eric walked through the door a moment ago, just as I was rummaging through the pantry. “I had lunch, but I’m still hungry,” I grumped. He handed me the mail, which included a box – a free sample from Clif! What perfect timing! I don’t usually do reviews on the blog, but it just seemed so opportune that I felt the spirit move me.

First, although unrelated to the actual sample, I have to say that the packaging was a bit of overkill. The bar was in a sturdy box far too large for it, filled mostly with shredded paper. Still, it didn’t hurt, and it was attractive. Easily recycled, too.



The Clif Crunch Granola bars reminded me a lot of the Nature Valley granola bars: two thinnish, crunchy bars, light brown in color. The taste, though, was sweeter and more complex; I could definitely taste more honey and less of the plain sugar that the other granola bars use for sweetener. The oats came through more cleanly, too. I know that I was hungry, but I positively gobbled these down and wished I had another!

Comparing the two bars, which I do because of the obvious similarities, the nutrition is basically the same, though there’s a touch more iron in the Clif bars, along with calcium that isn’t showing at all on the Nature Valley label. The larger difference lies in the ingredient list (first is the NV; second is the Clif):



If eating organic is important to you, the Clif bar is a winner. Actually, though, the main deciding factor for me would still be the taste. These things, after all, are meant to be treats in my book, not dietary staples. I can overlook much, in that framework; a granola bar doesn’t have to be a huge contributor toward my nutritional needs for the day. But taste is important, and the Clif bar tastes really, really good.

So, Clif, you win! Can’t wait to see these show up on the shelves at my grocery store! (Hopefully, my new grocery budget will allow for some bars when they do. )



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]]> http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/07/01/impromptu-review-clif-crunch/feed/ 2 http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/06/20/happy-fathers-day/ http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/06/20/happy-fathers-day/#comments Sun, 20 Jun 2010 14:35:35 +0000 Carrie http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/?p=1478 Continue reading →]]>

Happy Father’s Day, Eric. This morning, we gave you breakfast in bed, prepared by Gabe and me, and a colorful card that Sam made himself. (GABE: “Dad, did you like my card? Sam did most of the work, but I wrote my name.“) We’re all a bit beaten and exhausted from Sam’s birthday trip to Legoland yesterday (oh, and I ran Lighthouse yesterday morning; I’ll do a report later), so now Eric’s relaxing in bed and enjoying a lazy morning that he very much deserves. And yes, that picture up there is two different babies, if you can believe it! It’s hard to believe those two little balls of sleepy newborns grew into this:



And happy Father’s Day to these other two fathers, too! Without you having been the dads you were, we couldn’t be the people we are, and we love you so very much.

 


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]]> http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/06/20/happy-fathers-day/feed/ 0 http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/06/09/last-day-for-sam/ http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/06/09/last-day-for-sam/#comments Wed, 09 Jun 2010 21:23:17 +0000 Carrie http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/?p=1465 Continue reading →]]>

A rare appearance by him. I have so many more videos and pictures of Gabe lately, it seems, because Gabe is always all over me, yelling, “TAKE MY PICTURE!” or “MAKE A VIDEO OF ME!” Sam is more reticent. It’s nice when I can get him to share. He is just getting so big lately! He’s past my shoulder now, which is simply unacceptable. Of course, I’m short, and we’re still holding out hope he inherited taller genes. Really, though, would it be too much to ask for nature to allow me to grow taller while he does? (Sure would make those kitchen cabinets a little less annoying. Also, capri pants. I’d love to not look as though I just shrunk my trousers.)

So now I have a fourth-grader (despite Sam’s reluctance) and a kindergartner. And they’re both out playing in the neighborhood right now, which is the most bizarre thing ever, because how can I have kids that just…go, and I’m left saying, “Don’t run off and leave your little brother behind!” (I know he won’t, and even if he would, I would quickly HEAR ABOUT IT from Little Mister Indignant.) Shouldn’t somebody be sitting in my lap? Shouldn’t somebody be in that bouncy chair over in the corner…now, wait, what happened to the bouncy chair? I could swear it was here and occupied, just last night…

Everybody’s having babies, too, which goal I want to clarify quickly is not shared by us. No more babies; not even to try for a redhead (the question I get asked more often than the “trying for a girl” one). Nobody appears to be missing from our family, which is sort of the litmus test we use for such things. Still, it feels as though, with that decision made, we’ve officially moved on to the next stage of things, while many of my friends are opting for another go-around on the first ride. Honestly, this new stage is scary in its own right. New doors open, and all the things that were so very, very important in recent memory are fading. A brand new baby products store just opened downtown, and it looks awesome, but…*sigh* Somebody buy something nice for me, okay? (Well, not for me, you know. In my stead. As I would have liked to, had I a current need for a fleece diaper cover or teeny little twee moccasins.)

Caveat: the first person to try to “console” me, evil glint in his or her eye, with all the fun I’ll have shopping for aftershave, jockstraps, or prom boutonnieres gets it between the eyes.



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]]> http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/06/09/last-day-for-sam/feed/ 5 http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/06/07/wincing/ http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/06/07/wincing/#comments Mon, 07 Jun 2010 19:50:33 +0000 Carrie http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/?p=1461 Continue reading →]]> You would be amazed, if you haven’t tried it, how much it can BLOODY HURT to put your body weight onto and roll around on a tight IT band. Like, stomach-trembling hurt. Whimpering wildly hurt. Also, I managed to give myself some pretty wicked rug-burn on my elbow, which was not among the warnings I was given, but whatever. That hurts, too.

But Zach, the Wonder Physical Therapist, who understands my plight and is happy to get me where I want to be, says Roll, so I Roll. At least four times a day, five minutes at a time. When he said that, before I’d tried it for more than ninety seconds (which hurt but not too badly), I was all, “Only five minutes? Only four times?” Now I’m sort of dreading the evening, when I get to go again. Yet I know myself, and I know that when this initial pain wears down (the elbow is worse than the leg right now, already), I’ll be wanting to go again. I need this knee to be better. I need it now.

Zach was really quick to affirm that it was IT band, not “Runner’s Knee.” He did a little compression test, gripping me above the knee and having me extend and bend my leg, and when I nearly had to be peeled from the ceiling, he chuckled and had his answer. So there. I’ll be rolling and stretching, and I’ll be back in the office about twice a week for a few weeks, which is really aggressive, sure, but I don’t have a lot of time. He knows that, and he’s willing to work with my motivation. The only dilemma, as far as he sees it, is deciding whether it would be better to keep me running on roads for the moment, which would clear up the ITBS faster, or have me on the trails, which would benefit me in the race. He said I could do all the rest of my training on roads, get to the starting line feeling absolutely groovy, and just wipe up the mess afterward – and there would be mess, certainly, but I’d at least feel good for most of the race, if not so very much when I was done. I, um, sort of don’t like that idea.

Breathe in, now breathe out…keep rollin’, rollin’, rollin’, rollin’…



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]]> http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/06/07/wincing/feed/ 2 http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/05/28/oh-thats-my-boy/ http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/05/28/oh-thats-my-boy/#comments Fri, 28 May 2010 18:03:31 +0000 Carrie http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/?p=1443 Continue reading →]]> Some kids just finish preschool.


Others rock out.



And yes, I cried. But only a little. Not that Gabe didn’t try to provoke, with his, “I’m sorry you won’t have a preschooler anymore. Will you be sad when you don’t have a preschooler anymore?” on the way into the building. Little stinker. But it’s hard to be mopey, I have to tell you, when you’re listening to a herd of precious voices singing the months of the year to the tune of, and while dancing, “The Macarena.” And the metal horns he kept tossing up were priceless.

(For comparison. If you’ll excuse me, I need to find a rocker and a cane now.)



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]]> http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/05/28/oh-thats-my-boy/feed/ 2 http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/05/25/happy-anniversary/ http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/05/25/happy-anniversary/#comments Tue, 25 May 2010 20:10:09 +0000 Carrie http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/?p=1440 Continue reading →]]> Thirteen years. That is a really, really, really long time, especially when you also consider that we’ll have been together for seventeen years this fall, which is half my current age. Wow. And I honestly can’t think of anybody I’d rather have spent that time with, growing together as one.

That stinker got the jump on me with gifts, giving me mine last night before we went out together. He got me this dress:



…which is very cute and pretty and makes me feel all feminine. On the other hand, he also said that he chose this style because of my shoulders and back, and how I needed to show them off.



Perhaps a little less feminine. Well, in the old-fashioned sense, perhaps. Girls can be muscled! It’s just been a while since I looked at my back. Some views, others get to appreciate more than we ourselves do. I hadn’t noticed this development until now. Hmm.

Eric’s gift is being given to him on our anniversary, as I planned. He’ll have to wait until he gets home! We weren’t able to go out tonight, as Sam has a Pack meeting for Scouts, but that’s worth the inconvenience. If I’m not entirely mistaken (and I could well be; these things confuse me a lot), I think Sam advances rank tonight? If not, it’ll still be fun. Oh, and my folks got us a fruit arrangement! Can’t wait to dig into that! (But I will, of course. Eric, hurry home! )



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]]> http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/05/25/happy-anniversary/feed/ 3 http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/05/20/marathon-photos-up/ http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/05/20/marathon-photos-up/#comments Thu, 20 May 2010 18:32:14 +0000 Carrie http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/?p=1431 Continue reading →]]> One thing about doing a race for a training run: you get photos. You also get evidence that, despite your efforts to the contrary, you are clenching your opposite fist when you carry something balled up in your opposite hand. I’ll probably take the time at aid stations at Devil’s Lake to stash the arm warmers in my pack instead of carrying them.



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]]> http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/05/20/marathon-photos-up/feed/ 2 http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/05/18/race-report-green-bay-marathon/ http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/05/18/race-report-green-bay-marathon/#comments Tue, 18 May 2010 13:58:33 +0000 Carrie http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/?p=1424 Continue reading →]]> That. Was. FUN!

We got back in last night, and I am still riding the high from the weekend’s events. Things went perfectly according to plan! I went into this race viewing it as a training run, not a hill on which to die, and that’s what I got out of it. I felt awesome afterward, and today’s initial post-race run went beautifully, with no more soreness than I’d expect to feel after any other hard weekend of training.

On Saturday, both boys ran the Kids’ Power Run, a 1K race associated with the marathon. They had separate age-grouped waves, and Sam ran his alone about an hour before I had to run Gabe’s with him. Sam got a side stitch and stomach cramp pretty early on (probably not aided by wolfing down a huge muffin just before heading to the starting line), but he soldiered on and did his utmost to finish strong. Gabe got increasingly impatient as his turn approached, and he even got a bit nervous at the start line. Then the air horn sounded, and he burst onto the course as though it was a 100-meter dash. Naturally, he, too, got his own side stitch. He toughed it out, giving high fives to everybody he passed on the way to the finish line, and then he chugged a bunch of Gatorade (a beverage to which he now pledges allegiance). Both kids got rubber medals, which is awesome, I think.

Sunday morning, I hopped out of bed and geared myself up in everything I’d use for a training run, which had the effect of making me look a bit over-prepared. I heard a few people waiting in the Lambeau Field Atrium with me saying I looked as though I was going to run an ultra; it was better when they actually said as much directly to me, as though in a joke, so I could reply that, yes, that was the general eventual idea. I met up with the four-hour pace group, who were wonderfully friendly, and chatted with the leaders, two of whom were also ultrarunners. They understood immediately about my plan, which was encouraging.

It was warmer than I would have liked, but otherwise, the day was lovely. We all laughed and talked as we ran; within a few miles, another runner named Maria and I had formed a sort of alliance to get each other through. She was dealing with an ankle issue, and I let her know that I had a topical pain killer in my pack, should she need it. We slapped high fives at every mile marker, and those miles seemed to fly by! We carried each other for nearly nineteen miles, before she had to stop to use a bathroom and told me to go ahead.

After that, I latched onto Gordy, the most aggressive of the three pace group leaders. It wasn’t so much that I felt like being aggressive, but he was highly entertaining in his enthusiasm, and I decided that was just what the doctor ordered. For the rest of the race, I stuck with him, and the miles melted away. Near the end, I felt a little tired, and I fell behind him a bit, but not very much, and I wound up crossing the finish line at 3:57:45 – not a PR (I wasn’t aiming for one, of course!), but the most solid finish I’ve had at a marathon yet! It gave me a ton of confidence for heading into Devil’s Lake in eight weeks!

I never did get to see Maria again, though I waited at the reunion sign for her last name for a while. (When calling out for her last name, I forgot to also ask whether she was going to be at the sign, meeting family or friends. D’oh!) I did give her this URL, though, so…Maria, if you read this, drop me a line! I loved running with you! And Gordy: I didn’t give you my URL, but if by chance you come across this, I need to give you my thanks, as well. You made the race experience a total blast and success for me, and I can’t convey how much I appreciate it. Thank you!

So…one more race (the Lighthouse 10-miler) coming up, and then it’s ultra time. I feel jazzed! Of course, I still have three more really big training runs left, and they won’t have pace groups to help. Onward and upward!



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]]> http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/05/18/race-report-green-bay-marathon/feed/ 3 http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/05/11/gabes-game/ http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/05/11/gabes-game/#comments Tue, 11 May 2010 18:05:29 +0000 Carrie http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/?p=1417


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]]> http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/05/11/gabes-game/feed/ 1 http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/05/09/mothers-day-in-pictures/ http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/05/09/mothers-day-in-pictures/#comments Mon, 10 May 2010 00:07:48 +0000 Carrie http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/?p=1413 Continue reading →]]>

That cake was decorated by Sam and Gabe. Eric made lasagna (from scratch, including the noodle) and garlic bread, and he gave me the flowers and the opal ring – to replace one he gave me before that I can no longer find, sadly. I feel thoroughly blessed, and not simply by the gifts. I feel blessed to have this family, so dear to me. My heart is full.

I am also blessed by my own mother.



I miss her daily, so far away in Maryland, but I can feel her presence every day. I hear her in my voice, for heaven’s sake. Her tone, her mannerisms, her words, her wisdom (when I manage to channel it; it’s far more elusive, unfortunately, than the vocal cadence) – it makes me smile to sense echoes of her inside of me. Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. I wish I could be there with you, celebrating with your mom!



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]]> http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/05/09/mothers-day-in-pictures/feed/ 3 http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/04/20/wheat-meat/ http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/04/20/wheat-meat/#comments Tue, 20 Apr 2010 14:02:24 +0000 Carrie http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/?p=1379 Continue reading →]]> Seitan. According to Kevin on Top Chef, nobody likes it, and it’s the yuck. Of course, he also said that it was fermented pressed soybeans, so I’ll take that with a grain of salt. As of the beginning of drafting this entry, I was in the process of making my first batch of it, even though I think I was the only one in the family with a sense of optimism about it. Then again, I’m also the only vegetarian (about 98% at this point, anyway), so perhaps I’m the only one with a vested interest in making this palatable.

It’s basically wheat gluten, which has all the starch and whatnot washed away from it. (In other words, not a celiac-friendly food…but then, if you’re in a situation where that’s relevant, you probably already knew that. ) In its finished state, it makes a credible “mock meat.” Theoretically, you know. I’d never even eaten it before, let alone made it from scratch. The ingredients for it couldn’t be more basic, though, so I was perfectly willing to give it a go. Whole wheat flour + water. What could be simpler? Many of my resources suggested I could do things more easily and quickly by starting with vital wheat gluten instead of whole wheat flour, but that seemed to defeat the purpose for me, since it would add cost and a grocery trip to the mix. We usually have whole wheat flour on hand, so if I could make this work the minimalist way, it would be best.


(...)
Read the rest of Wheat Meat (533 words)

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]]> http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/04/20/wheat-meat/feed/ 8 http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/04/10/that-time-again/ http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/04/10/that-time-again/#comments Sat, 10 Apr 2010 11:28:40 +0000 Carrie http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/?p=1358


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]]> http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/04/10/that-time-again/feed/ 2 http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/04/07/samuel-ism/ http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/04/07/samuel-ism/#comments Wed, 07 Apr 2010 19:09:00 +0000 Carrie http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/?p=1347 Continue reading →]]> (I had to change it from “Sammy-ism,” because he’s now insisting that he always be called by his full name. He’s willing to accept “Shmuel,” as well. “Sam”? “Sammy”? Not so much.)

I’m running the Mount Pleasant Half-Marathon on Saturday, and I was talking to him about it. When I showed him the website with the name of the race on it, he said, “Why is it called ‘Mount Pleasant,’ since it’s going to hurt?”



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]]> http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/04/07/samuel-ism/feed/ 0 http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/04/06/were-back/ http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/04/06/were-back/#comments Tue, 06 Apr 2010 23:16:19 +0000 Carrie http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/?p=1338 Continue reading →]]>

Madison was such fun! We had a real blast, exploring and sight-seeing. I, personally, loved running through the Arboretum, on the recommendations of others; it was muddy, silly, crazy adventure, complete with WILD TURKEYS. I mean…what?! I turned a corner on a trail, and there they were, staring at me as though I’d intruded upon their personal space. Huge things! I laughed my butt off over it (once I was sure that they weren’t going to, you know, go for my eyes). Sam enjoyed the hotel pool a lot, dragging Eric down there over and over; Gabe hated the pool, as was expected, but he liked the general concept of the hotel, strange boy that he is. Eric and I, of course, enjoyed the food, particularly the evening we spent at The Old Fashioned. It’s not listed on the site, but the “bar food” included a “Spicy Pickled Egg” that was bizarre enough that Eric had to try it; it tasted like one of those “Red Hots” sausages you can get at convenience stores, in a weird but good way. (You’ll have to trust me there.)

Easter itself was as cool as it could be, with an “egg hunt” in our hotel room. I hid their Easter baskets there, too, and once they found them, we did a Bible lesson together, rather than try to find a church in town. I think it worked nicely. Most churches probably wouldn’t have been keen on the kids chowing down on chocolate bunnies during the sermon, you know.

So, we’re back now, and there’s laundry to be done, cleaning to be tackled…why did I come back, anyway?



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]]> http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/04/06/were-back/feed/ 1 http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/03/27/okay-im-turned-around/ http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/03/27/okay-im-turned-around/#comments Sat, 27 Mar 2010 20:15:01 +0000 Carrie http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/?p=1310 Continue reading →]]> Sometimes, it’s the out-of-the-blue things that make it all okay again, more so than anything you could plan. For me, it was yesterday morning, when I happened to come across a quite strange sighting for my next podcast episode (which, with any luck, I’ll get to upload by tonight). I’m still bummed about Eric having to travel, but it’s just a sort of dull dread now instead of the sharp ache. He’ll bring me back more curry ketchup, which, I’ll allow, sounds just bizarre, but he brought me back a bottle to try after this past visit, and it is amazingly yummy. You’ll have to trust me.

Plus, I had a good run this morning. Step-back week, which means I only had to go for ten miles this time, and I pushed the pace down to about a comfortably hard 8:15 minute-mile for them. Of course, that meant that I felt mentally zonked by about twenty minutes into the choir rehearsal directly after that, but that’s okay. Then I managed to get Sam to read nearly to the end of “Blue Dolphins” and write the intro to his solar energy paper with no voice raising or stress on either of our parts! (That shouting you might be hearing now is just “brotherly love” over Lego Star Wars on the Game Cube. It’s amazing how heated a purportedly “cooperative” game can become when the participants have differing ideas about which missions to undertake.) With any luck, I can get him through the planning phase for the paper’s body after dinner tonight, leaving the actual writing to be accomplished easily tomorrow. It’s not due until Thursday, so that’ll leave time for the poster-making, as well as for him to write his book report. Wow, I’m actually feeling optimistic about this! See? Told you my pendulum was back to normal!



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]]> http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/03/27/okay-im-turned-around/feed/ 2 http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/03/15/looking-ahead/ http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/03/15/looking-ahead/#comments Mon, 15 Mar 2010 13:07:48 +0000 Carrie http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/?p=1289 Continue reading →]]> I have a schedule hanging on the wall by my computer. (Yes, I mostly use my Google calendar for everything, but this is something that stands best on its own.) When I look at it like this:

…it looks like a really long time until my big race, down there in the lower right-hand corner. On the other hand, those other scratched dates mark races along the way, and using them as sign-posts breaks up the time into segments that aren’t just manageable, but feel quite fast. The half-marathon, coming up first, is bracketed by an 18 and a 20-miler. There are three 20+ mile long runs before Green Bay, in the middle. It adds up. Also, my good friend Carl grabbed me at church yesterday to encourage me to do this 5K; the interesting thing about it, we noted, is that there’s actually childcare provided, which would let Eric participate with me! I told him that if he did it, I’d run with him, and he said he’d consider it. (I actually first suggested we could walk it together, but he said he might prefer to run!)

Sometimes, big black lines crossing off the days feel so rewarding and satisfying. Sort of an “I’ve done this,” in addition to regular running logs that add up totals and whatnot.

I messed up this morning somehow, and the strength workout I meant to do before coming home to make breakfast for Eric and me didn’t happen; I woke up to Eric’s alarm going off, ten minutes after I was supposed to start making the oats. Oops. Well, maybe I can figure out something this afternoon instead, though it gets more complicated. Dinner is in the crockpot, so that’ll help.



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]]> http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/03/15/looking-ahead/feed/ 3 http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/02/18/my-head-pain-video/ http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/02/18/my-head-pain-video/#comments Thu, 18 Feb 2010 18:43:39 +0000 Carrie http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/?p=1232 Continue reading →]]>

(If you’re seeing this through a feed, odds are you’ll need to click through to see it.)



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]]> http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/02/18/my-head-pain-video/feed/ 4 http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/02/16/catch-up/ http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/02/16/catch-up/#comments Tue, 16 Feb 2010 21:28:26 +0000 Carrie http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/?p=1230 Continue reading →]]> Valentine’s Day was awesome.


Eric did himself proud! I was in culinary heaven from beginning to end. Now I’m all sad, because he’s away for the week for work; after this, we’ll have him home for one week, and then he’ll go away again for yet another week. It’s easier to weather these trips now that the boys are a bit older and busier, as well as able to comprehend that a week is a finite thing, but…I miss him. I miss him so much. Even nights where I don’t see him, because he’s out past the time when the boys and I go to bed, I’ll stir in the dark and be happily aware of his presence. It’s hard not to have that.

Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday. I’m supposed to sing with the choir, but I’d thought to skip the service, since there’s no childcare and I don’t trust Gabe to sit in the sanctuary without me next to him. One of his Wednesday night teachers, however, offered to let him sit with her during the service, so I might be able to go after all. I’d like to; Ash Wednesday service has become rather special to me, since I first attended one while I was in college. My childhood church didn’t follow a liturgical calendar, so I’d never experienced it before, and certainly never had the imposition of ashes. When I first had that at the Episcopal church where Eric and I would eventually be married, it was such a powerful moment – a time when my own humble position in the world and relationship with God was made so perfectly clear that I nearly shook in the knees.

Sam is slowly working his way through all this, but Gabe…well, I tried to talk with him a little about it today, but it’s harder than it was with Sam at this age. He’s finally beginning to move a little out of his “I am the center of all things!” mindset, but there’s still much of that going on, and he doesn’t really want to think about sacrifice or reverence or any of that. On the other hand, trying to explain how Christ’s resurrection applies to him was a nearly complete failure. It necessarily involves mention of his own mortality, you see, so…”You’re making me SAD! You’re making me want to CRY! I don’t want to DIE!” And then it devolved into discussion about Grandma being in heaven, which is safer territory for him, I suppose: eternal life as something Other People will have the pleasure of experiencing.

I don’t even want to think about trying to explain the ashes to him tomorrow night. Man, do I wish Eric was here to help.



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]]> http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/02/16/catch-up/feed/ 1 http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/02/04/funnies/ http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/02/04/funnies/#comments Thu, 04 Feb 2010 21:34:54 +0000 Carrie http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/?p=1216 Continue reading →]]> Eric and I keep cracking up over this. A few days ago, one of Sam’s homework assignments included a word problem based on the supposition that at a store, half-gallons of cider were $2.50 and gallons were $4. The question read, “If you wanted a gallon of cider, would you buy 1 gallon or 2 half-gallons? Why?” Sam’s answer: “One gallon, because that’s what you want.” I asked him if there were another reason, and he said, “Because one gallon is easier to carry?” It took pointing out that it was math homework to get him to look at the prices.

(These are the things that keep me smiling when I’m also faced with having had to ground him through the weekend for repeatedly kicking a classmate under the table at lunch time, to the point where the little girl wrote a letter about how much it upset her. He claims it wasn’t malicious – just a game he and the other little boy to whom the letter was addressed had been playing. Not The Point, I said, and no excuse at all.)

Gabe, my baby, is somehow old enough to record his own movies:


That “army” covered the entire top of the dresser he and Sam share, and as it was continuing to grow, we needed to find a solution. He’s pretty satisfied with this one. I’m imagining the way he’ll describe this collection to his future wife, and it makes me giggle. It’s very serious business, Gabe’s Army. The dresser they occupied before actually rocks a little, from the floor sloping; whenever Sam would close a drawer and the figures would topple, Gabe would have a complete screaming conniption, as though an actual battle was being waged, with his men on the losing side. “MY GUYS! AUGH! YOU KNOCKED DOWN MY ARMY! MY SO-OOOOOOOLDIERS!”

Tonight, Eric and I are going to see Jeff Dunham. I’m really excited about that.



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]]> http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/02/04/funnies/feed/ 0 http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/02/02/video-post-my-motivational-shirt/ http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/02/02/video-post-my-motivational-shirt/#comments Tue, 02 Feb 2010 20:30:53 +0000 Carrie http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/?p=1214


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]]> http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/02/02/video-post-my-motivational-shirt/feed/ 1 http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/01/25/new/ http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/01/25/new/#comments Mon, 25 Jan 2010 19:25:58 +0000 Carrie http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/?p=1197 Continue reading →]]> I’ve been thinking lately about doing and trying new things. This morning, while on a typical, not new in any way, run, I got chased by a dog for the very first time. That wasn’t exactly what I’d had in mind. (It was actually a little white, fluffy, yappy dog, tearing off its porch and barking at my heels for about a block, while I sprinted and frantically wondered whether the whole “you can’t outrun a dog!” thing they always taught us in safety lectures applied to little, fluffy, yappy dogs. In retrospect, I must have looked pretty darned ridiculous, but I think I’d have looked more ridiculous had I dropped to a fetal position and attempted to protect my head and neck…)

Better “new”: Eric and I tried a televised, on-demand yoga workout this weekend. I’ve attempted yoga in the past, with little success, and I figured it was one of those things that A) really require a live teacher over an on-screen one, and B) are better left to people without fused-straight lower backs. Still, we did our best, and I found that I’m much better at yoga now that I’ve lost weight and can better support myself on my arms than I could before. I was surprised when Eric informed me that I was, indeed, forming a triangle when I did Downward-Facing Dog; in the past, I was more of a distorted rectangle. We’re going for it again tonight, hopefully. This could be fun, and it might help with some parts of my legs that are less flexible than others, as per the physical therapist who helped me through my ITBS a long while back.

Yesterday, we took the kids to a benefit for Dan DeMatthew yesterday, and Sam spent the whole time staring in awe at the crowd of people packed into the hall. “He must be a really nice man!” he kept saying. “All these people really like him!” Then, because he’s Sam and has his own priorities in assessing a man’s character, “Do you think he likes nature?”



Need to go flip laundry now.



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]]> http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/01/25/new/feed/ 3 http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/01/16/sleepy-saturday/ http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/01/16/sleepy-saturday/#comments Sat, 16 Jan 2010 21:36:27 +0000 Carrie http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/?p=1187


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]]> http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/01/16/sleepy-saturday/feed/ 3 http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/01/12/early-morning-sketches/ http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/01/12/early-morning-sketches/#comments Tue, 12 Jan 2010 14:30:22 +0000 Carrie http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/?p=1172


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]]> http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2010/01/12/early-morning-sketches/feed/ 3 http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2009/12/30/falling-behind/ http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2009/12/30/falling-behind/#comments Wed, 30 Dec 2009 14:25:28 +0000 Carrie http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/?p=1145 Continue reading →]]> It’s harder to keep up with Holidailies each year, as the kids get older and the activities become more consuming! My parents got here Monday evening, just to visit briefly and drop off Christmas presents, and my brother and their best couple friends were with them. The kids were thrilled to see them, and we had a great time together.

Cory and I had the rare opportunity to go for a run together yesterday morning; he’s recently getting back into running since a knee injury took him to the sidelines a while ago. Being a beach dweller, he wasn’t eager to tackle Bryan’s hill, so I ran down it and met him at the base, from which we did another five miles. It was awesome! Then we spent the afternoon bowling.

(Other videos available here.)

Now my family’s gone, and we’re packing up for Vacation Part II, in which we head to Eric’s dad’s town, about an hour down the road. He has no internet access, so unless we stay at a hotel, I don’t know how frequently I’ll be able to update. If I can’t get back before then, Happy New Year!



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]]> http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2009/12/30/falling-behind/feed/ 0 http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2009/12/25/christmas-eve/ http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2009/12/25/christmas-eve/#comments Fri, 25 Dec 2009 05:51:38 +0000 Carrie http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/?p=1134 Continue reading →]]> Very tired tonight; too tired to type. Here’s a multimedia entry, then! (Warning, warning! Frank discussion of Santa’s existence herein; might not want to play in front of children or those others who believe.)


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]]> http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2009/12/25/christmas-eve/feed/ 1 http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2009/12/23/bad-vs-good/ http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2009/12/23/bad-vs-good/#comments Thu, 24 Dec 2009 01:26:20 +0000 Carrie http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/?p=1132 Continue reading →]]> Okay, let’s total up the day.

Good: Got my run in, if a little slow, due to ice and darkness.

Good: Sam woke up feeling a little better than he did yesterday, when he came home with a cold.

Bad: We were watching some old movies on the computer, and Sam spotted an old plastic truck that we once had. He asked where it was, and I told him I didn’t know. In a fit of nostalgia and independence, Sam decided then to take it upon himself to go in search of the truck…in the basement. Where I was keeping the Christmas gifts, which were yet to be wrapped. I didn’t realize what was happening until he brought a handful of the things upstairs to show to Gabe; he didn’t even know that they were Christmas presents. I shrieked, and he was horrified. Then we spent the next several hours with him alternately telling me to take them back to the store and then calling himself names. Now he’s just working hard to forget everything he saw.

Good: The boys and I had lunch at a place we don’t visit often, and they had a great cream of mushroom soup. So delicious!

Bad: We went in search of snow gear for both kids, and the behavior was horrendous. We were able to get pants for them both, but we had to head for home before I could track down boots for Sam; apparently, his size is nonexistent, since I couldn’t find them anywhere.

Good:




Bad: It’s all deteriorated from there, and I’m just counting the minutes until bedtime.

So it was probably a wash, all in all, balanced even in the dramatic peak (gingerbread construction, done in complete cooperation and harmony and leading to a respectable-looking house) and nadir (the present fiasco). I’m not left with strongly positive or negative feelings, so much as utter exhaustion. Tomorrow begins Eric’s holiday, and I may take the opportunity to escape!



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]]> http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2009/12/23/bad-vs-good/feed/ 0 http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2009/12/18/all-heart/ http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2009/12/18/all-heart/#comments Sat, 19 Dec 2009 02:18:20 +0000 Carrie http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/?p=1114 Continue reading →]]> For Christmas gifts for their teachers this year, the boys are stringing Starbucks gift cards on beaded strings. Well, Sam is using a string; Gabe, with his streak of independence that precludes allowing much assistance from me, was given pipe cleaners to use instead. Gabe’s last day of school was today, so he finished his presents last night and took them to school with him this morning.

We walked into his classroom, and he dropped off his things at his hook, then stared across the room at his teachers, bracelets gripped in his fist. “There they are,” I nudged him. “Why don’t you go give them their presents?” He slowly walked over to them, then stood quietly in completely uncharacteristic silence.

One teacher smiled at him and waited a moment, but he didn’t speak. Then she broke the silence by asking, “Do you have something for me?” He thrust both bracelets forward, making her guess which was hers; luckily, he’d spelled out their names in the beads, so it was obvious. She thanked him and hugged him, praising the bracelet. He blushed and didn’t say a word. We then repeated the gifting with the second teacher, who he again didn’t address verbally. After she hugged him, he walked a few steps away and stood still.

I came up behind him and touched his shoulder. “Gabe, you okay?”

His face was red, and his eyes were watery. “I felt like my eyes were getting tears in them, but I’m okay now.”

I don’t know what hit him. Embarrassment? Shyness? He likes his teachers, but he’s never really shown me signs of strong emotions toward them, whether proto-crush or hero worship. Whatever it was that made him get teary, it was gone after a few minutes, and it didn’t return, even when we were leaving in the afternoon and they gave him a little gift bag and more hugs. “Merry Christmas!” he grunted, hauling me out the door.

A couple of little girls in his class gave him cards. Not, mind you, the little girl whose mother has informed me that her daughter has declared Gabe her “boyfriend.” These girls both decorated the cards with hearts, and one of them wrote “LOVE” on it. They probably did that for cards for every classmate, but, boy, did Gabe go wide-eyed. “I don’t know why they said that!” he spluttered in denial. But he smiled a little as he walked away.

He’s such a dynamite personality, and a part of that includes strong positive emotional reactions. It’s what makes it a little easier to get through the strong negatives. There are few mild responses from him, and it can wear out those around him, but I think it will serve him well in the end – I hope.

(And as I typed this, he broke an ornament on the tree. Only a little glass ball, and not one with any particular sentimental value, but that didn’t matter to him. You can see the fallout:



“Mom, I broke it! I’m SO, SO SORRY! Can you forgive me? A Christmas hug? Will that make it better? Mom! I’m sorry!”)


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]]> http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2009/12/18/all-heart/feed/ 0 http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2009/12/15/impatient/ http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2009/12/15/impatient/#comments Wed, 16 Dec 2009 01:13:41 +0000 Carrie http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/?p=1101 Continue reading →]]> Gah. I feel like I’m waiting, waiting, waiting, jumping out of my seat. In the immediate future, I’m waiting for Sam to finish his homework so I can go over the boys’ Bible study with them. He’s got a thick packet of poetry-related questions that should have been two nights’ worth of work, but he had so much homework last night that he didn’t get around to any of it then. All for tonight, then. C’mon, kid; analyze those verses…

Further off, I’m waiting to finish the Christmas shopping (a little more when Gabe’s in school tomorrow, I hope), waiting for the actual holiday, waiting for our trip. I’m waiting for another race, waiting for another training cycle. Waiting for spring – oh, yes, definitely that. I could wish I was a more patient person, but, yes, I am the person who eats cookies right off the tray, right out of the oven, with them falling apart all over the place and getting my fingers covered in melty goo.

[kaltura-widget wid="vjsgjv04lk" width="410" height="364" type="grey" addPermission="3" editPermission="3" /]

And too much impatience…leads to silliness.



It’s been a long day.



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]]> http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2009/12/15/impatient/feed/ 1 http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2009/12/14/random-gabe/ http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2009/12/14/random-gabe/#comments Mon, 14 Dec 2009 15:03:30 +0000 Carrie http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/?p=1096 Continue reading →]]> Before school this morning.
[kaltura-widget wid="6wihwpooog" width="410" height="364" type="grey" addPermission="3" editPermission="3" /]


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]]> http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2009/12/14/random-gabe/feed/ 0 http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2009/11/30/and-were-back/ http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2009/11/30/and-were-back/#comments Tue, 01 Dec 2009 02:08:17 +0000 Carrie http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/?p=1058 Continue reading →]]> First, a few gratuitous photos.
  

More up at Flickr.

The kids are now back at school, and we’ll try to get back into a groove before Christmas holidays hit and derail everything again. We put up the tree tonight, which went much faster than in years past, now that Gabe is old enough to be goal-oriented in the task. On the other hand, it got much more frustrating with four hands trying to plunge into the little box of used-to-be-hooks (which are now more of a free-form wire sculpture). Eric’s at the store buying more hooks now, for the handful of ornaments that didn’t make it to the tree before we ran out of salvageable hangers. We probably don’t technically need to have those ornaments up, but the chance for quiet was too tempting to skip…

Sam argues that we needed to wait on the tree, as apparently it won’t be “Christmas season” until tomorrow, when we flip the calendar to December. Gabe is simply going to be incensed when it comes time to take it all down.

I fade. Bedtime.



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]]> http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2009/11/30/and-were-back/feed/ 0 http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2009/11/11/milestone-for-sam/ http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2009/11/11/milestone-for-sam/#comments Wed, 11 Nov 2009 22:38:33 +0000 Carrie http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/?p=1038 Continue reading →]]> [kaltura-widget wid="a8smj2er88" width="410" height="364" type="grey" addPermission="3" editPermission="3" /]

…and then we had practice time, and all I can say is that the first few times he has to use it, I hope he’s wearing a warm coat, since he’ll likely be standing in the driveway for a while.



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]]> http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2009/11/11/milestone-for-sam/feed/ 3 http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2009/11/06/the-halloween-that-never-ends/ http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2009/11/06/the-halloween-that-never-ends/#comments Fri, 06 Nov 2009 16:47:19 +0000 Carrie http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/?p=1032 Continue reading →]]> So Eric and I are going to a party tomorrow night – the same host as the Halloween party we went to last year. I wasn’t sure until a few days ago whether I’d be able to go (hurray for sitters!), so I was scrambling for a last-minute costume. Our temporary Halloween store (a pumpkin-shaped dome in a parking lot) had closed, most of the stores were out of stock, and the only place with any selection at all left was…WalMart. Ugh. Haven’t been there since the shooting, but I also wasn’t feeling the creative costumey spirit now that the actual holiday has passed, so a bagged costume was what was happening.

When I say “a selection,” I’m being very generous. What they were was cheap, so I bought two and haven’t made up my mind yet. Oh, the shame:Note: There is a poll embedded within this post, please visit the site to participate in this post's poll.

Forgive me for making you look at that. For the record, the “Sugar Baby” dress is slightly more flattering, but…well…and Eric will be wearing a latex mask of a Jack o’Lantern. Very creative; we’re sure pulling out all the stops this year.

Gabe is making up for it. He was given a scarecrow art project to do yesterday at MOPS; they were to color the scarecrow, cut it out and glue it to a paper plate, and decorate the plate like a field. I give you his results:




DO make sure to click it and read all the notes, just to get the full effect. I anticipate more than one trip to the school counselor’s office in his future. Possibly also a highly successful career in the arts, though; seems like most of the artists I’ve known head this way at some point.



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]]> http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2009/11/06/the-halloween-that-never-ends/feed/ 5 http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2009/10/31/happy-halloween-2/ http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/2009/10/31/happy-halloween-2/#comments Sat, 31 Oct 2009 18:57:15 +0000 Carrie http://www.redhairedgirl.com/main/?p=1024 Continue reading →]]> We’ll actually have Trick-or-Treat on October 31st this year, miracle of miracles. I could wish for a nicer night; it’s gray and dark and freezing out there. Still both boys have costumes that are amenable to layering underneath, so it’ll be okay.

Gabe’s birthday party last night went very well. We had it at a pottery-painting place, and each kid got to paint a little figurine. Then there was cake, which was a very pleasant surprise. I mean, here’s how the talk went with the bakery lady:

“I want zombies crawling out of the cake!” [ME: "Honey, I don't think they can do that."] “Okay, ghosts and tombstones. And a yellow cake, with white frosting, and blue! And yellow! And orange and green, and no chocolate, and Halloween on it, but not too scary!”



Give that woman a raise. (Other pictures at Flickr; click that photo to get there.) And it was just the right size cake, with no leftovers! (This was a fairly important point to me, in my current state of “Let go of the taper weight-gain.” ) Actually most of the kids ate only about half their piece; it was a very rich frosting, and what they did eat was more than enough to turn the end of the party into a wild sort of affair!

I’m going to finish drinking this coffee and try to warm myself up a bunch before we trudge out into the wind tonight. Hopefully, it won’t be too scary out there for Gabe – but, then, sometimes it’s worth it. The other night, we were tickling him and roughhousing, and he squealed, “Stop! I’m a-feared!”