By Request

The other night Em asked me to take a look at her list.

"What's it a list of?" asked I.

"Baby names," she said.

"Ummm, who's having a baby?" I questioned, with an ounce of curiosity and a gallon of worry.

"Well, Aunt Beka is, and Aunt Cindy is, and I will someday," she responded, rolling her eyes.

I perused the list and, to the best of my abilities, held back the laughter that was catching itself in my chest and coming out my eyes.

Here is a portion of her list, as the entire thing is pages long. We'll call these the Top 16.

Girls
Kem
Monique*
Sally
Martha
Theresa
Malerry
Tammy
Carmela*
Mathilda
Qen
Sam
Molly
Polly
Dorothy
Sharpay
Daisy

Boys
Steve
Frank
Stanley
Bill
Jim
Willard
Rusty
Oswald
Lenny
Buck*
Roscoe*
Jerry
Gil
Ken
Chester
Bruce

As I type, I am shaking with fits of giggles.

*favorites

Helmet hair

Rachael-if you haven't read my previous post, the first paragraph's for you.

*******

I don't know why I feel the need to post TWO DAYS IN A ROW. But I had to share.

Whilst I was driving yesterday, my car window broke. There I was, scootering home when the driver's side door window fell. Just fell, fell into the schist of the door, gone, gone. I pondered the repercussions.



It was going to get very windy. And very hot. And very loud.

What were the necessary errands I couldn't put off until my prof could take a look, ie. hopefully fix it? I would have to take my beloved niece home later. Dang, that's an hour round trip. The children were being carpooled, good, good. I would have to run the princess to piano. And back home. Luckily it's a few blocks away. That's it. No big deal, this I can handle.



I was surprisingly optimistic. Glass half full, for sure.



Unfortunately I discounted exactly how greasy my face and hair were going to get. It is like riding on the back of a motorcycle, something I haven't done since my dearest sold his per my insistence (he hasn't forgotten his first love, the Shadow). So pretty much anywhere I show up, until it gets fixed, I will be looking a tad disheveled and in need of a good cleansing. Sorry.



Maybe I'll get a helmet. Can you see it now? My minivan full of children and me, sporting a helmet. My husband always thought I'd make a great biker babe.

Life is pain

This is why I don't post anymore.

Currently my offspring are engrossed in the televisions, three different sets, two channels. And I sit here on the computer. When is a good time to dabble on the blog? (BTW, I hate the word blog. It sounds disgusting. Like written vomit.) I'm too tired in the evenings, and too busy throughout the day, unless I ignore the children. Hmmm... now you know I ignore the children. But only sometimes. Don't judge.

********************

For those of you who have been missing me and my druthers, I will fill you in.

I ran a marathon on Saturday. It was awesome, and awful. I was elated and exhausted. I cried at mile 7 and mile 26.6 (don't even ask, I swear I ran my tangents).

Since this was not my first marathon, I won't bore you with the little details. I will tell you about my observations that made this race different than any other.

• I ran by myself, which meant I had to pace myself. I am not an exceptional self-pacer. I have a tendency to start out too fast, give it my all, and die well before the end. My mantra over and over in my head was "Run your own race". I said that over a hundred times in my head as other, read: many other, people passed me. Old people, small people, big people, awkward people, pumpkin-dressed people, all passed me. And I would instinctively speed up for a few strides before I remembered my mantra. It literally saved me from being ambulanced home.


• Around mile 7 I was tapped on the shoulder (I had my headphones on pretty loud) because of a car coming down the canyon (umm, did someone forget to tell the people the road was closed?). I moved out of the way only to realize that next to the car was a runner pushing a wheelchair. In the wheelchair was, or who I assumed to be, his disabled brother. The runner was smiling, his brother was smiling and all the runners were cheering. Except me, I was crying. Running + crying = bad. I had to pull myself together fast. Fortunately for me, this same runner seemed to be with me the whole race, pushing his brother on. Crowds stood and cheered. People took pictures and videos. I was lucky to be a part of it, but I had to control my tear ducts. Around mile 21 the brother stopped at an aid station and asked the volunteers for water for his brother, telling them to dump it on his head. The volunteer (I think it was a high school girl) looked confused. I'm sure she wondered why the man in the wheelchair needed water on his head, and would he even want to be doused? But his brother knew and included him in the race that he couldn't physically run. I can't imagine pushing a wheelchair for 26.2 miles. I can't imagine how much love there must be between those two brothers. I hope my children can feel an inkling of that kind of love for each other. It was incredible and inspiring.


• At mile 19 I started to really fatigue. I looked forward to each aid station and kept telling myself to just get to the next one, only one more mile, and I would walk. I'd reach one, drink a water and a Gatorade, suck on an orange, and start running again, telling myself to just get one more mile. I had never experienced this kind of exhaustion/pain before. Usually at the end of a race I feel exhilarated. Not this time. I know it's because I gave everything I had. By mile 24 I was ready to be done. Mile 25 was it. That's when I saw my husband who gave me a high five (I know, but it worked). And suddenly the skies opened, unleashing their torrent for a full 8 minutes. I pushed and kicked to the end.


• As I crossed the finish line I was in a daze. Usually there are other family members and friends there to cheer for me. This time no one (non runners have to wait outside the finish area). I stumbled to the chip removers, stumbled to the medal givers, stumbled to the water. Circumvented the finish area for no particular purpose other than I knew if I sat, I was not getting up. Then I spied the professor. And I lost it. "What's wrong," he asked, not used to seeing this kind of emotion. "It was so hard," was all I could say. Then I saw the chocolate milk guy and got me some liquid heaven.

It was a short trip, with a lot of driving involved. We ate at a place called "The Pie Dump". We stayed in a fancy (yeah) hotel on a King sized bed. I got 20 minutes at Temple Square in the Primary Resource Room before they had to kick me out. I read both Martha Stewart Living and Real Simple. I spent 8 hours in an airport due to my husband's moniker. I almost got strip searched due to a forgotten jar of peanut butter. I wore my medal all day and embarrassed my husband. I ate the largest lunch of my life at Texas Roadhouse. Overall, it was a good trip.

But I had BETTER get into St. George next year. I'm just saying.

Blink once for yes, twice for no

Does anyone read this anymore?

Hello?

I'm still here.

I am in the throes of writers block.

I've got some pretty good material.

It's just that every time I try to put what's in my head into the written word, it sounds, ummm, trite.

My life is normal, which we have visited before. Remember?

Nothing terribly bad or interesting has happened. I feel like I had a case of the summer doldrums. But now that fall is back for goods, and those pesky kids are back in school, I will try to fancy you with my ingenious wit. Or not.

I am trying to broaden my vocabulary. How's it sound?

How old can this guy get?

I feel it is my obligation to give a "birthday shout-out" to my dearest prof, who is currently at cub scout day camp in the 110 degree heat with 7 10-year boys. So here are some current reasons why I love/tolerate him:

*He is willing to go to cub scout day camp on his birthday in 110 degree heat with 7 10-year old boys, so I don't have to, I mean GET to.

*He texts me chemistry jokes. Example: What do you do with a dead chemist? You Ba. (that's the symbol for barium, in case you are like me and don't remember your periodic table of elements)

*He comes up with clever names for me that he puts on his phone, so whenever I call I could come up as: Ball & Chain, Pick Up the Phone, My Guardian Angel. Of course this changes depending on whether we like each other at the moment, and sometimes I change it to something like 'The First Wife', which he then changes to 'But not the LAST'.

*He doesn't say anything about me taking daily naps while he works 14 hour days on 5 hours sleep. A worse man would be a little bitter. He does expect a nap himself though, usually on Sundays between 2pm and 5pm, you know, church. Which I have learned to grin and bear. And poke him in the ribs every 2 minutes.

*He gets honestly upset when I do something around the house for him, like mow the lawn or clean out the garage. He does not like it when I get to a task before he does, as he feels like an inferior husband when I do this. So I choose sometimes to leave things for a very very long time, or if I'm feeling snippy, I do it and gloat. But I'm not the better person here, just so you understand.

*He likes to buy items from Home Depot for projects that he doesn't necessarily have the time to accomplish, but thinks he does. So currently in our garage we have Project: landscape lighting, Project: sunscreens, Project: A/C fence, Project: overhead garage storage, Project: paint the garage door, Project: wow I better stop here before he gets too upset. But it's cute because he will still make that trip to Home Depot to purchase the items that will get stored in the garage for the next millennium.

*He likes to upgrade his car. Otherwise known as the Second Wife. She gets his attention most weekends and he spends hours surfing the net looking at pictures of taillights and armrests and other special car accessories, which he then emails to me to get my thoughts on which ones I like best. If I could, I would buy him those rims he was looking at along with the ground effects and and the cup holder. All so he could drive a hot car and feel like a cool hip 18 year old again. Who knew mid-life crises started so young?

*He will play board games with the children so I don't have to. Board games are not my cup of tea, but he will break out the Risk or the Axis and Allies and put in a few hours of quality kid time and he won't ask me once to join in. He even plays Life and Twister. The best part: he doesn't believe in letting little kids win. So our children have learned from an early age that their father will always beat them, in board games that is.

*He likes to take vacations that do not sound like vacations. Like visit the Hoover Dam. See above photo. Or the Stuffed Taxidermy Museum of Arizona. He would rather spend a vacation touring backroads or tracking down where the Mythbusters shoot, than sit on the beach. Of course he has this thing with sand, so not many vacations are spent sitting on the beach. Of all those years we spent in California grad school, probably 2 days were spent at the beach with him. Not that I'm complaining, because the last thing I want to do is hear him talk about how there is sand EVERYWHERE.

*He does laundry. Not as much as he used to, but for years it was his job. It was/is fantastic.

*He takes family members out to lunch for their birthdays. Not just his family, but mine as well. It is tradition for him to do this, and people will actually call if he hasn't, wondering about their free birthday lunch. Of course, he takes them to Joe's BBQ which gives out a free lunch for your birthday, but it's really the thought that counts.

*He likes to watch dumb tv shows with me. Even though I do not like it. And he finds it pure sport to try to convince me to watch a show with him and will usually pull some kind of "but it's quality time" nonsense. So sometimes I humor him and watch Carpoolers or that one show about the guy who works at a electronics store and has a data base in his head and helps out spy people. And I pretend to hate every minute.

*He is sarcastically hilarious. I literally have to reassure most friends that my hubby is joking for the first few years of a friendship. It is a sign of the fact that he likes you, so if he were to act completely normal, I'd be worried. I think it's annoying as all get out, but now it always makes me laugh. He is so dumb, and yet, so cute. And not the least bit intimidating, I swear.

These are just a few reasons why the guy for me is top notch. Of course I could spend all day coming up with more reasons, but I'm really not a sappy kind of girl. So here's to the Professor, on his b-day. U R da man.

*P.S. He doesn't have any problems with goats.

December 1996

The first of 6 (so far) weddings. Do you love this pic? Why? Is it:

• The gold lame dress Am is wearing?
• Ricky Ricardo's spiky do with Elvis sideburns?
• Bekarachels lacy frocks with matching corsages?
• Coolio's I'm-too-cool-for-school non-smile?
• The cultural hall divider behind the lattice archway?
• The basketball court lines?
• My dark purple lips?
• VTOL's delicate frame?
• The fact that my prof and I look about 15?

I'm just saying, all the weddings that followed this one could not compare.

Tickets

I will start this post with a disclaimer: If you object to bribery, in any form, stop reading now. Because you will for sure be offended and possibly feel more than a little self-righteously indignified. Is that a phrase? "Self-righteously indignified" might be the new word on the street. Foshizzle.

I have instituted a ticket system. After hearing the adulation of many ticket bearing mothers, I too decided to give it a whatfor. Am I speaking English? Just wondering.

Anyhoo, the children that live with me receive tickets for various things they do around the house. Then they can redeem their tickets for various prizes I store in the closet. The entire basis of this system was to get the little punks off their lazy bottoms and help out this summer. Some things that I have given tickets for:

1. Empty the dishwasher
2. Make your bed
3. Read an entire book
4. 1000 jumps on the trampoline
5. Don't kill your siblings while I run an errand for an hour
6. Say your prayers (do these prayers still count?)
7. Pull weeds
8. Take a dog for a walk
9. Put away laundry
10. Set the table

Of course this list is not all inclusive, it's rather to give you a sample.
When we first started the system, all punks were equally excited. However, the excitement has waned for some as the rewards have been earned (IE. all the good prizes are gone). So I had to up the ante. 4 tickets = 1 dollar. Money is always an incentive. And when you think about it, $.25 to unload the dishwasher is always worth it. Always.

I also am showing them pictures of video games and BB guns and pink and grey camo purses just like her friend's, so they can see the types of things their ticket-money can buy. Of course, being the financially risky spenders that they are, I won't actually give them money, but will instead take the tickets when they have earned enough and buy them their hard-earned (how many prayers can a person say in a day?) prizes.

So here's the question: How do we do tithing? Do I have them pay 1 ticket per 10 as tithing? And what do I do with their tithing tickets? Do we fill out a tithing slip and hand them to the bishop? Could you imagine for a moment the financial clerk opening an envelope full of tickets? What would he say, do you suppose? And when we come in for tithing settlement, would my children be able to see just how many tickets they paid in tithing for the year? And could they imagine in their heads just how many churches their tickets helped to build? I'm just wondering. I mean, what would you do?

Questions

I lost the diamond out of my wedding ring, the day of my baby's ear tube surgery. It has aroused a few questions that need pondering:

Does that mean it's over?

Is the prof worried about all the guys that are going to hit on me now?

Am I worried that he's not worried?

Will I ever have another diamond again?

Is it okay to ask for a bigger one?

What am I going to do with the remnants of the ring until then?

Should I hang it on a chain, Jr high style?

How much does a fake diamond cost, in the meantime?

Is it bad that I would rather spend the money on a trip to Hawaii?

Will I ever get to Hawaii?

Will I be too old to enjoy my trip to Hawaii by the time I get there?

Would I have just as much fun in Rocky Point?

Would we get our car stolen in Rocky Point?

Would my professor get denied at the border, due to his Canadianess?

Would we have to move to Canada after that?

Would I like living in a place where it snows 9 months of the year?

These questions are just a few of the many that plague me regarding this issue. However the biggest one seems to be:

Why am I not more upset by this whole losing-my-diamond thing?

Is it because I know that it doesn't really matter? And is it because my prof told me not to worry about it, even though he spent many hours working to pay that sucker off? And is it because I love him more now than I did before?

Questions worth pondering.

Death Road

Yesterday, while on our (almost) nightly bike ride, my youngest son had an interesting experience.
You see, we don't ride our bikes very often around here. We are more of a play in the back yard kind of people. But since school got out I feel it's my duty as 'mother' to make sure these kids get outside for just a few minutes a day before they rot their brains out watching cartoons on tv. Did you know cartoons are on all the time? And did you know that my oldest son can tell you what's on which channels at exactly what time? I'm thinking maybe we need to rein his remote in.

Anyways, back to the interesting experience.

We rode 2 miles to the church and for us, or should I say, for them, this was a long long long way. I mean really far. So we are headed back home and in order to get there we have this small stretch of skinny road without any bike lanes or shoulder. Basically it's a death trap for pedestrians, bike riders, and small sedans. But if you want to get home, you keep your wits about you and you pedal hard. For about 1/4 mile.

Well right before this scary road part, my baby, whose been riding in the bike trailer, falls asleep. And leans backwards. And the back part of the trailer hits the ground. Because the little pin that secures the bike trailer from collapsing has been lost for years now. It's never really been an issue before, you see, we aren't really a bike riding people. Back when we had two children who would sit in the trailer we rode bikes all the time. But that was like, what, 6 years ago. Once the little punks figured out how to ride their own bikes, we stopped going for long bike rides. Because a long bike ride now meant it would take 30 minutes to ride around the block. We haven't exactly kept the trailer in good repair since.

So anyways, my baby falls backwards, hits the asphalt, and freaks out. I stop to situate her back in. My eldest stops. My princess stops. But the kid whose been running out of gas the last 20 minutes gets his second wind. And takes off. Straight for death row.

I yell at my eldest to go after him, but he's trying to help me and my princess is stopped but she's still a ways ahead and the 5 year old is riding like the wind not paying any attention to anything around him. I get my eldest pedaling after him, with the princess right behind, and I finally am able to start in on the chase.

At this point I notice the two cars, coming from both directions, down the skinny can-really-only-fit-one-car-comfortably patch of road. And there's my punk, pedaling down the left hand side.
Oh wait, he sees the car.
Now he's veering towards the middle of the road.
There he goes straight into the middle of the road.
Both cars slow, slow, slow down to a halt.
And there's my punk, sitting on his bike, in the middle of the road, not moving.
With two very upset drivers telling him to get out of the way, and one sister yelling at him to move, and one older brother screaming at the top of his lungs to get to the side.
And the punk, he just sits there.
On his bike.
In the middle of the road.
By himself.
Finally the children reach him. They push his bike out of the way of traffic. The cars go on their merry way, throwing dirty looks in my direction. I can only imagine the words that went with the looks.

Finally I catch up to him.

Me-"Son, why on earth did you stop in the middle of the road when everyone was telling you to move to the side?"
Son- "I didn't know which side to go to."
Pause.
Son- "I don't want to go bike riding anymore."

The best part of this whole story...
No helmets were worn by anyone.

You may present me with my Mother of the Year Award now.

Lost and Found

So I found a receipt in some stuff someone gave me.

It was from Castle.

No not White Castle.

Are you worried it's yours?

$30 on a novelty item.

What could you buy with $30 at the Castle?

I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Here I Am Again

Molly.

That was the word.

The word that got me all riled up.

Molly. Not just Molly, but I was "one of the two Molliest in the whole ward", the other being the Relief Society Prez. Now hold the phone and back it up here. Me? Really, Me?! I don't think so. Let me explain why I am not:

1. Hmmm.....I know there's one, what is it, someone tell me. Please! There's gotta be a reason why I'm not a you-know-what. Gotta be. Hmmmmm...I just can't think of it right now under all this pressure.

So what's a girl to do when she's been insulted like this. Do I accept this title as no big deal, or do I fight the system? Should I start going to punk rock shows again? Although I have a very difficult time staying up past 9pm, so that really wouldn't work. Should I grow my hair out and die it blue? No, another girl in the ward already did that. What is it that I have to do to prove my coolness? I would really like to know.

Is coolness a word the young folk still use? Or do I want to be phat? I definitely don't want to be fat, that I know, although we need to work on it. We meaning me.

I should probably start by ditching the Relief Society Prez. She's gonna have to find someone else to run with, if it's going to ruin my reputation. Did you hear that friend? You'll have to find someone else to hang out with now, I'm off to regain my rebelness.

Hey, do you want to come along? Now that would be really fun. I'll bring the casserole.

Do you miss me?

Do you ever think about me, wondering what happened between me and my blog that caused us to break up so suddenly? It was a pretty nasty split. We just didn't have time for each other anymore. We've decided to get back together now, for a while, but are making no major commitments. We'll just roll with the punches and see where it takes us.

***********

I had a friend tell me she still checks my blog, to see if I've posted. Wow. I am honored. I didn't think anyone ever would check again. Thanks for sticking around all these months. I'm not making any promises, but maybe I'll post every once in a while, just to spice up your life.

The first post, post-reconciliation, will be about my calves.

Come on, bear with me.

I'm having serious problems. It seems my calves are pretty fed up with me right now. See, I've been training for this race. And it's a distance I haven't run ever. So the training program is new. And the hills are new. And the speed workouts are new.

And my calves see, they are not new.

They've been around a while. And they don't especially like it when I make them do new stuff. So to protest, as I run, they squeeze my muscle really hard, which squeezes my nerve really hard, which causes intense pain, and a really weird feeling that my foot is falling asleep. Not good when you're trying to pull a 15 miler. Not good when you just want to go out for 4. See, this isn't good for anything. And my calves, I'm pretty sure they are happy about it. Seems they want a break. So I'll give it to them.

Turns out, I'm an Ultra loser. There will be no 50K this year.

But these calves of mine, they better enjoy their little break and then whip themselves into shape, because I have a marathon to run in October. And I am not pulling out. Not no way, not no how.

Training starts at the end of May.

I cannot wait.

Busy, busy, busy

Yes, I know.

It's been a while.

Life got very busy one day. So, so, so busy. Pretty pathetic excuse, I know. I feel bad for all you who have religiously checked back to see if I had posted something, anything. I just want you to know that I haven't forgotten you. I've just been in the middle of Primary. And Christmas. And wrapping up Relief Society. And birthdays. And babies. And the flu. And car accidents. And pretty soon a wedding.

Life is busy.

I'm sure you all can agree, as your lives are pretty busy too.

Fleeting

Do you see these girls?

They are pals.

Do you see this baby?

Tomorrow she turns 1.

Here's what I was doing a year ago.

It feels like forever ago. Like she's always been here.

Do you love her sad face? She still makes it for me sometimes.

Here she is a few days later. Man, she's beautiful. And tiny.

That was one of my most favorite blankets. It was so soft.
Seriously, she's gorgeous. I haven't looked at these in a while. She had the most peaceful sleeping face ever.

She looks so different now. She is so different now. I mean, can you believe it?

Facts about the Birthday Girl:

She has 3 teeth

She runs everywhere

She likes to poke the dogs

The dogs like to eat the cheerios she drops for them

She loves to be read to, especially lift-the-flap books

She loves piggy back rides

She squinches her eyes when she smiles now, just like Emme did

She knows a few words, but doesn't say any yet

She doesn't like to be alone, ever

She loves to eat yogurt and pb & j sandwiches

Ice cream is her favorite treat

We can't imagine our family without her

Happy Birthday Claire!

In other news...

Do you see these dogs here?

The large lab is Coda. We've had him for 2+ years now.

He's a pretty good dog, for a dog.

The one thing I can't stand about him is the excessive amount of fur that I find all over my tile floor all the live-long day. And of course, the whole digging up my trees issue. Other than that, pretty swell dog. Again, for a dog.

My dearest pretty much sold his soul for the other one there. His name is George. He's half coon hound half mutt.

Having a new puppy around the house has caused me to look at Coda in a whole new light. He's a great dog, who doesn't chew anything inside the house,

who doesn't whine or beg,

who doesn't have accidents,

who slept soundly in his crate for over a year.

We trained him to not walk on the carpet,

and he does pretty well on a leash.

I've even taken him running with me a few times, and he stays by my side.

The newest puppy George, is a pretty good dog too.

Only he hasn't learned to stay out of the carpeted areas yet.

And he nibbles Claire's ears.

And he whines at night in his crate.

And he chews anything left on the ground.

And he digs around my trees!

The only good thing about him is he hasn't had an accident inside yet.

But he is cute and Coda does seem to like him, most of the time. I guess, like children, you can't have just one dog. Or so my husband says.

He'd retort I'm sure, but he's pretty much busy for the next year on my honey-do list.

Different is good, right?

Well....
What do you think?
Is it too hard to read?
What about the picture, too hard to see?
Not melony enough?
Let me know.
By the way, I got the new template here.

Marathon parts

I ran a marathon last Saturday. All 26.2 miles. Somebody asked me if I walked at all. I did, but only through the aid stations. I'd pass by the guys handing out vaseline, and the guys rubbing Icy Hot all over peoples legs, and head straight to the water cups. If there were oranges, I'd grab one too, but never a banana. I'd drink, bite an orange, try not to slip on orange and banana peels, and then start running again. So I'd estimate I walked about 5-7 minutes out of my total time of 4 hours and 25 minutes, which was a PR. Of course I've only run one other marathon, but still a PR nonetheless.

It was fantastic.
It was exhilarating.
It was pretty hard the last 2 miles.

But I'd say that the training I did all summer long in the stinking desert heat was worse. Way worse. The marathon was cake in comparison. If you can handle a 20 miler in 90-98 degree heat, you can run the St. George Marathon. And you'll run it well.

The best part: looking at my watch every mile after 13 and realizing I was booking it. Nothing like running an 8:40 mile. Unless you're my brother and you run a 6:40.
The worst part: not being able to move my legs the next two days. Seriously. They hurt.
The most embarrassing part: the pictures they take of you while you run. Note-running a marathon does not an attractive person make. Ever.
The most exciting part: coming down the home stretch with all the people cheering you on. Adrenaline rush, mmmm, tasty.
The tastiest part: the post race meal. Juicy steak and loaded potato. Plus a milkshake, because calories don't count the entire rest of the day.
The most frantic part: being 2 minutes away from the start, with thousands of people and not finding my running buddy.
The coldest part: taking off my sweats right before the race started. It was freezing. Really.
The hottest part: none. It was beautiful weather.
The scariest part: running a steep, banked downhill and feeling like my knee was about to blow.
The funniest part: popping ibuprofen before the race and having a large man ask me what I was taking, as if they were illicit drugs or something. See how they say Advil?
The part I was most worried: the day before the race when it was bitterly cold and very windy. Umm, I don't run in the wind.
The part I was most relieved: waking up the next day to no wind.
The most exhausting part: waking up at 3am Arizona time for a race that didn't start for another 2 hours and 45 minutes. And then after the race when I passed out.
The nicest part: my professor taking the kids mini golfing after the race so I could pass out in peace.

There you have it. I honestly believe anyone could run a marathon. Anyone. All you need is a training program and an entrance fee. Anyone up for next year? St George is the one to do. You can do it. Trust me.

Cool Times

Do you see those rollerblades? Santa brought them last Christmas. Along with elbow pads, knee pads and wrist guards. I think she wore all the safety gear, umm, once. Because we like to think we're a safe people, but in reality, we're an accident waiting to happen.
At least she's not in the street, right?

That's safe.

Of course, I let her in the street if there aren't any other neighbor kids that she has to set a good example for.

We pretend to be safe for their sake.

She's dang cute.

And of course this little guy is too.

See how we make him wear a helmet? That's a lie, we don't make him, he just likes to. Because he is actually very concerned about his safety. Cautious is a good word to describe him. I don't mind too much because I don't have to worry about him climbing on top of the refrigerator and jumping off like his brother tried doing.

Two brothers, polar opposites.

And we are finally using this stroller that took such a beating, if you'll remember. You can't even hardly see any oil. At least not in this picture.

So now that it is officially fall (actually I'm not sure how official it is, but it's not longer in the triple digits, mostly) we have ventured outside again in something other than bathing suits. Albeit, still in the very late evening, but outside in clothes nonetheless. Not that we venture outside without clothes. At least not most of us. The little girl across the street does sometimes, but this side of the street is too modest for those kind of shenanigans. In fact, we avert our eyes when she goes streaking down to the park. Even that hasn't happened recently, so you could say that our street is a clothes-wearing people. Where was I going with this?

Oh right.

Happy Fall my fellow desert dwellers.

Ummm, did I say that?

That last post? Yeah, I'm over it. Sorry about the waa, waa, waa. I can't believe I posted it. I'm not usually a weepy kinda girl. That's what happens when I stay up too late.
Anyways, I hope you have a great day and don't worry about me, I'm fine. The princess too.

Little Debbie

About exactly 6 years ago, I was to run my very first 1/2 marathon. I was living in Santa Barbara, and life was good.

Except for the occasional stomach upset. No details (you're welcome), but I'll tell you that it wasn't terrible, but it wasn't bliss either.

Nonetheless, I was enjoying life on the beach, being in the best shape of my life, having 2 adorable children ages 3 and 2, and was getting ready for a real 13.1 mile challenge.

The FamPractioner suggested during a routine yearly that I had irritable bowel. But to be safe, sent me to a GI doc. No prob. I went, did all that was required of me, and went home. I went back for a followup and everything looked normal, but why didn't I have my blood drawn like he'd asked me to? Oh yeah, I thought, I forgot. Come on, who has time to take 2 very small children to the lab and wait to have blood taken? I mean, the beach was calling! Okay, I'll do that today I said, and he'd call with the results, and I probably wouldn't see him ever again.

About 5 days later he calls me, on my birthday, as we're leaving with friends to celebrate. Something about an endoscopy. Huh? A biopsy. Celiac disease. Umm, what? His office would call on Monday to set it up for next week. I press end and cry in the car. I didn't want to go out, I wanted to sit on my computer and research selliak, or was it sillyak? I didn't even know how to spell it, much less what it meant.

The appointment was set for a Friday. The next Friday. The Friday before my race. No prob, I thought. It was an outpatient procedure. Something about looking inside my stomach. I knew I probably should put it off until after the race, but I couldn't wait. I needed to know.

My dearest was in grad school full time. Which meant, 8am to 5pm, home for dinner, and then back to the lab from 8pm to 11pm, Monday through Saturday. Sunday he only had to go in from 8pm to midnight. So he didn't have a whole lot of free time. But that Friday he did take off to drive me to the hospital. I remember not wanting to inconvenience any of my friends with my children, so he dropped me off, took the kids to the park and was to come back in a few hours when I called.

I remember being semiconscious during the procedure. I remember having to swallow the camera that was attached to a very long cable. I remember feeling like I was gagging. And I remember looking at the tv monitor, seeing the inside of my throat, stomach, small intestines.

I was wheeled back into a recovery room. The doc came in, said it was confirmed Celiac, gave me some pics to take home, told me to see a nutritionist about a special diet, and left. I was still groggy and not fully coherent, but I remember him telling me how lucky I was that it was something so easily remedied, I just had to be gluten free for the rest of my life. Great, I thought. What's gluten?

The nurse asked who was taking me home. I needed to call my husband's cell. I walked downstairs to the entrance, got in our little Acura, and slept the rest of the way home. I crashed on my bed for the next 12 hours. I tried talking to all the people calling me on the phone, but I'm not exactly sure what I said. I was out for the rest of the night.

The next morning I woke up and ran a half marathon, my first. I was still a little groggy. And a little fatigued. But I remember thinking that at least I knew for sure that there was something wrong and that I could fix it. I struggled with the first few miles, but towards the end I felt strong. I remember passing people near the finish line, and I loved it. Hey, if I can run 13.1 miles, I can certainly conquer celiac disease, which I had finally learned how to spell.

*******

My then 2 year old is now 8. She's going in for her own endoscopy in 2 days. It's to confirm what we already know. Celiac disease for her too. Hopefully nothing more. I recalled the fear I'd had when I went through it, all the unknown, and I'm so grateful I have my experience to relate to. I'm not nearly as frightened as I know I might be.

But I am sad for her. Sad that she's that girl now. You know, that girl who can't eat anything at birthday parties, the topic of conversation any time anyone brings out a plate of cookies and she declines. Sad that she'll never get to experience so many wonderful foods that 8 years hasn't afforded her. Sad that she'll never get another Krispy Kreme hot from the fryer. I feel like I'm taking away just a smidge of her childhood when I take away the class party treats in all their glory. Now I know some of you out there are going to cry out, "but she'll feel so much better now!", which I know. Trust me, I know. And I know that I can bring in class treats. And I know I can make homemade everything. But I've lived this life for 6 years now. And while I feel so blessed to be able to control my health in a way I wasn't able to prediagnosis, I still know how hard it is. And so I am sad.

********

Today I went to the store for groceries. I had to get food for school lunches. I stood in the packaged cookie aisle, mulling over the ones on sale, and realized that this would be the last time she would ever eat any of these items again. Suddenly realizing that we only have 2 days left for her to try every gluten item in the store, I pushed my cart to the Hostess snack cake aisle and picked up a package of Little Debbie frosted brownies that she's been begging me to get. Because I know that it'll be the last time she'll get to have them.

And I am trying to not be sad.