So.
Heh. Long time no see?
Sigh.
I'd love to tell you that I've got a realy good excuse, or I've been sick - been super busy? How about just in over my head.
Some days, it just feels like I'm busy rolling the boulder up the hill, and every morning, I'm back at the bottom.
Other days are great. Don't get me wrong - I'm ok. It's just that there's no extra for writing.
So what's happened over the past four months?
Oh lor'. I found out that I needed to pay my taxes in the US. Or rather, I needed to file for them. (because even if you don't owe, you need to file.) And also tell the US government about all of my bank accounts (joint or otherwise) that I and my husband have here in Canada. In great detail, over the past seven years. And there might be some penalties for that. I guess I'll find out when they get around to it. Or not. So that took some time, and continues to take angst.
MasterP started kindergarten. MlleL started first grade, and started giving up her naps (yeah, I know. I know.) We're struggling with that. It's pretty exhausting, managing the mood swings of a really tired 6 year old. It feels like I'm constantly on a high wire balancing what's happening between the time I get home and the time she gets to bed. Am I making dinner quick enough? How is her blood sugar? Will we make it through without that awful whining, convulsing stagger she does, dragging around the house to display her displeasure? (Never mind that that's a huge button - I have no idea what makes me so crazy when she does that....)
I turned 40. It was pretty great. I've worked on a list, but haven't got far, of the things to do before I'm 50. I'm not sure I'm ready to committ to writing them down. One of them means running a hell of a lot more than I am right now. so....
I ran the Rattle Me Bones the fastest I've ever run 10k on October 23. Which was great, but 2 minutes over where I really wanted (sub 1 hour) so I'm working on feeling better about that.
MasterP turned 4. I made cake pops, and a cake covered in squinkies. heeee.
We went to Target on November 11. We got stuck at the border for almost 2 hours, so ended up having about 1 hour and 45 minutes to shop before tearing north again. LOTS of fun.
November was November. I continue to be super funky (in a hateful way) around American Thanksgiving - mad at everyone for nothing. Man November sucks.
And here we are! We did our first Christmas Activity tonight - making snowflakes. But both pairs of scissors didn't work well, so MasterP was easily frustrated... And then we hung them, and then while working on French reading, MlleL had a full blown meltdown.
I guess tomorrow I'll hope for better.
And meanwhile, I'm trying to type my way down from a chocolate craving.
Showing posts with label Me. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Me. Show all posts
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Changes....
Perspective is the weirdest thing.
It's so variable, so biased.
It has, in the months immediately following the half, become harder and harder to see my accomplishments. My waist is once again covered with layers of sloth and pancakes.
And so I return to the pavement, at an hour I have only previously vaguely talked about (5:30). Husband laughed at me when I've mentioned it before. I am not known as a morning person. But it's before the heat of the day, and (mostly) before the after work fatigue hits. It allows me a morning that is of my own choosing - and the time to wake up before I am hit by the demands of the day. It is a remarkably peaceful thing, but also, apparently a rather busy time of the day for other runners.
I love it. It gives me time to get the work out out of the way. I can listen to my podcasts and have lunch again, with others, and not feel guilty for having not done what I should have.
That said, these runs are affecting my perspective. Where once the distance was (a little) easier, they are difficult again. The early morning sun at my back strikes me in such a way as to cause my shadow to resemble a giant fertility figure - a tiny head and giant bottom waggling along the road. No wonder this is so difficult, I think, look at the size of that!
Mrs. Maiden has told me the story of her comeuppance as a 40-year-old. She was wearing her blue bikini and feeling rather proud of herself for doing that at her age; "not too shabby," I remember her describing herself. However, after laying on some sun warmed rocks in the North Channel during a cruise on the Maiden family boat, she sat up with a squelching, sucking noise. Her back fat had sealed her to the stone.
I remember thinking that was hilarious. Ok, well it kinda was, until the fertility figure thing.
And until I raised my arm to wave goodbye after having spent the weekend with awesome friends from my youth and most of our kids, doing really great beachy cottage type things, and caught a glimpse of the bottom of my arm waggling away in it's own fond farewell.
It's so variable, so biased.
It has, in the months immediately following the half, become harder and harder to see my accomplishments. My waist is once again covered with layers of sloth and pancakes.
And so I return to the pavement, at an hour I have only previously vaguely talked about (5:30). Husband laughed at me when I've mentioned it before. I am not known as a morning person. But it's before the heat of the day, and (mostly) before the after work fatigue hits. It allows me a morning that is of my own choosing - and the time to wake up before I am hit by the demands of the day. It is a remarkably peaceful thing, but also, apparently a rather busy time of the day for other runners.
I love it. It gives me time to get the work out out of the way. I can listen to my podcasts and have lunch again, with others, and not feel guilty for having not done what I should have.
That said, these runs are affecting my perspective. Where once the distance was (a little) easier, they are difficult again. The early morning sun at my back strikes me in such a way as to cause my shadow to resemble a giant fertility figure - a tiny head and giant bottom waggling along the road. No wonder this is so difficult, I think, look at the size of that!
Mrs. Maiden has told me the story of her comeuppance as a 40-year-old. She was wearing her blue bikini and feeling rather proud of herself for doing that at her age; "not too shabby," I remember her describing herself. However, after laying on some sun warmed rocks in the North Channel during a cruise on the Maiden family boat, she sat up with a squelching, sucking noise. Her back fat had sealed her to the stone.
I remember thinking that was hilarious. Ok, well it kinda was, until the fertility figure thing.
And until I raised my arm to wave goodbye after having spent the weekend with awesome friends from my youth and most of our kids, doing really great beachy cottage type things, and caught a glimpse of the bottom of my arm waggling away in it's own fond farewell.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Fambily Reunion
I don't think I've ever mentioned the little known fact that I've graduated from two high schools, have I?
There's home town from grade 12, but then, there's also that other place, Parts North from grade 13. Anyhow, the only person I'm currently in touch with from that year is Mindy, and honestly, that's probably more because of the genetic link than it is the deep bond we formed during that year our high school experience overlapped - she in grade 9 and me in 13 - excellent though that time was.
Imagine my surprise, then, to have found myself smack in the middle of a Parts North high school micro reunion. Which, really, is strange, considering I had no idea who these people were. Well, except a few.
See, Mindy's got a few best friends from her time there, so when she's in North America, she usually tries to get a visit in with them - and luckily for me, one of them is in the Toronto area. This visit, we weren't able to make it to Parts North, so we met up with the fam in Toronto. At Ms. R's place for a wonderful weekend slice of family and kids together time.
Ms. R married her high school sweetie. Who invited his high school best friend over to dinner. Both kindly asked if I knew their older brothers. (NO.) They were born in 72? Nope. Still older than that.
But Ms. R's awful older sister? (Yep. I said it.) Oh, as soon as she walked in the door, I remembered her. Sigh.
As I walked in the door from the drive on that first night, Ms R's first words were 'Hi honey! You look exactly the same as you did in high school!'
The thing is, I like to think of myself as rendered near unrecognizable through the urban fabulousness of 20 years of hard work, beautification and polish. True, I wore a bob that year, much as I do now. Apparently, the truth is, I still look like an 18 year old from a small town in the mid-west living on a remote island in Northern Ontario, riding the bus for an hour and a half each way and eating far, far, far too much buttered toast.
And Mindy? Mindy is so unrecognizable that I spent the weekend looking into her grown up turquoise eyes (still, stupidly unfair of genetics to do that to me) and trying to see in her the teenager I remember. She is a virtual stranger, my only sister with an incredibly gorgeous blonde German baby - a confident, smart, accomplished and beautiful stranger, pulled together and fabulous, and I am 18 and unchanged to the world.
I know it is so unfair to say this, but I am looking forward to the expiration of the Irish visa in 2014. I'm hoping Berlin doesn't make the cut (although I somehow expect that it will), and I'm really, really hoping I get the chance to reaquaint myself with the girl who left 10 years ago.
There's home town from grade 12, but then, there's also that other place, Parts North from grade 13. Anyhow, the only person I'm currently in touch with from that year is Mindy, and honestly, that's probably more because of the genetic link than it is the deep bond we formed during that year our high school experience overlapped - she in grade 9 and me in 13 - excellent though that time was.
Imagine my surprise, then, to have found myself smack in the middle of a Parts North high school micro reunion. Which, really, is strange, considering I had no idea who these people were. Well, except a few.
See, Mindy's got a few best friends from her time there, so when she's in North America, she usually tries to get a visit in with them - and luckily for me, one of them is in the Toronto area. This visit, we weren't able to make it to Parts North, so we met up with the fam in Toronto. At Ms. R's place for a wonderful weekend slice of family and kids together time.
Ms. R married her high school sweetie. Who invited his high school best friend over to dinner. Both kindly asked if I knew their older brothers. (NO.) They were born in 72? Nope. Still older than that.
But Ms. R's awful older sister? (Yep. I said it.) Oh, as soon as she walked in the door, I remembered her. Sigh.
As I walked in the door from the drive on that first night, Ms R's first words were 'Hi honey! You look exactly the same as you did in high school!'
The thing is, I like to think of myself as rendered near unrecognizable through the urban fabulousness of 20 years of hard work, beautification and polish. True, I wore a bob that year, much as I do now. Apparently, the truth is, I still look like an 18 year old from a small town in the mid-west living on a remote island in Northern Ontario, riding the bus for an hour and a half each way and eating far, far, far too much buttered toast.
And Mindy? Mindy is so unrecognizable that I spent the weekend looking into her grown up turquoise eyes (still, stupidly unfair of genetics to do that to me) and trying to see in her the teenager I remember. She is a virtual stranger, my only sister with an incredibly gorgeous blonde German baby - a confident, smart, accomplished and beautiful stranger, pulled together and fabulous, and I am 18 and unchanged to the world.
I know it is so unfair to say this, but I am looking forward to the expiration of the Irish visa in 2014. I'm hoping Berlin doesn't make the cut (although I somehow expect that it will), and I'm really, really hoping I get the chance to reaquaint myself with the girl who left 10 years ago.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
ooook.
I realized rather late in the game that the extreme efforts I made to minimize the amount of luggage travelling to Points North may have also minimized my access to things I wanted and possibly needed.
Despite that fact, I thought outside of the box, found one of the refillable juice boxes in the car, filled it with water and stuffed it down my pants. I took two puffs of the inhaler, laced my shoes and set out.
Sure, it wasn't on schedule. It was, to be exact, Thursday morning.
This year, I avoided the Worst Run Ever (up hill both ways past the cemetary containing my father's unmarked grave and substanital emotional discoveries) and took a more circuitous route through the village, past the Inn and out the new road to complete the 16k.
I would see 7 trucks on my journey, a motorcycle, and one car -my dad's, the Crown Vic, which is now owned by others in the village, and still appears to be in really good shape.
Two of these vehicles (NOT the car) would follow the long standing Points North tradition of the wave. One of them, which I saw a happy total of four times during the two hours, merrily waving away before he even passed me, was driven by the man who sold me the first sweatshirt I ever bought with my own money (I was 8), copious amounts of candy (aw hell, it would have been this time if the general store had still been open), countless loaves of bread and my first legal liquor (20).
In fact, when I tried to buy that liquor, he asked me to wait a minute and had a whispered conversation with his 'wife'. Having not reached a successful conclusion, he returned, fixed me with a stern look, and said "Katie? Are you over 19??" And then totally took my word for it.
Oprah talks about the secret socio-economic indicators that instantly identify your class - vocabulary, teeth, etc.
It was like that. The running made me not from there. It was like wearing a suit of away. Not only did they not know who I belonged to, they could not see past the suit to recognize the kid I used to be.
It was his wave - each of those four times - that eased that feeling of being different, and helped me remember a time when my vacations to Points North were the stuff of family, of freedom, and of wild amounts of McIntosh's Toffee. Even when I had the braces and Mrs. Maiden asked him not to sell it to me.
Despite that fact, I thought outside of the box, found one of the refillable juice boxes in the car, filled it with water and stuffed it down my pants. I took two puffs of the inhaler, laced my shoes and set out.
Sure, it wasn't on schedule. It was, to be exact, Thursday morning.
This year, I avoided the Worst Run Ever (up hill both ways past the cemetary containing my father's unmarked grave and substanital emotional discoveries) and took a more circuitous route through the village, past the Inn and out the new road to complete the 16k.
I would see 7 trucks on my journey, a motorcycle, and one car -my dad's, the Crown Vic, which is now owned by others in the village, and still appears to be in really good shape.
Two of these vehicles (NOT the car) would follow the long standing Points North tradition of the wave. One of them, which I saw a happy total of four times during the two hours, merrily waving away before he even passed me, was driven by the man who sold me the first sweatshirt I ever bought with my own money (I was 8), copious amounts of candy (aw hell, it would have been this time if the general store had still been open), countless loaves of bread and my first legal liquor (20).
In fact, when I tried to buy that liquor, he asked me to wait a minute and had a whispered conversation with his 'wife'. Having not reached a successful conclusion, he returned, fixed me with a stern look, and said "Katie? Are you over 19??" And then totally took my word for it.
Oprah talks about the secret socio-economic indicators that instantly identify your class - vocabulary, teeth, etc.
It was like that. The running made me not from there. It was like wearing a suit of away. Not only did they not know who I belonged to, they could not see past the suit to recognize the kid I used to be.
It was his wave - each of those four times - that eased that feeling of being different, and helped me remember a time when my vacations to Points North were the stuff of family, of freedom, and of wild amounts of McIntosh's Toffee. Even when I had the braces and Mrs. Maiden asked him not to sell it to me.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
And now a break for some logic.
Here's the thing about being a member of the Religious Society of Friends. (A Quaker y'all.) The thing is - one of the tenants of Meeting is that well, you don't necessarily need a meeting. If you can't make it, that's generally considered ok, because you can meditate for guidance from the Spirit (a piece of which is in all of us) as needed.
It's pretty darn convenient.
Meetings (what we call services) are silent and turn into a discussion only when members are moved by the Spirit sufficiently to share with others. (We don't have a service, nor do we have a minister or priest. Meetings are not lead by anyone.) Sometimes, no one feels much like talking. Great as an adult. Painfully, mindbendingly boring as a kid.
The last actual meeting I went to was right after Husband and I decided to get married just shy of 11 years ago. But see, just last week, I was having a hard time. My anxiety (about what I couldn't tell) was affecting my sleep, making me jittery at work, irritable, and just generally, not that fun. I asked for some help on Thursday.
On Friday, as I drove to work, I got my response. The thing about dealing directly with the Spirit is that his words are not filtered through someone else. It's a direct line in a language I usually understand, and it went something like this:
"You know I have your back."
Yep. I do. Really. (I don't talk about it much, and I do what I can with the whole blending into Catholicism thing. But I talk to God when I need to.)
"So if you know I have your back, how dare you have the audacity to be anxious? Get out there and do your best. The rest is up to me."
It seems so beautifully simple that I just had to share.
It's pretty darn convenient.
Meetings (what we call services) are silent and turn into a discussion only when members are moved by the Spirit sufficiently to share with others. (We don't have a service, nor do we have a minister or priest. Meetings are not lead by anyone.) Sometimes, no one feels much like talking. Great as an adult. Painfully, mindbendingly boring as a kid.
The last actual meeting I went to was right after Husband and I decided to get married just shy of 11 years ago. But see, just last week, I was having a hard time. My anxiety (about what I couldn't tell) was affecting my sleep, making me jittery at work, irritable, and just generally, not that fun. I asked for some help on Thursday.
On Friday, as I drove to work, I got my response. The thing about dealing directly with the Spirit is that his words are not filtered through someone else. It's a direct line in a language I usually understand, and it went something like this:
"You know I have your back."
Yep. I do. Really. (I don't talk about it much, and I do what I can with the whole blending into Catholicism thing. But I talk to God when I need to.)
"So if you know I have your back, how dare you have the audacity to be anxious? Get out there and do your best. The rest is up to me."
It seems so beautifully simple that I just had to share.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
An AWARD!!!
Hey y'all!
So, look what I won!!! Cause' I'm brilliant in honest content!!
Awesome! Cause' look. I know I'm not here very much right now, and it's not that I don't love you, it's just that Mummy's a little busy right now. No, look at my eyes, I'm talking. No, I'm not CLAZY!!, nor am I LUUUDE!, and I will not have a TIME OUT!! I'm talking and I'm the mama.
My very good friend Wondermom gave me this. I think it might have been to inspire me, and it worked. Thanks very much, honey, it means a lot!!
But, as always, there are rules to follow, my dears, so...
1. Brag about the award.
2. Include the name of the blogger who gave you the award and link back to that blogger.
3. Choose a selection of blogs that you find brilliant in honest content (umm. This is hard. I kinda read like, four blogs, and one of them gave it to me, and I'm also really bad at tasking others, so..... You're all fantastic, and I mean that!!)
4. List at least ten honest things about yourself:
- I frequently write everything I eat in a little book. It somehow clears my head of food clutter and allows me to do real work.
- Sometimes I feel completely unprepared for parenting. I usually lock myself in the bathroom when that happens.
- I'm really, really bad at telling lies. Pretty much, what you see is what you get.
- I am always, always exhausted. I can't remember a time when I wasn't.
- I'm also incredibly old. My American birth certificate says I was born in 1917. Heh. Which must be the reason I drink hot water before bed time, love cherry imperials, and drink Bristol Cream Sherry.
- I am also very forgetful. (must be the age.) I write lists of everything everywhere. I've even left myself sticky notes on the dashboard to try to remember errands on the way home from work.
- I am a perfectionist, but also a bit lazy, so my house always looks cluttered.
- I am a number 6 on this crazy-assed personality test. My type is called the loyalist, or the skeptic, depending on which site (or book) you're forced to read. It would appear that I have (as I may have mentioned before) inherited Mr. Maiden's tendencies. Except I'd like to think that I might be a bit less on the umm, concentrated side as Mr. Maiden tended to be. If not, please feel free to drug me through my morning coffee. Which brings me to Number 9.
- The number 9 has always been my favorite number (it's so neat and tidy - 3 sets of 3), and I was once responsible for helping family members secretly drug other family members to ease awkward social tensions during a very important family event. Ask me sometime. I'd be happy to tell you ALL ABOUT IT.
- And one last, aching bit of honesty for you tonight before bedtime. This past month has made me wish more than anything I can explain that I had hugged my dad before he died. It is one of the biggest regrets of my life - We kissed, and held hands, and I rubbed his shoulder, but I did not hug him. We did not have that type of relationship. We loved each other terribly, but he wasn't able to be very comfortable with physical affection when I was an adult. Instead, I hug and kiss my father in law every day I see him. Stroking his now almost silent noggy in the hospice before he drifts back to sleep.
Monday, March 1, 2010
March already.
I am frequently told to blog more.
I know, I sigh. I know.
It's not that I'm not thinking of you all, my guests, waiting patiently for another funny story, it's just that I'm presently a little lacking in the funny.
I can tell you about MlleL, when being chastized by our care provider last week, cocked her head, looked her right in the eye and said 'you know, we're looking for another daycare because you boss me around.'
I can tell you that MlleL has begun to crack the written code and is reading words.
I can regale you with stories of french and half-marathon training (again). (For both)
I can tell you of the magic power Janey has - after a somewhat damp coffee session last week, she suggested doing something more fun, and cupcake samples magically appeared by our sides. Red velvet with cream cheese icing. (Cupcakes DO make EVERYTHING more fun.)
I can tell you about the remarkable lack of humour shown by the parking attendants in Hull (sketchy lot) who, after their spectacularly bad advice resulted in me losing my parking last month, didn't even crack a smile this morning at 6 AM when I presented myself, unwashed and still in pajamas, on the off chance there were some passes yet unclaimed for the month of March. (There were. Awesome. I'm back in business!!)
There are, of course, the worries left unsaid, which creep in and disrupt my sleep, allowing the fibro to stake its insidious claim to further territories of my body, like for example, my hips and hands. (Listen, Fibro, we've lived together for a while and I understand that no amount of medication will make you go anywhere, but I feel like I can speak to you frankly. I need my hips, and I really, really need my right hand, particularly my thumb. So please understand that this comes from a place deep inside of me when I encourage you most sincerely to get bent. The hands are mine. I already licked them.)
But for now, for you, my beloved guests, I search for the funny.
I know, I sigh. I know.
It's not that I'm not thinking of you all, my guests, waiting patiently for another funny story, it's just that I'm presently a little lacking in the funny.
I can tell you about MlleL, when being chastized by our care provider last week, cocked her head, looked her right in the eye and said 'you know, we're looking for another daycare because you boss me around.'
I can tell you that MlleL has begun to crack the written code and is reading words.
I can regale you with stories of french and half-marathon training (again). (For both)
I can tell you of the magic power Janey has - after a somewhat damp coffee session last week, she suggested doing something more fun, and cupcake samples magically appeared by our sides. Red velvet with cream cheese icing. (Cupcakes DO make EVERYTHING more fun.)
I can tell you about the remarkable lack of humour shown by the parking attendants in Hull (sketchy lot) who, after their spectacularly bad advice resulted in me losing my parking last month, didn't even crack a smile this morning at 6 AM when I presented myself, unwashed and still in pajamas, on the off chance there were some passes yet unclaimed for the month of March. (There were. Awesome. I'm back in business!!)
There are, of course, the worries left unsaid, which creep in and disrupt my sleep, allowing the fibro to stake its insidious claim to further territories of my body, like for example, my hips and hands. (Listen, Fibro, we've lived together for a while and I understand that no amount of medication will make you go anywhere, but I feel like I can speak to you frankly. I need my hips, and I really, really need my right hand, particularly my thumb. So please understand that this comes from a place deep inside of me when I encourage you most sincerely to get bent. The hands are mine. I already licked them.)
But for now, for you, my beloved guests, I search for the funny.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Special K
See, with the return to school, I've thought that maybe, just maybe, it would be considered rude to be eating my breakfast (cooked oatmeal) in front of the instructor on one-on-one training and conjugating with my mouth full.
Since mornings are so tough here at the Casa Valentine time-wise, (seriously, I'm late every, every, every day.) I figured I'd give Special K a shot, I mean, there's 1.25 cups in a serving, it's dump in the bowl and chew, and two points is two points, right?
HA. From what I can tell, the Special K Challenge is not to lurch so much when you're wandering the halls looking for foooood, tasty fooooood so as not to alert your prey.
Stupid Special K. Stupid Christmas weight.
Lovely, lovely microwaved rolled oats. Thanks for taking me back. I'll never, never leave you again.
Since mornings are so tough here at the Casa Valentine time-wise, (seriously, I'm late every, every, every day.) I figured I'd give Special K a shot, I mean, there's 1.25 cups in a serving, it's dump in the bowl and chew, and two points is two points, right?
HA. From what I can tell, the Special K Challenge is not to lurch so much when you're wandering the halls looking for foooood, tasty fooooood so as not to alert your prey.
Stupid Special K. Stupid Christmas weight.
Lovely, lovely microwaved rolled oats. Thanks for taking me back. I'll never, never leave you again.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Wow.
Well.
That was a hell of a couple of weeks!! Whew. I'd like to thank Janey for encouraging me to train for the half - I think that the work definitely paid off in the endurance sport that is preparing for Christmas.
Am I the only one that feels that way? Sometimes I think that if I were a better mom and wife, I'd get all the baking done (no scorching), presents bought and wrapped, house cleaned, work done, sexiness fulfilled, and all of the other stuff and still feel all Christmassy and what-not.
Which is not to say that well, aside from the the heavily browned short breads (danged oven) I didn't get most of that list accomplished, but three guesses as to what was left off?
I was rereading this year, thinking of the year in review, and was struck by how much things stay the same.
January: complaining about lack of food and sleep. Hah. Just wait for this January's update.
February: A compilation of conversations, including how Husband and I stayed up all night bailing a flooding window well to avoid a basement flood. Awesome. Gruelling.
March: MlleL and the great Pony Rodeo. Hee.
April: Signed up for the 10k, and talked about dating - in general, not in my immediate experience, y'all.
May: I complained about lack of boobs and concentration. And how hard it is to run. Ran a 10k.
June: What it's like to shop like a mom. And may have signed up for a half marathon.
July: Time management issues, a sinus infection, and more about how hard it is to run. Oh. And KISS live. Still, awesome.
August: Family vacation. 20th reunion. Figuring out where home really was.
September: More complaining about what bras do to me. Ran a half-marathon. Turned 38.
October: MasterP turned 2.
November: American Thanksgiving. More lists.
December: yet again, complaining about boobs.
How do you read this?
This year, I shall endeavor not to complain about boobs or bras quite so much. Maybe I'll post more often.
If the last couple of weeks are any indication, though, I'll probably do some complaining about lack of food and sleep, how hard it is to run, and well, maybe some lists thrown in for good measure.
Nothing if not consistent.
That was a hell of a couple of weeks!! Whew. I'd like to thank Janey for encouraging me to train for the half - I think that the work definitely paid off in the endurance sport that is preparing for Christmas.
Am I the only one that feels that way? Sometimes I think that if I were a better mom and wife, I'd get all the baking done (no scorching), presents bought and wrapped, house cleaned, work done, sexiness fulfilled, and all of the other stuff and still feel all Christmassy and what-not.
Which is not to say that well, aside from the the heavily browned short breads (danged oven) I didn't get most of that list accomplished, but three guesses as to what was left off?
I was rereading this year, thinking of the year in review, and was struck by how much things stay the same.
January: complaining about lack of food and sleep. Hah. Just wait for this January's update.
February: A compilation of conversations, including how Husband and I stayed up all night bailing a flooding window well to avoid a basement flood. Awesome. Gruelling.
March: MlleL and the great Pony Rodeo. Hee.
April: Signed up for the 10k, and talked about dating - in general, not in my immediate experience, y'all.
May: I complained about lack of boobs and concentration. And how hard it is to run. Ran a 10k.
June: What it's like to shop like a mom. And may have signed up for a half marathon.
July: Time management issues, a sinus infection, and more about how hard it is to run. Oh. And KISS live. Still, awesome.
August: Family vacation. 20th reunion. Figuring out where home really was.
September: More complaining about what bras do to me. Ran a half-marathon. Turned 38.
October: MasterP turned 2.
November: American Thanksgiving. More lists.
December: yet again, complaining about boobs.
How do you read this?
This year, I shall endeavor not to complain about boobs or bras quite so much. Maybe I'll post more often.
If the last couple of weeks are any indication, though, I'll probably do some complaining about lack of food and sleep, how hard it is to run, and well, maybe some lists thrown in for good measure.
Nothing if not consistent.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Sad for us all
There are several truths about me. One is the fact that a bra is generally one of the first things I put on. Always. Ok, well, pretty much always.
This past weekend, just after I had showered before heading out to Brother In Law's 40th birthday party, and in the midst of dressing myself, not yet successful in the search for clean supportive garments, I was accosted by the outfit sported by MlleL.
"Wow", I said. "Goodness... That's......" Well, it was polka dots. That's what it was. Leggings and a tunic, all in different dots. "Let me see what I can do to find some other leggings."
"They're all in the wash." She said, "These are the ones I could find."
"Uhh," I said, as I dug around looking in the laundry (clean) basket. "How about.... Well.... I see what you mean."
"Mama," she said, clearly distracted and gesticulating towards my naked torso "why do they look so, um, soft? They look like they're lying down and taking a nap."
Right. Aaaand, back to the hunt for a bra.
This past weekend, just after I had showered before heading out to Brother In Law's 40th birthday party, and in the midst of dressing myself, not yet successful in the search for clean supportive garments, I was accosted by the outfit sported by MlleL.
"Wow", I said. "Goodness... That's......" Well, it was polka dots. That's what it was. Leggings and a tunic, all in different dots. "Let me see what I can do to find some other leggings."
"They're all in the wash." She said, "These are the ones I could find."
"Uhh," I said, as I dug around looking in the laundry (clean) basket. "How about.... Well.... I see what you mean."
"Mama," she said, clearly distracted and gesticulating towards my naked torso "why do they look so, um, soft? They look like they're lying down and taking a nap."
Right. Aaaand, back to the hunt for a bra.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Thanksgiving
It's American Thanksgiving today; Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!!
I've been in Ottawa for 13 years, and there hasn't been one of them that I didn't wish to be on my couch, in my jammies, basting turkey, drinking coffee and watching the parade. Let alone planning the day of attack tomorrow. Although to be fair, that's mostly started in the years I've been here.
In true Thanksgiving kitsch, let me now enumerate for you my thankful fors:
1. I am thankful for the safe arrival of Miss Isabella Rosa Brandt, born on November 21 at 9lbs to my LittleSister, Mrs. Mindy Dallas.
2. I am also very thankful for the safe arrival of Mrs. Mindy Dallas' milk, a few days later. Heh.
3. I am thankful that I got to spend an evening with one of my very longest standing friends - may even beat Ms. Katie B. (to whom I know I owe a call and promise is forthcoming) - it's very lucky when a childhood family friendship can grow out of childhood and loosen itself from all of its baggage by herks and jerks and arrive at something greater and more honest than one can imagine. I'm thankful for that too, and for training in the Capital Region.
4. I am thankful for my family, and my children, and for the fact that I have a job that I can call in to, and a husband who tells me to, when they are causing me to suffer from exhaustion. Seriously. (But I'm feeling better now, and promise to pay attention to my bed time - it's a rule, not a guideline.)
5. I am thankful for Janey, and the Ms. Gs, who have stuck with me for never ending conversations of self-doubt and recriminations - and still, I hope, love me as much as I love them.
6. In the past few weeks, mostly as a result of the anticipated arrival of Isabella, we have been discussing the possible routes a baby might take when exiting from a mama's tummy. Possible routes put forward? 2. Out of your 'privates, or out of your head.' Tempting, right? I mean, I KNOW. So we had a bit of the talk. So far, no questions about how babies get in. So I'm very, very thankful for THAT.
7. I am thankful for the very fabulous literacy talents of Dr. Watson.
8. I'm thankful for YOU, dear readers, whoever you are.
I've been in Ottawa for 13 years, and there hasn't been one of them that I didn't wish to be on my couch, in my jammies, basting turkey, drinking coffee and watching the parade. Let alone planning the day of attack tomorrow. Although to be fair, that's mostly started in the years I've been here.
In true Thanksgiving kitsch, let me now enumerate for you my thankful fors:
1. I am thankful for the safe arrival of Miss Isabella Rosa Brandt, born on November 21 at 9lbs to my LittleSister, Mrs. Mindy Dallas.
2. I am also very thankful for the safe arrival of Mrs. Mindy Dallas' milk, a few days later. Heh.
3. I am thankful that I got to spend an evening with one of my very longest standing friends - may even beat Ms. Katie B. (to whom I know I owe a call and promise is forthcoming) - it's very lucky when a childhood family friendship can grow out of childhood and loosen itself from all of its baggage by herks and jerks and arrive at something greater and more honest than one can imagine. I'm thankful for that too, and for training in the Capital Region.
4. I am thankful for my family, and my children, and for the fact that I have a job that I can call in to, and a husband who tells me to, when they are causing me to suffer from exhaustion. Seriously. (But I'm feeling better now, and promise to pay attention to my bed time - it's a rule, not a guideline.)
5. I am thankful for Janey, and the Ms. Gs, who have stuck with me for never ending conversations of self-doubt and recriminations - and still, I hope, love me as much as I love them.
6. In the past few weeks, mostly as a result of the anticipated arrival of Isabella, we have been discussing the possible routes a baby might take when exiting from a mama's tummy. Possible routes put forward? 2. Out of your 'privates, or out of your head.' Tempting, right? I mean, I KNOW. So we had a bit of the talk. So far, no questions about how babies get in. So I'm very, very thankful for THAT.
7. I am thankful for the very fabulous literacy talents of Dr. Watson.
8. I'm thankful for YOU, dear readers, whoever you are.
Friday, October 30, 2009
subconscious, working overtime
a list of possibilities offered by my subconscious over the past week:
1. The deputy director of another division within our organization, whose office is right across the hall from mine, has been secretly keeping track of my schedule at work. For all of those days I just knock off at 3.
2. I was suddenly the owner and very excited driver of a new VW something. The thing that made me most excited, though, was the fact that it was all wheel drive, which I could totally note as I drove it. (Which is awesome as that was the first time I've ever driven an all wheel drive vehicle.)
3. Through a very fascinating turn of events I don't precisely remember, so cannot reinact during daylight hours, I ended up sleeping next to Brad Pitt. (I'm just saying.) I was very excited, as you might imagine, with the upcoming possibility of seeing him at my next Hollywood function, for which I went to get a pedicure. Things took a turn for the worse when Brad did not remember we had had a date.
1. The deputy director of another division within our organization, whose office is right across the hall from mine, has been secretly keeping track of my schedule at work. For all of those days I just knock off at 3.
2. I was suddenly the owner and very excited driver of a new VW something. The thing that made me most excited, though, was the fact that it was all wheel drive, which I could totally note as I drove it. (Which is awesome as that was the first time I've ever driven an all wheel drive vehicle.)
3. Through a very fascinating turn of events I don't precisely remember, so cannot reinact during daylight hours, I ended up sleeping next to Brad Pitt. (I'm just saying.) I was very excited, as you might imagine, with the upcoming possibility of seeing him at my next Hollywood function, for which I went to get a pedicure. Things took a turn for the worse when Brad did not remember we had had a date.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
"Pro-comfort"
Dear o.b.:
I've been a user now, for well, longer than I haven't. Well, hold on, I'm doing the exact calculations, and, including pregnancies and what-not, nope, still, more on that off, if you know what I mean. And I know that you do. But enough about me and my age.
What I'm writing about is your recent change in packaging, and, if I understand correctly, makeup of the coating of your product. I, as much as any, appreciate something that would be more comfortable, I really, really do. What I'd really like to question, however, is the decision of your marketing team to describe your newly designed product as 'pro-comfort'. Given that I might have a bit too much time over the past few days to contemplate actions in the ladies' room, I'd like to enquire as to who, exactly, these 'pro's might be.
I must admit my creative and intellectual limitations when I say that I can only think of two broad categories of employment in which one would have greater than the normal amount of experience and could be construed as 'pro's in the action of sticking things up kittens - who's comfort, then, were you thinking of? Perhaps a physician? I can tell you from experience that they are not necessarily concerned with my comfort (speculum, I'm looking at YOU), and as such, I am less compelled to purchase your product on their assurances.
I can only, then, assume that you might mean the working girl, who, we might acknowledge, does have experience with the aforementioned activities. I can only imagine what that client focus group might have gone like. In most areas of my life, I would argue that the working girl might not be the best model for choices, but in this particular instance, would like to thank you both. I appreciate your hard work and selflessnes in research to find the best solution for us all.
Until next time - Katie.
I've been a user now, for well, longer than I haven't. Well, hold on, I'm doing the exact calculations, and, including pregnancies and what-not, nope, still, more on that off, if you know what I mean. And I know that you do. But enough about me and my age.
What I'm writing about is your recent change in packaging, and, if I understand correctly, makeup of the coating of your product. I, as much as any, appreciate something that would be more comfortable, I really, really do. What I'd really like to question, however, is the decision of your marketing team to describe your newly designed product as 'pro-comfort'. Given that I might have a bit too much time over the past few days to contemplate actions in the ladies' room, I'd like to enquire as to who, exactly, these 'pro's might be.
I must admit my creative and intellectual limitations when I say that I can only think of two broad categories of employment in which one would have greater than the normal amount of experience and could be construed as 'pro's in the action of sticking things up kittens - who's comfort, then, were you thinking of? Perhaps a physician? I can tell you from experience that they are not necessarily concerned with my comfort (speculum, I'm looking at YOU), and as such, I am less compelled to purchase your product on their assurances.
I can only, then, assume that you might mean the working girl, who, we might acknowledge, does have experience with the aforementioned activities. I can only imagine what that client focus group might have gone like. In most areas of my life, I would argue that the working girl might not be the best model for choices, but in this particular instance, would like to thank you both. I appreciate your hard work and selflessnes in research to find the best solution for us all.
Until next time - Katie.
Friday, October 2, 2009
September Wrapup
oh goodness, I can't focus.
September, my dears, almost killed me. Seriously. It really, really did, with its huge stresses of two (!) new care providers, and negotiated changes to bus routes, and school, and Grammar exams, and interviews, and Doctor's appointments - mine and care providers', and a half marathon, and visits to and from family, and you know, some work in there somewhere.
Let's just say that it's a pretty good thing that boss-man apparently likes me, because the work/life pendulum has been swung away from him all month. Sorry, boss-man.
What I can say is this: October looks pretty good so far. The new care provider is good and MlleL seems to really enjoy being there - except for the double drop, which gets me to work late every morning - bus routes were changed in time for the first day of school, school is awesome (MlleL loves it. And is learning crazy new stuff every, every day), Grammar exam was passed (woooot)!, Interviews completed, Doctor's appointments attended, visits with family joyous.
Oh. The half? You'd like to hear more about that?
Well. It began bright and early on a sunny and cool September 20th, when I stopped by Janey's to pick her up at 8:15. Start time was 9:00 - and we were there in plenty of time this time not to have to jump fences and elbow our way into the crowd far from our intended corral (Ottawa 10k, I'm looking at you.) The start cannon scared us all, and a few moments later, we were off. About four blocks into 21.1k, Janey looked back over her shoulder as she always does and waved, and I blew her a kiss like I always do and I wouldn't see her again until I crossed the finish line, standing waiting for me after the medals with the biggest grin I've seen in a long, long time and a super sweaty and pretty teary hug. It will shine for me as one of the best moments of achievement in my life, and I'm so, so happy to have been able to share it like that. Sigh.
Mrs. Maiden drove down from Places North to see it - but was too teary eyed herself to see me cross. Well, she saw, but didn't recognize me until I was standing just on the other side of the fence yelling "MOM!"
Oh, the run?
Yeah. It was really, really long, but I ran it every step. Maybe you saw me? In the back of the pack with the shades on? I smiled the whole way.
September, my dears, almost killed me. Seriously. It really, really did, with its huge stresses of two (!) new care providers, and negotiated changes to bus routes, and school, and Grammar exams, and interviews, and Doctor's appointments - mine and care providers', and a half marathon, and visits to and from family, and you know, some work in there somewhere.
Let's just say that it's a pretty good thing that boss-man apparently likes me, because the work/life pendulum has been swung away from him all month. Sorry, boss-man.
What I can say is this: October looks pretty good so far. The new care provider is good and MlleL seems to really enjoy being there - except for the double drop, which gets me to work late every morning - bus routes were changed in time for the first day of school, school is awesome (MlleL loves it. And is learning crazy new stuff every, every day), Grammar exam was passed (woooot)!, Interviews completed, Doctor's appointments attended, visits with family joyous.
Oh. The half? You'd like to hear more about that?
Well. It began bright and early on a sunny and cool September 20th, when I stopped by Janey's to pick her up at 8:15. Start time was 9:00 - and we were there in plenty of time this time not to have to jump fences and elbow our way into the crowd far from our intended corral (Ottawa 10k, I'm looking at you.) The start cannon scared us all, and a few moments later, we were off. About four blocks into 21.1k, Janey looked back over her shoulder as she always does and waved, and I blew her a kiss like I always do and I wouldn't see her again until I crossed the finish line, standing waiting for me after the medals with the biggest grin I've seen in a long, long time and a super sweaty and pretty teary hug. It will shine for me as one of the best moments of achievement in my life, and I'm so, so happy to have been able to share it like that. Sigh.
Mrs. Maiden drove down from Places North to see it - but was too teary eyed herself to see me cross. Well, she saw, but didn't recognize me until I was standing just on the other side of the fence yelling "MOM!"
Oh, the run?
Yeah. It was really, really long, but I ran it every step. Maybe you saw me? In the back of the pack with the shades on? I smiled the whole way.
Friday, September 25, 2009
putting a name on the secret
Dudes.
I'm a guinea pig.
It began with that secret I told you about, and swiftly (well, you know, for a dermatologist) turned into a trip to a dermatologist and allergy testing.
When we had the appointment on Wednesday, the Doctor was very animated, indicating she thought that I would be an 'excellent case' and very well may result in her publishing the results. Awesome! I'm gonna be famous!!!
I thought we were talking about 10 or 15 test spots. We were actually talking about more than 125. And surgical tape from my shoulders to my waistband. Meanwhile, I'll be here until Monday with my entire back looking like the result of an alien attack, and trying to bathe without getting it wet.
Short of the bugs'n'honey diet, I'm beginning to feel much in common with John the Baptist and his hair shirt.
In short, it's not nice. It's a little too warm, very, very itchy, and a constant reminder of my evil deeds through shopping.
I'm a guinea pig.
It began with that secret I told you about, and swiftly (well, you know, for a dermatologist) turned into a trip to a dermatologist and allergy testing.
When we had the appointment on Wednesday, the Doctor was very animated, indicating she thought that I would be an 'excellent case' and very well may result in her publishing the results. Awesome! I'm gonna be famous!!!
I thought we were talking about 10 or 15 test spots. We were actually talking about more than 125. And surgical tape from my shoulders to my waistband. Meanwhile, I'll be here until Monday with my entire back looking like the result of an alien attack, and trying to bathe without getting it wet.
Short of the bugs'n'honey diet, I'm beginning to feel much in common with John the Baptist and his hair shirt.
In short, it's not nice. It's a little too warm, very, very itchy, and a constant reminder of my evil deeds through shopping.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Homesick
I have heard a constant inner complaint for years - a half forgotten recurring dream.
As I'm walking to the bathroom at the office, I'll hear the sigh "I need to get out of here; I want to go home." "But," I tell it, "We like this new job. We really just need to finish the note. We'll go home when it's time. Concentrate."
Running up the stairs to the kids' bedroom, I hear "I wanna go home." "umm," I point out, "we are?"
It's an index card that pops up during times of mental inactivity. We are home, I tell it. We live here. I don't understand.
Janey wrote a love note to her quasi-hometown a while ago. While trying to think of what I would say of the place I spent part of my summer vacation running through, I just felt anger. Sure, we'd been going there since I was young, but it's so buried in resentment now, I have a hard time feeling the joys and freedoms we had as kids - running free for a week with spending money, eating all the egg rolls, ice cream and candy we wanted.
You're too young, they said twenty years ago. When you were a baby, and we went to BigBrother's kindergarten graduation, you cried from the noise. University would overwhelm you. You will come with us, and go to grade 13. In a year, you'll be older, and go to the University we've chosen. They accept grade 13 as University courses.
Fresh from the defeat of running past the cemetery (twice) and up hill both ways for 10 miles, through a community of people who do not recognize me, I hit the wall of why I could not write a love note to this place I have lived, on and off, for 25 years.
It is my prison. My tower. I have struggled for years to get past the feeling of being spirited away to a place not of my choosing (fat lot of good that did - just like Rapunzel, I found my own trouble). I have not.
And I don't think if you asked Rapunzel to write a love note she could either. Even if she loved the witch very much, and was happy with the way things turned out in the end, and used up her vacation time to return with her children every summer so that they could all be together as a family.
"Finally," said the voice, as I stood on the beach in South Haven and looked at the lighthouse, "You wouldn't listen."
"I couldn't," I said, as I drove away.
As I'm walking to the bathroom at the office, I'll hear the sigh "I need to get out of here; I want to go home." "But," I tell it, "We like this new job. We really just need to finish the note. We'll go home when it's time. Concentrate."
Running up the stairs to the kids' bedroom, I hear "I wanna go home." "umm," I point out, "we are?"
It's an index card that pops up during times of mental inactivity. We are home, I tell it. We live here. I don't understand.
Janey wrote a love note to her quasi-hometown a while ago. While trying to think of what I would say of the place I spent part of my summer vacation running through, I just felt anger. Sure, we'd been going there since I was young, but it's so buried in resentment now, I have a hard time feeling the joys and freedoms we had as kids - running free for a week with spending money, eating all the egg rolls, ice cream and candy we wanted.
You're too young, they said twenty years ago. When you were a baby, and we went to BigBrother's kindergarten graduation, you cried from the noise. University would overwhelm you. You will come with us, and go to grade 13. In a year, you'll be older, and go to the University we've chosen. They accept grade 13 as University courses.
Fresh from the defeat of running past the cemetery (twice) and up hill both ways for 10 miles, through a community of people who do not recognize me, I hit the wall of why I could not write a love note to this place I have lived, on and off, for 25 years.
It is my prison. My tower. I have struggled for years to get past the feeling of being spirited away to a place not of my choosing (fat lot of good that did - just like Rapunzel, I found my own trouble). I have not.
And I don't think if you asked Rapunzel to write a love note she could either. Even if she loved the witch very much, and was happy with the way things turned out in the end, and used up her vacation time to return with her children every summer so that they could all be together as a family.
"Finally," said the voice, as I stood on the beach in South Haven and looked at the lighthouse, "You wouldn't listen."
"I couldn't," I said, as I drove away.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Whew.
Ok. So you can check me out on the Facebook.
I'm tagged in a few photos. You'll know me because I'm the one grinning like a fool. Let's just say that I waited 20 damn years for that whole "early bloom, early rot" thing, and I may have been a little gloaty to see it finally happen. Heh. (Mrs. Maiden, also on the Facebook, just called me to congratulate me on my late bloom.)
Did you know that the only body part that does not change size from birth is a persons eyes? That's why babies eyes look so large - they'll be exaclty like that all through life.
Looking into eyes that known me since grade 6 - that's a pretty significant thing. They knew me before puberty, before braces - and although we've not been in touch in 20 years (and frankly, thank god for name tags) the affection in the room was palpable. I haven't hurt that much from laughing in a long time.
I learned some lessons: I saw what it was like to have been a mean girl in high school, and then come to the reunion. (It looks pretty lonely, actually.)
I've learned how to live with my head held high despite everything (from the little sister of the only 'out' guy in a really small, really conservative town), how enthusiasm for others is the key to relationships, and what lasting friendship looks like after more than 20 years. (Thanks, Katie! Love you!)
It was amazing.
It was heart breaking to leave. 36 hours was not nearly enough. I didn't get to the beach (it was raining) and I didn't get ice cream.
I don't think I'd choose to live there - there's not that many public service jobs there - but it's my home. And you know what? Husband has agreed that a week in a beach house might just be a perfect family vacation.
How awesome is that???
I'm tagged in a few photos. You'll know me because I'm the one grinning like a fool. Let's just say that I waited 20 damn years for that whole "early bloom, early rot" thing, and I may have been a little gloaty to see it finally happen. Heh. (Mrs. Maiden, also on the Facebook, just called me to congratulate me on my late bloom.)
Did you know that the only body part that does not change size from birth is a persons eyes? That's why babies eyes look so large - they'll be exaclty like that all through life.
Looking into eyes that known me since grade 6 - that's a pretty significant thing. They knew me before puberty, before braces - and although we've not been in touch in 20 years (and frankly, thank god for name tags) the affection in the room was palpable. I haven't hurt that much from laughing in a long time.
I learned some lessons: I saw what it was like to have been a mean girl in high school, and then come to the reunion. (It looks pretty lonely, actually.)
I've learned how to live with my head held high despite everything (from the little sister of the only 'out' guy in a really small, really conservative town), how enthusiasm for others is the key to relationships, and what lasting friendship looks like after more than 20 years. (Thanks, Katie! Love you!)
It was amazing.
It was heart breaking to leave. 36 hours was not nearly enough. I didn't get to the beach (it was raining) and I didn't get ice cream.
I don't think I'd choose to live there - there's not that many public service jobs there - but it's my home. And you know what? Husband has agreed that a week in a beach house might just be a perfect family vacation.
How awesome is that???
Monday, August 17, 2009
Every day victories
Dudes.
In rereading the entries for the past month or so, it would seem I've been having a tough time. That's a misrepresentation. I feel in a good place; it's been a great summer, so I think I might be just finding written inspiration in my battles lately, instead of victories.
So here are some delicious victories to remind me of the summer I'm really having.
I'll be an honest to goodness auntie in late October. I'm already lucky enough to be an auntie to 6 really cool nieces and nephews, but this one will be the first baby from the Maidens (we got a ready-made nephew a few years ago in the really sweet two for one deal that was BigBrother's wedding). It's pretty exciting. I look forward to more Skype viewings soon.
In mid-July, Mrs. Maiden came to visit on her way to more healing touch training in Arizona. She stayed a day, which I was able to take off to be with her while the kids were in daycare. I had hoped to spend part of the day peeling the deadfish wallpaper in the upstairs bathroom, but as that took such a short time, we actually painted the whole room - and changed out the accessories to achieve fish eradication and new look in one day. Yipee!!
At the end of the month, she returned to care for the kids for a week while Husband and I planned to do foundation repairs. Unfortunately, as it rained each day, we were unable to dig, but what we did do was spend four days finishing all the carpentry work and prepping to allow us to finish painting the foyer, staircase and upper landing of the house - FINALLY - after 4 years of living here and two years of living with a partially scraped and prepped staircase which made me cringe just a little whenever someone new came to the house. A major, major accomplishment.
Oh, my goodness, it's delicious. The fish are gone. The decals also. As Janey said when we first bought the house - it's a matter of scrubbing out the crazy. (The sun, however, in all its subterranean glory, remains blissfully unaware of the fate which is slowly, but surely coming its way.)
Sundays I'm up when the kids are up (usually, husband takes the early shift on the weekends to let me sleep to 8. It's an amazing gift.) to do my distance training run. Doing it at the crack of dawn lets me have more of a family day with everyone, and allows time for essentials like rest, laundry and groceries. Usually, as I leave, MlleL and Husband chant "go, mama, go! go, mama, go!" (MasterP has simplified that to go, go, gooooooo!) It's tremendous motivation for me, and helps me get out the door. Yesterday morning, after my puttering around for a half hour or so - folding a load of laundry, having a snack, getting my road id on, and ensuring my iPod has juice - MasterP started his chant early, before I even had shoes on, and pushed me towards the door. "Go, go, gooo!" he crouched down and yelled through the window of the screen door as I walked out the carport, "Go, go, goooooo!" he yelled shutting the inside door.
In rereading the entries for the past month or so, it would seem I've been having a tough time. That's a misrepresentation. I feel in a good place; it's been a great summer, so I think I might be just finding written inspiration in my battles lately, instead of victories.
So here are some delicious victories to remind me of the summer I'm really having.
I'll be an honest to goodness auntie in late October. I'm already lucky enough to be an auntie to 6 really cool nieces and nephews, but this one will be the first baby from the Maidens (we got a ready-made nephew a few years ago in the really sweet two for one deal that was BigBrother's wedding). It's pretty exciting. I look forward to more Skype viewings soon.
In mid-July, Mrs. Maiden came to visit on her way to more healing touch training in Arizona. She stayed a day, which I was able to take off to be with her while the kids were in daycare. I had hoped to spend part of the day peeling the deadfish wallpaper in the upstairs bathroom, but as that took such a short time, we actually painted the whole room - and changed out the accessories to achieve fish eradication and new look in one day. Yipee!!
At the end of the month, she returned to care for the kids for a week while Husband and I planned to do foundation repairs. Unfortunately, as it rained each day, we were unable to dig, but what we did do was spend four days finishing all the carpentry work and prepping to allow us to finish painting the foyer, staircase and upper landing of the house - FINALLY - after 4 years of living here and two years of living with a partially scraped and prepped staircase which made me cringe just a little whenever someone new came to the house. A major, major accomplishment.
Oh, my goodness, it's delicious. The fish are gone. The decals also. As Janey said when we first bought the house - it's a matter of scrubbing out the crazy. (The sun, however, in all its subterranean glory, remains blissfully unaware of the fate which is slowly, but surely coming its way.)
Sundays I'm up when the kids are up (usually, husband takes the early shift on the weekends to let me sleep to 8. It's an amazing gift.) to do my distance training run. Doing it at the crack of dawn lets me have more of a family day with everyone, and allows time for essentials like rest, laundry and groceries. Usually, as I leave, MlleL and Husband chant "go, mama, go! go, mama, go!" (MasterP has simplified that to go, go, gooooooo!) It's tremendous motivation for me, and helps me get out the door. Yesterday morning, after my puttering around for a half hour or so - folding a load of laundry, having a snack, getting my road id on, and ensuring my iPod has juice - MasterP started his chant early, before I even had shoes on, and pushed me towards the door. "Go, go, gooo!" he crouched down and yelled through the window of the screen door as I walked out the carport, "Go, go, goooooo!" he yelled shutting the inside door.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Reunion -7days
On Monday, it seemed everything was cast against it, the family trip to the 20th high school reunion.
As he had several times before, Husband suggested again that I go on my own - flying to Detroit and then driving across state with Katie B. I refused it, as I had the other times, out of guilt.
But on Tuesday, after a particularly draining and fruitless session at the Passport Office as the only Valentine with a current passport, I let myself consider that option. I priced tickets (just over $800 or so) and let myself imagine a four day trip as a single woman. I thought about the books I might bring to amuse myself on the plane. (what are people reading now?) I rolled it around in my mouth, tasting the hours of peaceful window shopping between flights and the iced coffees I could have with no whining or tantrums. I thought of three nights in a bed to myself and three mornings without 6 AM wake up calls. I may also have imagined what going out free from that wakeup call might feel like, as well as a guilt-free distance run along the beach in the cool of the morning.
I thought I might like how that would taste.
But then Husband said that he did really want to go. And the tide was changed. We would make the drive after all, covering what is sure to be over 30 hours of driving in a four day weekend....
Besides. I'd have been lonely, right? And the ability to show my kids where Mama grew up and swim with them on the same beaches that I did at their age is worth all that.
RIGHT?
As he had several times before, Husband suggested again that I go on my own - flying to Detroit and then driving across state with Katie B. I refused it, as I had the other times, out of guilt.
But on Tuesday, after a particularly draining and fruitless session at the Passport Office as the only Valentine with a current passport, I let myself consider that option. I priced tickets (just over $800 or so) and let myself imagine a four day trip as a single woman. I thought about the books I might bring to amuse myself on the plane. (what are people reading now?) I rolled it around in my mouth, tasting the hours of peaceful window shopping between flights and the iced coffees I could have with no whining or tantrums. I thought of three nights in a bed to myself and three mornings without 6 AM wake up calls. I may also have imagined what going out free from that wakeup call might feel like, as well as a guilt-free distance run along the beach in the cool of the morning.
I thought I might like how that would taste.
But then Husband said that he did really want to go. And the tide was changed. We would make the drive after all, covering what is sure to be over 30 hours of driving in a four day weekend....
Besides. I'd have been lonely, right? And the ability to show my kids where Mama grew up and swim with them on the same beaches that I did at their age is worth all that.
RIGHT?
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Dear sub-conscious:
To note, I'd like to thank you for your recent suggestion regarding my colleague. I appreciate your interest and concern and will remain vigilant. While I would very much welcome it, I'd be pretty surprised if a situation arose such that I, that colleague, and the lovely Dr. W would be on a work symposium involving much introspection and what would appear to be quite a bit of shopping and consumption of alcohol (in a mall/hotel that resembles a very, very large grotto). That being said, I will do my best to remain alert. Additionally, I doubt very highly that my colleague drives a truck. (Although colleague is from the west, so maybe you're right. Hard to tell. I'd ask, but then I'd have to explain why.....)
I also thank you for your repeated reminders of what it would feel like to forget to wear a top to meetings and exercise classes. I can assure you that aside from that one time at Janey's house, this problem has never arisen, and I will strive to keep my record of (relatively) successful self clothing intact. And no, I do not agree with your theory that repeated trips to the locker room to don successive layers would result in less people noticing. If I ever do find myself topless while in cobra pose, I think I'll just put everything on at once and be done with it.
Looking forward to working with you again at your earliest convenience,
I remain,
Your body.
I also thank you for your repeated reminders of what it would feel like to forget to wear a top to meetings and exercise classes. I can assure you that aside from that one time at Janey's house, this problem has never arisen, and I will strive to keep my record of (relatively) successful self clothing intact. And no, I do not agree with your theory that repeated trips to the locker room to don successive layers would result in less people noticing. If I ever do find myself topless while in cobra pose, I think I'll just put everything on at once and be done with it.
Looking forward to working with you again at your earliest convenience,
I remain,
Your body.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)