I'm not a back. I'm a back pain

I thought I was back. Turns out, I'm back out. As in, threw my back out! Baaah!!! I rested my foot for a few weeks after this half marathon. Then I ran a lil tiny lil bit, and then my back went out. I am complaining here because I have not complained in my real life to anyone. Going on three weeks this wretched pain has been restricting my movement, my quality of life, and making me nauseous. It keeps moving around from spot to spot. I finally saw my chiropractor this morning and she told me...I overdid it on the run. Well. Sigh. I guess I didn't train properly. I thought I did. 

Waah. Boohoo. The days are short. It gets dark early. It's too cold to bring the kids out even for short runs. And the double wide stroller has a flat anyway. Poop soup. :-(

I'll just have to suck it up buttercup!!!

Sprint Triathlon; A Retrospect

SWIM!
The pinnacle moment finally came. All that training. YEARS of waiting. Two pregnancies in three years behind me and I could at last DO this. I was ankle deep in the cold and murky Merrimack water. Excited, but oddly calm. This was it. I waded out into the water, stumbling in the mud, feet and legs of the swimmers ahead of me in my face. The water was roiling with bubbles churned from the movement of so many bodies. I took a big breath of was what supposed to be air but instead was a lung bucketful of hellacious black frothy riverwater and began sputtering and panicking.
Oh shit, I thought. This is NOT what I thought would happen. I've gotta get the hell out of here. I can't do this! Current's too strong!! Panic Panic Can't Can't Can't!!!

And then, my inner Drill Sargent sprang forth. I love him.

Bullshit! You will complete this race! You will swim to the other side and back. You will breathe. You paid $90 to be here goddammit you are not getting out now! You can and you will. Goddammit move your ass! Swim! Swim!

And so I did. Thanks Sarge. 

But....there's a little trick in open water swimming called sighting. No big deal, just a small matter of looking up to see where you're going every so often to make sure you are still where you are supposed to be. I, who had spent so much focus on my bike and run training, overlooked this simple technique of open water swimming (had been training in the pristine chemically treated softwater of a relative's swimming pool). Our swim route up till the point of departure had been...ambiguous at best. Not even the volunteers seemed to know the route we were swimming, and we received several sets of differing information. The best info I got was from a couple of women who had done the race the year before and said it was just out and back. By the time we got to the actual start of the race, I had heard so much and was so jangled I wasn't sure where the hell I was going but I figured I'd just follow the pack. 

So after the initial panic, I struggled to stay calm and chug through it by swimming ball-ass as fast and hard as I could - in completely the wrong direction. I had volunteers on surfboards yelling at me to turn around- lucky I didn't get friggin' disqualified. And then it happened again. I was halfway to Methuen. I actually probably should've gotten extra credit for swimming double the distance as everyone else. I never have been one to do things the easy way. I fought my way back through the current and was The Last One Out. Everyone who was still standing around cheered. I waved my arms in the air like a monkey champion and flew into the deserted transition area, hopped on my bike. I did have one of the shortest transitions times - that was one thing I managed to practice successfully! 

BIKE!
This being my first Triathlon, I was a novice at all this stuff like "sighting" and "gear". I have a mountain bike that I tool around town and woods with and I figured it was good enough. Leave all that fancy stuff to the Lance Armstrongs of the world, I thought. I'll just make do with what I have and see if I like it. I practiced frequently on the bike course, having home-field advantage, which served me well. I knew where the hills were and  when I needed to shift my two functioning gears. I actually managed to pass someone! I thank god for her everyday. I know, I know, it sounds awful, right? Petty. My only goal was to finish the damn thing, I shouldn't have been concerned about passing anyone. But after the emotional wounds of the botched swim I felt really good about not being last. Sorry sweetie. She had a mountain bike, too. After the race we chatted a bit and both decided to invest in road bikes for next season's races.

I finished the bike feeling strong, jumped off at the transition and hit the ground on jellied legs.  A traffic cop asked me if I was OK. Come ON! I was only a little wobbly. I wanted to swear. 
Inside my Head:  I'm fuckn FINE! You never seen someone fall of a bike before?!
Actually said: Fine, Thanks!

RUN! 
And so I ran. Wobbly at first, then stronger. Now I was starting to catch up with some folks. Other runners on their way back, some chuffing along, some walking even. Sucked down a gross gel (Horror. I have yet to find a good one. Free samples for the blogger, anyone?) I stayed steady and strong, did my out-and-back 5k, and finished strong. I think I could've run even harder, but given that my goal was simply to finish it didn't occur to me to race harder. Especially since by that point I felt like I was running the race alone. 

I stuck around for a few for some watermelon and to applaud the people who won medals. Secretly I was hoping to win a "Slowest Swim" or something of that ilk. I once was on a bowling team and won an award for "Lowest Score" in our division. I've always been proud of that. If I'm gonna bomb, I'm gonna bomb hard. No mediocrity here! I was surprised that they served hot dogs and potato chips afterward. It was nice they served lunch but for the triathlon crowd I guess I expected more...kale? Grilled chicken maybe?  

Well, my family, who had planned on being at the finish line, did not manage to show up. There had been a...err...slight timing error and we missed each other.  So I rode my bike home to a quiet sleeping naptime house and sat in the dark sweating for a while. I felt very strange. I was very disappointed in myself for the swim. I should have been proud of myself for finishing it at all, but I was really hung up on that. There is a post race deflation that a lot of folks experience. I was sad for about a week after. Then I decided to run the half marathon and instantly felt better with a new goal to work towards. Which I did, but was too cheap to actually sign up for, so I did an unofficial one.

And then there's  next year!
Lessons Learnt: The value of sighting and the merits of having decent gear. Open water training is essential. 

Plantar Fasciitis CONQUERED!

After two weeks of rest, I went out for my test run. Two miles with two in tow. Not too bad. Heh.  

I said, "Is it good, foot? 

Foot said, "It is good."  

  Waited a few more days for the pain to return. It did not! Decided to give it another go with the two in tow. As we were approaching the logistical maelstrom of clothing/snacks/shoes/screaming/stroller, I noticed one of my tires on the double-wide jogging stroller was flat.  The little air tube thingy had slipped down into the wheel well, so I could not easily reinflate it. I went for the nearest contraption I could find to try to dig it out which happened to be a very dull pocket knife. Further searching was not an option as there were writhing tantrumming children gyrating across the yard. What happened next was just....dumb. I should have known better, and I DID know better than to use a pocket knife to try to wrestle out the air valve, but in my haste I decided to give it a go. The tire was just low, not flat. Until...I heard an unmistakable pop fizz hsssssssssss. And then it was not just low, but flat. Really Really flat. And broken. I was in such a rush to get out on the road before it got too dark (gets dark at 4pm here now), that I actually attempted tire repair with a pocket knife and popped my inner tube. 
  So  I waited a few more days until I could go out alone. In the nearby state park, most of the frenzy of autumn color has died down into the more somber palette of November. Dark russet and burnt umber replace the vibrant yellows and oranges that make the trees look like they are flaming in the twilight. 

I ran. And it was GOOD.  Aah.

Cake!

The other day while visiting my in-laws, I noticed LittleBoy scrabbling around on a shelf behind the couch. Now, I should know better at this point that when he is quietly occupied with something, it usually means trouble and should be investigated. However, I was otherwise occupied myself by other family members and so relished this brief interlude of calm in order to have a delightful adult conversation.   

LittleBoy appeared before me with his fingers covered in some vanilla-sweet- smelling gooey substance:

He was smiling wildly. I asked, "What did you find behind the couch?!?"

His happy reply, "CAKE!"

Me: Silence, shock, bewilderment.  Cake? Behind the couch? Horror of horrors.

After a quick reconnaissance mission I realized he had dug into a mushy scented candle. 

Yuck. 

I emphasized that this was a candle and therefore not edible. 
(read: DON"T EAT THAT!)
He hadn't really ingested any, but had a grand time smearing the gooey wax around and licking it. The candle was not burning, the wax was not melted, it was simply a particularly soft candle. 

Damage was done. He now believes there is a secret cache of cake behind the couch every time we go there. 

LittleBoy: Cake? Cake? Where are you?

Having a Good Time

Little boy is pretty much potty trained, thank heavens. So yesterday we were flushing some poops down the toilet. 
Little boy said, "Mummy, those poops are having a good time in there." 

I immediately visualized this:

 It's a turd party!

There was absolutely nothing funny about yesterday.

There was absolutely nothing funny about yesterday. It took 2.5 full hours to get them both to sleep. I was on the verge of getting  all Mommy Dearest there for a while. Seriously. New compassion for Joan Crawford. 

I felt like this: Goya. Saturn Devouring His Son

source: http://www.wikipaintings.org/en/francisco-goya/saturn-devouring-his-son-1823-1

http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Francisco_de_Goya_y_Lucientes

Is this funny? Maybe not. But in my chronically sleep deprived state I think it's freakin' hysterical. Ever since way back in art school, I thought the frantic insanity in his eyes was darkly humorous. 

I need to go for a run. With the taper and now an injury, I feel like a neurotic tiger I once saw in a zoo in Singapore. Pacing frantically in its tiny glass walled cell, licking its chops ready to devour.  

Note: I would NEVER actually EAT my children. 

Frenchy Mani C'est La Vie Amelie KidzSleepinintheCar

So I touched up my French manicure with whiteout today. So what? Tacky and horrible, yes. Here's a good way to ruin a mani - chop a few pounds of veggies for an hour or so, make soup and pie from scratch, do the dishes a few times, put the kids in and out of the car a few times, et viola! Chipped. I know, a completely frivolous and impractical thing to have at this juncture in life. But sometimes you just have to do something fun for yourself. This is the second one I've ever had, the first being this summer on Project Runway where I discovered an affinity for them. I have historically been too messy making art, playing guitars, working on projects to have it done. 

I haven't written anything about running lately because I Haven't Been Running. (Insert Tears of Frustration Here)  I have a foot injury. I believe it is Plantar Fasciitis. It is lame. Ha! No pun intended. Well, I'm off it for a bit, icing it and resting. No walks. No runs. No fun. No cuts no buts no coconuts. R.I.C.E.  rest.ice.compress.elevate. For a few more days at least, which is why yesterday this happened:

This is the image in my rearview mirror of two quickly scribbled sleeping children. They screamed all day and afternoon. God knows why. Teething? Tiredness? Tourette's? Normally I'd take them for a run for some air, but being that my foot is dumb we went for a drive. Literally before we pulled out of the driveway they were zonked. It went from screaming to silence in about 30 seconds. I got a coffee and drove around the countryside looking at cows and leaves, contemplating what kind of culinary adventure awaited us for dinner.  

NaNoWriMo? Blog-A-Day-Mo?

NaNoWriMo, which for those not in know, is….

National Novel Writing Month. 

But, I don't know if I have a novel in me. So I will make it......

Blog-a-day-mo.  I venture to find one thing a day that makes me laugh, most likely something my kiddos do, to share with the world and hopefully give others a chuckle too. When I was fresh and new at this motherhood thing, I found a blog that I fully credit with keeping me sane in the midst of chronic sleep deprivation. I'd like to "pay it forward" in a way, and also honor my desire to participate in NaNoWriMo.

I could...
 complain about one thing a day and be a sobbing mess. 
I could...
 get angry about one thing a day and be bitchy. 
OR I could...
 pretend everything is grand and fun in that online manner people have of "look-at-me-having-this-marvelous-time-that-you-are-not-isn't-my-life-so-awesome."   Gaaah. Nope. No thanks. 

I have decided to find that one thing a day that makes me laugh. Laughter is divine. It is good medicine and takes us out of our suffering. It has the power to transform and heal. Those are big demands to make on making fun of my life, but if I can't laugh, I will cry, then the little men in the funny truck will come to take me away. My son has already offered to drive said truck, and he is two.  So, yes, transformation and healing await the readers of my silly corner of cyberspace. I will do my best to serve you well and be as entertaining as possible. 


I'm already five days late, but I will pretend to try to post regularly!

Topography

Well I flippn' DID IT.
I ran 13.1 miles.  I mapped out my course, measured it with a car, checked the road and weather conditions,  and set out to do it. And I did it. I was slow, I didn't quite hit my target time - but hell, I delivered a 9 lb baby earlier this year so I think I will give myself some credit for getting my butt out there instead of focusing on missing my time goal.

I started strong. In fact, the first 9 miles whizzed by almost effortlessly. I was making amazing time - for me - I thought - whoa girl! Slow down if you're going to hold out! The Husband put the kiddos in the car and met me at some appointed meetup spots along the route - and some surprise spots too! It was great having them yell and cheer and random intervals. I drank water the whole time and sucked down a gross gel that actually had fabulous effect on my disposition as I got a little tired. One of the benefits of running an unofficial half marathon, ie; "The My Own Damned Half Marathon" marathon was that I could sleep in a little extra, go when I was ready, get the kids fed first, and head out on my own time, coordinating around feeding times and naps. I left around 11:45 am. I had hoped to pull in around 2pm with a perfectly respectable 10 min mile average.
Down the river, over the bridge, and thru the woods spanning three towns and tons of delicious fall foliage. The weather was crisp and cool - perfect for running. The visibility was great - just mildly overcast enough so that I was not awash in shadows as I ran along the shoulder of the road. Cars could see me well. 
And so for 9 miles I flew along. And it was good. 

Here's something to think about - TOPOGRAPHY. 

You know, hills? 
A little something I didn't consider to heavily while charting my course. Sure, I knew there was a mild grade in the road near the end. I knew there were a few little hills at the very very end. No biggie, I thought. I've run up hills before. They do not scare me. Well, driving up a mild grade for 4 miles in a truck and running up them straight up for the last 4 miles are glaringly different experiences. Needless to say - I began hurting bad. My excellent 9.5 min miles got slapped in the face as I ground down to a shuffling chuffing huff. But the heck with it. I kept going, albeit slow, I talked myself through it and I FINISHED.  My knees yelled at me, "Hey! You are NOT 20 anymore! Whaddya think you're doing to us?!" I told them to shut up they've been through worse marching around the Appalachian Trails of New England and carrying me through two giant pregnancies. They protested, but I slogged on, er, up. I finished. Shaky, happy, sore. My family cheered. I iced my knees and today I feel fine. 

Next time, yes, there WILL be a next time, I will go in reverse order and give myself the lovely advantage of heading downhill for the first 4 miles. I earned it. ;-)

The Legend of the Half Marathon with Three in a Stroller

This true legend was discussed in Train Like a Mother.  Once upon a time, there was a mother runner. She went out for an early morning run with 3 kids in a stroller. One fell asleep the whole time, one was happy telling stories and counting to 100, and the little baby was oblivious, they were all content to sit for a long time, so she... 

just. kept. going. 

This woman, whoever and wherever she may be, should have a statue made and be revered as a warrior goddess. Her children should also be applauded for their endurance and good behavior. Can this even be real? Three children for 13.1 miles?!? I can barely do 2 kids for 5 miles until the wheels fall off (metaphorically). That is just about how long the magical combo of raisins/goldfish/phone apps will take me. I estimate I push approximately 60 plus lbs of children, gear, and stroller. We as mothers absolutely MUST get extra credit for that. Not sure how that would equate into extra mileage, but it MUST count for something besides tenacity, endurance, and the stubborn determination to run.  Surely there is a physics person out there who can factor this all together.

Nice, motivating things I try to remember to tell myself on a run:

"I CAN and I WILL"
"Did deep, go long"  
"Sometimes you just DO things" - Scott Jurek
"Just get on with it" - Natalia Vodianova- unlikely source of inspiration from a supermodel who never runs. She does a half marathon during fashion week for her cause with no training. Mother of 3. She says it's like labor - just get on with it!

I was in labor for 24 hours last time. 36 the time before that. I can run fast for 2.

        ---

I am disappointed. Sunday was the Half Marathon I trained for but missed. I made excuses. I could have done it, but I chickened out. Entry fee too expensive, too long to be away from home with nursing baby. Couldn't have husband and kids waiting around for three plus hours downtown in the cold. The bridge to our house is closed during marathon, so getting in/out would've been a hassle, etc etc. Blah blah blah.  Government shutdown made us broke. Why did I make all these excuses? Can I really be that cheap that I don't want to spend $65 on an entry fee? These entry really fees add up. I keep to a fearsomely strict budget. Christmas and birthdays are coming. I honestly just couldn't bring myself to do it. There it is. 

SO, I resolved to do the My Own Damned Half Marathon next weekend. That's the official name. I planned my route. The fam can see me off, pick me up at the end, and drive by along to the way to cheer & bring me water and see that I haven't yet keeled over. My husband thinks I am crazy. That's OK. I don't need him to get it. I just need him to entertain our small people for a while and bring me a water and maybe a gross gel.

So instead of battling hoards of marathon crowds we got some family pics taken by my pal who's starting up her photo biz. Good luck Sally T. Johnston!  We went to the park. Played hide & seek made dinner. It was actually a really nice day but I couldn't shake my disappointment. It was anti-climactic like when I did the triathlon. I got a kind of deflated feeling after. A letdown. Bah.  
  I've got do it next weekend. I've trained for it, I've prepared, now I've just got to DO it. No excuses. Then I will feel better, right? Because I will have at least satisfied the itch to achieve the goal I have built up in my mind for so many dedicated weeks. 
Slow miles are better than no miles.

There. 

Why I run

Why I Run aka My Longest Post Ever

    When I was fourteen years old I started smoking. My formative years were spent huffing and puffing and chuffing around, wishing I could quit. I was just so damned anxious and depressed all the time, and smoking was... a smokescreen for it all. A bandaid. If only I had known then what good medicine running would have been for all that.  I did try the track team for about a week in eighth grade. Ran my first mile at a meet - then - baaarf. All over myself & the coach. So sorry Mr. Flaherty. So, I decided, sports were not for me and chose the route of distressed and angsty, artsy, chain-smoking grunge grrl. I resigned myself to the fact that I would never really run far or fast or enjoy it. I spent the next 13 years believing that I couldn't and wouldn't.   
     That same year in 8th grade, I learned another thing that would burrow in my mind and become a source of inspiration to this very day, 22 years later.  Mr. Svensen, my geography teacher. Rumor had it he had been a 2 pack a day smoker, gave them up, and ran 9 miles before school everyday. I don't know how accurate that it was - 9 miles is a long way to go before school, but no matter. He was lean and lanky and it seemed entirely possible this was his routine. Etched into my brain that little nugget-o-data was there to stay. A measure of possibility to store away for the future.

    I believe I was a little trouble maker in his class. We butted heads famously. He was very strict, held us to very high standards, and honed my love of travel and culture. I pushed back a lot, but what I needed the most at that time, though I'd be loathe to admit it then, was structure and strictness. Most adults were willing to allow me to get away with a lot, nobody really expected a lot from me it seemed - but he did and he demanded my best. I wish I could find him to thank him. Thank you Arthur Svensen, wherever you may be.  Your inspiration continues to this day! 

Green Blue Green. This is my rhythm when I run. It is TREES SKY BUSHES. GRASS RIVER TREES. LAND SKY WATER. It becomes the rhythm of the earth itself, a little marble spinning in the vastness of space. greenbluegreen spinning. It carries me. This was the rhythm that carried me along my very first 9 mile run, just a few weeks ago. A personal record for distance, and something I never in my life I thought I could do.

     I gave up smoking (the first time) when I was 27.  I had stopped smoking for a few days when I realized a really needed a physical release for my decades of pent up anxiety or I would become homicidal.  My lungs' ability could not match the driving force within me and I was very frustrated after getting winded completely after 1/4 mile. But I resolved to do better, go further the next time. So I did. I made it a half mile. And the next time 3/4 mile. When I ever ran that first full mile - what sweet victory! I didn't care about speed or time - I flippin' DID it! It was pure pleasure - the sheer joy of movement - of commanding my body to do something, working towards a seemingly unlikely goal and MAKING it happen. That was a first for me. It was so sweet. And I felt to good after. So relaxed and calm. What a gift. 

    Sadly, that was the first but not the last time I quit. But I HAD found a new habit to replace the old one - and it stuck. Over the next 6 years I'd smoke on & off, though never like I had up to that point. And I always ran a little further and a little faster. I had setbacks - my Dad died of cancer, three years later I lost my best friend. I'd briefly return to the comfort of my addiction. Then I got married and became pregnant with my first. Quit those buggers in a real hurry! After packing on about 45 lbs during pregnancy I decided then that I wanted to train for a sprint triathlon to get back into pre-baby shape. So I started training and - BAM -pregnant with my second. 2 babies in a span of 3 years. Now THAT gave me some major respect for all the transformative power and strength the female body is capable of. The physical journey of motherhood has been both very humbling and empowering.

    So here I am, running faster and further than I ever thought possible. Make no mistake - I am NOT a fast runner. But I am fast or me.  I go long for me. At this point in the game, I measure my success by getting my ass up off the couch and out the door. Once I'm outside, the rest is gravy.

    Running now has spiritual value for me as well. It is a time to quiet my mind and give thanks. Or to just be present. I observe life. A little girl in a white dress and pink crocks, delicately plucking clover and placing them in her bike basket. A woman sitting on a park bench with an old-school hand held radio listening to french music (Edith Piaf?) being broadcast from the local university. She is smiling gently.  A short, stout, stern looking Asian man with a large growth on his forehead. They are all so real, so beautiful when I run past them. So human. I fall in love with them all, a little bit. I fall in love with people when I'm in that place. All until I almost get run over by some jackass who doesn't stop for pedestrians, but even that makes me...alive. After all the mental chatter ebbs I connect to something greater than myself in a spirit of gratitude. That is - when I'm not too absorbed by doling out goldfish and raisins if the kids are along. My portable cheering section can be a little distracting.

Which brings me to - The Legend of the Half-Marathon with 3 in a Stroller.....

 More on that one next time....

How International Travel Prepared Me for Motherhood

Here's how those 12-16 hour flights to Asia gave me endurance for motherhood:

"Sleeping" on a plane and sharing a bed with sick children are similar. Said "Sleeping" is more like being on standby, rather than actual shut down mode which would equal rest. Unmoving in tight, cramped, uncomfortable contortions is not conducive to any meaningful rest.

Similarities include some or all of the following: 

•  Space Restrictions

• A child/children/seatmate(s) wedged into your very limited personal space

• Physical Obstructions

• A seat arm/stranger's elbow/plastic toy wedged in your ribs/back/kidney
• A face/foot/knee/elbow in your face, implausibly wherever you move your face

• Poor Air Quality

• Hot breath/snoring/stinky flatulence permeating your vicinity

•  Just as you doze off your child/children/seatmate will move and wake you up about every 5-10 minutes for 6-8 hours. Someone WILL cry or mumble incoherently.
• Getting up to use the bathroom is a major athletic event that will require the delicately synchronized cooperation of several individuals

 When the flight/nighttime slumberfest ends and deboarding/debedding process begins, the overwhelming relief and freedom of movement can be exquisite. Celebratory even!   Vertebrae will pop happily back into place. Stretching is blissful. There looms the delicious anticipation of hot showers and hot coffee to rinse away the accumulated grime of travel and/or sweaty sleeplessness. You've groggily arrived at your destination and can now exhaustedly carry on with the rest of your day!  

Government Shut Down

Really? 
Really?

This is unbelievably lame.  This is like two warring parents who are so selfish and really only hurting their children (the American people). I am not going to wax political here. It makes me sick and that is all I will say. I could go on for days, but I'd rather get on with the task at hand.

It seems to have stalled my posting, because, I am embarrassed to say, if the shutdown continues, I am not sure if I can justify the entry fee for the race. What? I haven't registered yet?!? I  know, I know....slacker procrastinator here. I have been glued to CNN all week.  Gross. But no income for the time being, although they guarantee back pay for furloughed employees, that's a well and good, but I can't really justify a $65 fee in the midst of all this madness.


THIS IS NOT A PITY PARTY. Not looking for help. Too damned self-reliant Yankee for that. These are just the facts of the situation. I am still training. I can run my own damn half marathon myself. I could afford it if I really wanted it, but in the light of the recent situation it seems rather frivolous for our budget. I like the excitement and camaraderie of a race. I also like looking up stats and times on coolrunnings. But honestly, this is about proving to myself that I can go the distance so I can go the distance on my own time in my own manner on my own route with my husband & kids cheering from the sidelines.  

Silver lining: Government shut down = more time to train! 
I enjoyed some really gorgeous autumn long, cool, crisp runs last week. 
Government can't shut THIS down, bitch!

Why a blog? Why now? Aren't You a Bit Late to the Party?

Where was this blog when we were potty training? And more importantly, does the world need another blog about the misadventures of potty training? Probably not. I think Amber Dusick has said it all in Parenting with Crappy Illustrations. It is my absolute favorite, and my artistic inspiration. The blog I would like to make if it didn't exist already. Thanks for the many laughs, Amber.

But, being that motherhood involves  lots of poop miss-haps  there will be some of those stories here too.  I have actually wanted to have a blog for a long time, but had some anxiety about whether or not it would be original or funny enough. Then I realize, I don't care. HA! How liberating! I don't NEED a "reason". I just want to DO it. My friend Becky and possibly one or two other people might be amused and so that is good enough for me.  ;-}

Plus, it will keep me accountable to make fun of things regularly and stick to my training schedule. What better use of blogosphere and bandwidth? <sarcasm>

In my obscure little nook of the interwebs, I will have a little creative outlet here for myself and my own amusement. If it amuses others too, all the better. 

Breaking Bad Affectionate Rant

Breaking Bad Commentary - No Spoilers please. 

I am working my way through the marathon on my DVR, and am immensely enjoying the show. Also glad I waited this long so I can plow through them all at once. However!

I do take issue with a few elements regarding pregnancy and childbirth.

Skylar is 40yrs old. Pregnant. Has a back pain at work. “oh! Ow!” Makes a sad little uncomfortable face. Suddenly pops out a kid and hour later. Give me a fucking break. More like 12 hours later, if she’s lucky. A few days after she is running around with her hair done wearing makeup and skinny jeans with her flat stomach. What ?!?!  I call bullshit!!!! nonononono. That’s all Hollywood LIES.

Please. More accurately: Greasy ponytail. Bloated as hell from the IV they forced her to have because of her age and low levels of fluid. NO MAKEUP. Maternity sweatpants cuz that belly still looks six months pregnant. She is also crying for no reason and sitting in a green haze of post-natal flatulence. Smear some baby vomit on her shoulder and NOW we are TALKING! Can we have some reality here puh-leez? They can make the meth heads look authentic enough? WTF?

Oh, also, when she’s like, “Oh hey we’re out of diapers, could you pick some up?” What? When the HELL has anyone run out of newborn diapers? First off, in a previous episode there were literally BOXES of them lying around, people give you metric tons during a shower, and managing baby shit is your primary objective. If you even get down to a dozen you start getting panicky. There’s no all “cas” remark like oh hey we’re out……

It’s more like HOLY FUCK THERE'S NO MORE DIAPERS HOW DID WE LET THIS HAPPEN OHMYGOD! GO TO THE FUCKING STORE RIGHT NOW! There’s no popping in to the pub for a pint. There no BS about 3 stores ran out and now I’m at Walmart. Come ON!

Was That You on Project Runway?

Let's address the elephant in the room. Perhaps he exists only in my mind. 
Yep, that was me on Project Runway. A foray into the NYC fashion world. I am a lazy blogger. I will not give you what you want to know, only what I feel like writing about. I will add links here to the articles and blogs other people wrote. I will happily answer questions.

It was, in a word, uh-maziiiiiing! Thanks to all who had a hand in getting us there! And to Tim and Heidi, and Zac, of course, who were all very warm to us all. 

We were plucked, tweezed, buffed, polished, painted, dabbed, sprayed, trimmed, dyed and blow-dried. There was at any given point a team of professionals making us look camera ready at every moment. I will never long for the hair and makeup perfection of a celebrity because now I know that just off camera are are team - a TEAM of fluttering hair and makeup
specialists just twitching to reapply layers of powder, gloss, and hair spray, constantly & incessantly fluffing fluffing fluffing the hair. Shuushing, I believe, is the technical term.  



If Johnny Lavoy (who is an awesome sweetie by the way) wants to come to my house and do my hair before work, I would be happy to have him. It would be actually pretty awesome if a team of hair and makeup people just followed me around the Learning Commons for a day. Primping while I take attendance, reshelve books, etc. Until then, my brand new L'Oreal Wild Ombré is going back in the messy librarian chic knot. Sorry team. I'll take it out for special occasions like...going to Target. Ha!

*And let's just note here - if I even GET to go to Target alone for a half an hour, it IS a major event that I am thankful for. I'll take it!

Mint M&Ms and Grapefruit juice.

So, HERE'S a bad idea!

Context:
Sneakily and quietly prepping for a run whilst the household slumbers. Can't be banging around the kitchen making a healthful snack! No time! Too loud!


1. Fistful or two of mint M&Ms

2. Wash down sugary crap with nice, thick, cold  grapefruit juice. Nourishing! Refreshing!

3. Go for a run! Take of like a shot down the hill, around the corner, across the street and along the river. In 80+ degree whether. Run like the wind. Run like the dickens. 

aaaaand....HONK.

The Payoff: 2 miles in the most hideous & rank little burps will ensue. Minty Grapefruits? No. Bad.  Now struggle with post sugar crash empty tank for the remaining 2 suddenly sunny and hot miles. Blech.

Summary: Terrible Awful Gross 

Dr.Seuss Says it All

(from One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish)

Well, that didn't work. So much for the "cleaning fast". Yeah right.

The cleaning fast worked in theory only. I simply can't do it. I start twitching. Then there was a sticky spot on the floor. I can't just walk by that all night! 

Spent 2 hours folding laundry. 4 loads. It just HAD to be done. I watched Monsters Inside Me. It's a show about horribly devastating parasites and amoebas that can kill you. Did you know they have the Bubonic Plague in New Mexico ?!?!  I have lived in Colorado & loved it, (God Bless Manitou!) and I have been thru New Mexico several times, just for the record. But now, we will never travel there as a family. Sorry. In fact, all the horrors on the show seemed to come from the southwest. Must have been a southwest special. Finally finished at midnight, then LittleBoy woke me up at 5am for elbow-in-the-eye and ice-cold-feet snuggle fest. Then immediately after snuggling in and falling asleep again he screamed that he had to potty. I have never felt so much like an old horse.

Today I hope to run 4 miles. It is a beautiful, crisp New England day.

Just For Today...

 Just for Today I will not wipe, clean, sort, fold, wash, or otherwise make orderly. I will not sweep, swab, or swish away dirt. I will not tuck, tidy, or make neat. It will be hard, I will be straining to stop myself, but I MUST NOT GIVE IN! It must be done. I must draw in my notebook. I must have a creative outlet. I must loose myself in the music of the spheres and divine inspiration, even if only for the 5 extra minutes I get from not doing those things.

 I had a spectacular tantrum this morning due to excessive and relentless pre-coffee cleaning issues. I roared. It felt great.

Here's the story:  In the predawn hours, Little Boy had a timeout (I am skipping over a few details here, what prompted the timeout, etc) So he sat in the timeout rocking chair for the prescribed two minutes. I knew he had to pee but he refused to go before timeout so I sent Husband in to go check. Et vîola! LB peed all over his pants. Husband proceeded to clean him up and go about the day. 

However, in my prework scramble to get clothes, diapers, toys ready for a day G-ma's house, I came across a surprise! (And please no lectures about prepping the night before, it just didn't happen, ok?)

 A cascading torrent of urine, soaking the cushion, flowing onto the floor, puddles rivers and streams of it. How could he pee this much? Had he not gone in many days? I didn't understand, and in my pre-dawn pre-coffee pre-work mental fugue, I thought Husband had just intentionally left it all for me to clean. For me? On top of the mountains of urine soaked laundry, the mountains of clean and unfolded unsorted laundry, the grime on the floor, the sticky patch in the kitchen, the crumbs everywhere, the piddle in the bathroom, the moldy moldy mold everywhere.......
And so...I.Lost.My.Shit.

Let's just say, things flew around, boxes were kicked, a tantrum ensued.  LB looked on in awe and said in hushed tones, "Mummy - you craaanky." 

Yes sweetie, I am.