I decided recently that it was time to punch up the routine a bit. I've deliberately been very lax about routine since His Highness was born; or maybe it's more accurate to say since I stopped working outside the home when His Highness was just over a year.
Regardless, I now get up at 7 pretty much every day, and I write out a daily schedule for myself the night before so I can remember the things I want to get done that day. I rarely get everything done that I want to, but the majors are usually accomplished and that feels pretty good.
The kids remain a wild card. Ideally they sleep until 7:30 or 8, which is great because it gives me time to groom in peace. And even 20 minutes of grooming in peace does a suprising amount of good for one's sense of calmness throughout the rest of the day. This is especially evident on the days I groom in semi- or no peace, such as when certain 3-year-olds are up by 6:30 and eat breakfast and watch TV for a while, which still lets me groom, but not as peacefully as if they had slept an extra hour. Just saying.
Routine is good for me; I thrive on it. Still, I don't think there's any way to completely control the day to accomplish everything I want exactly how I want to do it. I think it would be dangerous to think otherwise. A day can go like clockwork, but eventually wrenches get thrown in, and one just has to be ready for things to fall apart in any given week. Like when children are especially grumpy from waking up early, and they are yelling at each other and you no matter what you do to try to distract or help or cheer them up.
My kids woke up early today, by the way.
I think one of the constant pulls of parenthood is that balance of letting things revolve around my kids and teaching them that things can't always revolve around them. We do errands, and cleaning, and regular old life, but I don't want it to be at their expense, you know? Within that they need to know their value and their priority and importance over the stuff.
I think we're on our way to a decent equilibrium. Today is full of blips and burps along the way, but I think it's all part of finding our way, and I think we're doing a good job.
Off to Sam's. We have to buy food for the 80 people attending my moms' group BBQ tonite!
Jun 29, 2010
Jun 4, 2010
10 Awesomely Awesome Things About the BolderBoulder...
1. Timing tags--You tie this little plastic thingy to your shoe, and it records your start time, end time, and mile split times. That way if you're running a little late--due to crazy porta potty lines, say--it's still just fine; you can start with whatever "wave" you are able to mingle with when you get to the starting line.
2. Mobile lockers--A shipping company--FedEx, for example--parks a buncha trucks near the start and hands out trash bags. You put your stuff in a bag, they give you a number, and your stuff is driven to the finish where you can claim it after you're done. Well worth the $2 cost, in my opinion, especially if you don't have the fortune (as I did this year) of having personal assistants to drop you off and pick you up and look after your gear. Or even if you do have assistants, and still decide to send some stuff via mobile locker. It's that cool.
3. Live music--Various bands set up along the race route. Rock & roll, etc. The 80's cover band was great. The belly-dancers were undulatory and bare midriffed. The djembes were, of course, awesome (but I'm a little biased there). A young teenager sounded strikingly like Bono to me--that kid had pipes. Speaking of which, the bagpipes were Scot-a-rific. And Elvis was...well, Elvis. He high-fived me, which I thought was cool.
4. Costumes--Folks dressed up as any-and everything. Faeries. Ballerinas; or at least tutu-ed runners. Captain Hook...or Captain Morgan; I couldn't tell which. Pinocchio, complete with strings. Sadly, caterpillars were against the rules.
5. Drink stations, official--According to legend there are margaritas at the drink stations, but dang it if they didn't turn out to be Gatorade instead. I was a little sad about that. Not a lot sad, but a little.
6. Drink stations, unofficial--Much of the route wound through the local neighborhoods, where residents were kind enough to cheer on the runners and offer refreshment. Here the term "drink" should be applied loosely. There were marshmallows via slingshot. Shots of red something or other. I felt it necessary to partake of as much as possible, in order to make the most of the experience. In the approximate order of consumption I had Doritos, bacon (though I declined the Krispy Kremes), and beer (I opted for the Dixie cup rather than the pint-can--I'd have felt bad wasting 15 oz of beer that someone else would've appreciated more). "I thought you didn't drink beer, Skerrib," you are saying. Well, in this case I made a special exception, although I must say it wasn't a very impressive effort. After a promising first swig, I sort of hack-gagged down the second bit. It's probably not a very good idea to drink beer while attempting a 6-mile run.
7. Thousands of running partners--my final, official finish time was 58:11. I was shooting for under an hour, so while I didn't smash my goal, I did meet it. My pace varied greatly, but was always in the 9's as far as mile times, and I felt pretty comfortable (relatively-speaking) the whole race, which is not normal for a 6-miler. I attribute this comfort to all the people and sights along the way. Distraction can be a powerful ally in the world of running. Maybe drinking beer while attempting a 6-mile run is not such a bad idea after all.
8. Athletic supporters galore--the human kind, that is. I got a bazillion cheers and high-fives, and pretty much felt like an anonymous, unknown superstar. The kids, of course, gave the best high-fives. They should just hire children to line race routes all the time. Heck, I should just hire children to line my running routes all the time.
9. Swag bags--I got a reusable lunch bag full of snackies at the finish. I'd have gotten an entire can of beer had I had my ID with me (a hex on the Cat Daddy for discouraging me from bringing it!). Would I have drunk it? Probably not. But I'd have sipped it, for sure. "What's with your obsession with alcohol at a race, Skerrib? This is so not like you." Sorry, it can't be explained.
10. Sponsor booths--Free food. Enough said.
If you are ever remotely in the vicinity of Boulder, CO during Memorial Day I highly recommend this experience. You can run, walk, or any combination thereof--it's much more about the experience than about the race itself. You can even ride in a wheelchair, as long as you provide your own arm-power for said chair. But you get (usually) gorgeous weather, lots of things to see and do, and a little exercise to boot. You can't beat it.
But I'm still pushing for margaritas next year...
2. Mobile lockers--A shipping company--FedEx, for example--parks a buncha trucks near the start and hands out trash bags. You put your stuff in a bag, they give you a number, and your stuff is driven to the finish where you can claim it after you're done. Well worth the $2 cost, in my opinion, especially if you don't have the fortune (as I did this year) of having personal assistants to drop you off and pick you up and look after your gear. Or even if you do have assistants, and still decide to send some stuff via mobile locker. It's that cool.
3. Live music--Various bands set up along the race route. Rock & roll, etc. The 80's cover band was great. The belly-dancers were undulatory and bare midriffed. The djembes were, of course, awesome (but I'm a little biased there). A young teenager sounded strikingly like Bono to me--that kid had pipes. Speaking of which, the bagpipes were Scot-a-rific. And Elvis was...well, Elvis. He high-fived me, which I thought was cool.
4. Costumes--Folks dressed up as any-and everything. Faeries. Ballerinas; or at least tutu-ed runners. Captain Hook...or Captain Morgan; I couldn't tell which. Pinocchio, complete with strings. Sadly, caterpillars were against the rules.
5. Drink stations, official--According to legend there are margaritas at the drink stations, but dang it if they didn't turn out to be Gatorade instead. I was a little sad about that. Not a lot sad, but a little.
6. Drink stations, unofficial--Much of the route wound through the local neighborhoods, where residents were kind enough to cheer on the runners and offer refreshment. Here the term "drink" should be applied loosely. There were marshmallows via slingshot. Shots of red something or other. I felt it necessary to partake of as much as possible, in order to make the most of the experience. In the approximate order of consumption I had Doritos, bacon (though I declined the Krispy Kremes), and beer (I opted for the Dixie cup rather than the pint-can--I'd have felt bad wasting 15 oz of beer that someone else would've appreciated more). "I thought you didn't drink beer, Skerrib," you are saying. Well, in this case I made a special exception, although I must say it wasn't a very impressive effort. After a promising first swig, I sort of hack-gagged down the second bit. It's probably not a very good idea to drink beer while attempting a 6-mile run.
7. Thousands of running partners--my final, official finish time was 58:11. I was shooting for under an hour, so while I didn't smash my goal, I did meet it. My pace varied greatly, but was always in the 9's as far as mile times, and I felt pretty comfortable (relatively-speaking) the whole race, which is not normal for a 6-miler. I attribute this comfort to all the people and sights along the way. Distraction can be a powerful ally in the world of running. Maybe drinking beer while attempting a 6-mile run is not such a bad idea after all.
8. Athletic supporters galore--the human kind, that is. I got a bazillion cheers and high-fives, and pretty much felt like an anonymous, unknown superstar. The kids, of course, gave the best high-fives. They should just hire children to line race routes all the time. Heck, I should just hire children to line my running routes all the time.
9. Swag bags--I got a reusable lunch bag full of snackies at the finish. I'd have gotten an entire can of beer had I had my ID with me (a hex on the Cat Daddy for discouraging me from bringing it!). Would I have drunk it? Probably not. But I'd have sipped it, for sure. "What's with your obsession with alcohol at a race, Skerrib? This is so not like you." Sorry, it can't be explained.
10. Sponsor booths--Free food. Enough said.
If you are ever remotely in the vicinity of Boulder, CO during Memorial Day I highly recommend this experience. You can run, walk, or any combination thereof--it's much more about the experience than about the race itself. You can even ride in a wheelchair, as long as you provide your own arm-power for said chair. But you get (usually) gorgeous weather, lots of things to see and do, and a little exercise to boot. You can't beat it.
But I'm still pushing for margaritas next year...
May 27, 2010
Head-Butting...
His Highness and I have been duking it out lately. Not physically (for the most part), but definitely a battle of wills. He is so very three-and-a-half. I have decided that three-and-a-half-year-old-boy is analogous to teenage-girl. Not exactly the same, mind you, but with several similarities...
--Extreme emotions: This is the one where he is seemingly content one moment, but erupts into screams when I cut his sandwich wrong, or ask if he'd like to wear a shirt with his jammies, or give him a vitamin when he wants to pick it out, or ask him to pick out a vitamin when he wants me to choose one for him. It's not cyclical or all that predictable, except in retrospect when I am wondering why my funny, cool, impish kiddo is suddenly in need of a drink to calm him down--Like beer. Or lithium--and I realize that he stayed up watching TV with the Cat Daddy and then woke up at 6. Then I go "Ah, no wonder. He needs a nap." Which, upon suggesting a rest, triggers more screaming and/or crying, which triggers my response of "Do NOT make yourself vomit!" Which is always a fun phrase to utter in public.
--Eclectic fashion choices: Starry PJ shorts with reindeer slippers. A polo, underpants, and doggie ears. Or just a polo. Or nothing whatsoever. Apparently I am the mother of cousin Eddie.
--Squealing and screaming and giggling, intermingled with periods of angst and drama.
--Chauffering him everywhere: Unfortunately he doesn't even have his driver's permit yet.
--Selective obedience: Awesomely-behaved for everyone. Except Mom.
This was us today: a friend took us to pick up my car from its scheduled maintenance. While I was getting carseats situated and such, His Highness ran inside the dealership. Friend went in after him and walked him out, which he did very calmly until he saw me, when he dumped his cup of water and ran the other way.
Which is all to say that, even though he won't start preschool until the fall, we will be taking advantage of his school's drop-in summer program a couple days per week. I think the time apart will be good for him & me, and I know that Ms. B. won't take any guff. So that's good.
And now I am nodding off in front of the 'puter, so I shall end with my standard ellipses...
--Extreme emotions: This is the one where he is seemingly content one moment, but erupts into screams when I cut his sandwich wrong, or ask if he'd like to wear a shirt with his jammies, or give him a vitamin when he wants to pick it out, or ask him to pick out a vitamin when he wants me to choose one for him. It's not cyclical or all that predictable, except in retrospect when I am wondering why my funny, cool, impish kiddo is suddenly in need of a drink to calm him down--Like beer. Or lithium--and I realize that he stayed up watching TV with the Cat Daddy and then woke up at 6. Then I go "Ah, no wonder. He needs a nap." Which, upon suggesting a rest, triggers more screaming and/or crying, which triggers my response of "Do NOT make yourself vomit!" Which is always a fun phrase to utter in public.
--Eclectic fashion choices: Starry PJ shorts with reindeer slippers. A polo, underpants, and doggie ears. Or just a polo. Or nothing whatsoever. Apparently I am the mother of cousin Eddie.
--Squealing and screaming and giggling, intermingled with periods of angst and drama.
--Chauffering him everywhere: Unfortunately he doesn't even have his driver's permit yet.
--Selective obedience: Awesomely-behaved for everyone. Except Mom.
This was us today: a friend took us to pick up my car from its scheduled maintenance. While I was getting carseats situated and such, His Highness ran inside the dealership. Friend went in after him and walked him out, which he did very calmly until he saw me, when he dumped his cup of water and ran the other way.
Which is all to say that, even though he won't start preschool until the fall, we will be taking advantage of his school's drop-in summer program a couple days per week. I think the time apart will be good for him & me, and I know that Ms. B. won't take any guff. So that's good.
And now I am nodding off in front of the 'puter, so I shall end with my standard ellipses...
May 7, 2010
Angry Tree Huggers They Are Not...
I know I'm not the only person who doesn't like talking on the phone, but does anyone else out there have anxiety about it? Seriously, I've got issues.
I just made 2 calls. One was a bit of a tough call--I had to talk with a member of my moms' group whose dues were, well, overdue. It took me a week to work up the courage to make the call. I got worried about if she might be having trouble affording them, or was mad at the club, or something like that. I stumbled through the call, and I thought of more questions to ask her after I hung up, but overall it went well. Turns out she's planning to pay them in the next couple weeks, so no biggie. I felt dumb for feeling so nervous...but I was still nervous, and I was still SO relieved after it was over.
The other one was to our local botanic gardens to sign up for a fantastic family gardening class. It's a series they've been offering this spring. I'm really good at killing plants, so I thought this would be a good opportunity to learn how to keep them alive, and a fun thing to do with His Highness. We took the first class on how to plant seeds a month or so ago, and we now have a tray of tomatoes & cucumbers in the living room, waiting to be transplanted to the back yard if we ever get a reliable warm season (June 1st, I'm told). The cucumbers might've died while I was away last weekend, but I prefer tomatoes anyway.
The point is this--I was calling about taking a class, one of which I'd taken before. So I was familiar with the process, AND I was familiar enough with the folks at the botanic garden to know how kind and not-hostile they are. They're kind of on the tree-hugger end of the spectrum, and tree-huggers, in general, rarely yell at people who are calling to sign up for a gardening class. And still, after I had a lovely chat with the local tree-hugger and signed up and everything, I realized how nervous I was.
What's the deal with that? I have no idea. I know that I'm a nervous-type, and therefore it seems that I simply get nervous more often (even though I can hide it well). I have to give myself pep-talks for really ordinary things, and sometimes I have to settle for the fact of doing something even though I'm nervous. Because sometimes that's what has to be done.
Anyone else have quirks like this??
PS--I went to the dentist today. No cavities!! Yay me.
I just made 2 calls. One was a bit of a tough call--I had to talk with a member of my moms' group whose dues were, well, overdue. It took me a week to work up the courage to make the call. I got worried about if she might be having trouble affording them, or was mad at the club, or something like that. I stumbled through the call, and I thought of more questions to ask her after I hung up, but overall it went well. Turns out she's planning to pay them in the next couple weeks, so no biggie. I felt dumb for feeling so nervous...but I was still nervous, and I was still SO relieved after it was over.
The other one was to our local botanic gardens to sign up for a fantastic family gardening class. It's a series they've been offering this spring. I'm really good at killing plants, so I thought this would be a good opportunity to learn how to keep them alive, and a fun thing to do with His Highness. We took the first class on how to plant seeds a month or so ago, and we now have a tray of tomatoes & cucumbers in the living room, waiting to be transplanted to the back yard if we ever get a reliable warm season (June 1st, I'm told). The cucumbers might've died while I was away last weekend, but I prefer tomatoes anyway.
The point is this--I was calling about taking a class, one of which I'd taken before. So I was familiar with the process, AND I was familiar enough with the folks at the botanic garden to know how kind and not-hostile they are. They're kind of on the tree-hugger end of the spectrum, and tree-huggers, in general, rarely yell at people who are calling to sign up for a gardening class. And still, after I had a lovely chat with the local tree-hugger and signed up and everything, I realized how nervous I was.
What's the deal with that? I have no idea. I know that I'm a nervous-type, and therefore it seems that I simply get nervous more often (even though I can hide it well). I have to give myself pep-talks for really ordinary things, and sometimes I have to settle for the fact of doing something even though I'm nervous. Because sometimes that's what has to be done.
Anyone else have quirks like this??
PS--I went to the dentist today. No cavities!! Yay me.
May 5, 2010
The One Where It All Got Away from Me...
I was totally gonna write a fantastic post during naptime today. As usual, however, my family picked up on my me-time vibes, and everyone knows that when dogs and small children pick up on me-time vibes they feel compelled to squish the living daylights out of any and all opportunity for said me-time.
As with most everything in my life, I have mixed feelings about me-time. I really, really want to be fully engaged with my kids and to make the most of their small years. Partly because they go so fast and I don't want to miss it. Also because it gives them way fewer opportunities to burn the house down.
And yet...one can only do so many eat-clean-diaper-play-nurse-nap-tidy-diaper-eat cycles before one wants to poke one's eyeballs out. And I enjoy Target as much as most anyone, but when errands are the height of excitement in one's week, one begins to lose perspective on the world and starts melting down over things like losing receipts, dogs bolting out the door on a merry chase, and so on. And then one ends up giving the Cat Daddy a 15 minute play-by-play on a 10 minute breakfast, and how exciting are repeated spoonfuls of Cheerios, really??
Part of the trick for me is discerning what qualifies as me-time. I usually get to shower by myself, but about 61% of the time the kids are going through the bathroom drawers and trying to run the hair dryer while I do this. Does that count? I jog 3 times per week, which helps keep my spirits up a whole lot, and I often get some time to think or pray or whatever. But about 90% of the time I'm either pushing a kid or two in the jogging stroller or watching them from the treadmill in the (fabulous) parent-kid room at the base gym. Does that count?
I think the determining factor is actually pretty subjective. If I feel refreshed, then I tend to think that me-time has been accomplished. Otherwise, no dice.
Take today, for example. The plan was to put the kids down for naptime and have some peace & quiet to look up how to do a crescent-chicken-thing on the pizza stone, and blog about how many nice people I've been getting to hang out with lately. Doesn't that sound nice?
The reality of life intervened, however. In the course of connecting with one friend, another friend dropped by with some books I had ordered. Normally pleasant and easily manageable happenings.
But not today.
In a rapid course of events, the doorbell rang, the dogs barked, and His Highness came barrelling out of his room where he should've been well on his way to dreamland. I opened the door to find my friend, and the dogs AND His Highness all pushed their way out and down the street faster than a speeding bullet. And then the Littler One started crying. So I had to hang up the phone.
Then I grabbed the Littler One and surveyed the situation where half my family was gallivanting along my street. I called for His Highness and had only slightly more success than when I called for Max & Zoe. Finally the neighbor-friend convinced His Highness that the dogs would follow him inside. Eventually. The dogs are so squirrelly that I usually just wait until they run off some energy and come home again.
So we chatted for a while until Zoe came running up. Then Zoe ran back out again. Then we saw Random Neighbor driving around and trying to capture the dogs (in a good way), so we thought maybe we should go outside and encourage them to come in. So finally the dogs were in. Then His Highness went a little nuts. I surmise that this is because he knew he was supposed to be napping, and wasn't, so why not run around like a crazy person and yell and scream and hit?
Now, amid this, there was much rejoicing around the peeing aspect of the potty-training, because His Highness is a certified Master Pee-er, which he ably demonstrated by peeing in the potty and then deciding to run around in nothing but his shirt. Which seems a little odd perhaps, but at this stage of the game, I'm perfectly fine with it.
He is not yet a Master Pooper, however. This, too, he demonstrated by pooping on the floor. You might think, "Um, maybe if you put some underwear on the kid he wouldn't poop on the floor." To which I would answer that, while disgusting, pooping on the floor is less gross than pooping in underwear. Trust me on this.
Unfortunately for His Highness, he just kept unraveling from there. He is currently sequestered to his room until 2012, with a slight chance of early release for dinner, but an almost certain ticket directly to bath & bed after that.
The Littler One really wants me to engage with him, and the Cat Daddy really wanted to borrow my lappy to check his stuff, but I kind of went over my limit for exasperation and tomfoolery, so I sit here stubbornly, nursing the Littler One (which is really what he wanted anyway) and typing one-handed in between steps of making the chicken-ring-thing, of which I finally found an illustration so I'm fairly confident the filling will remain contained.
Did I get any me-time? Well, I don't feel so much refreshed, so I'm leaning toward no. But I got a lot done today. I gave a quick little briefing for my moms' group, worked out at the gym, shopped for groceries, and made lunch before commencing with the afternoon's festivities. And I'm dangerously close to finishing this post. For that I feel glad and relieved.
And I did put the kibosh on the Littler One hanging out in the big oven. Even though it wasn't hot, it just didn't seem like a good idea...
As with most everything in my life, I have mixed feelings about me-time. I really, really want to be fully engaged with my kids and to make the most of their small years. Partly because they go so fast and I don't want to miss it. Also because it gives them way fewer opportunities to burn the house down.
And yet...one can only do so many eat-clean-diaper-play-nurse-nap-tidy-diaper-eat cycles before one wants to poke one's eyeballs out. And I enjoy Target as much as most anyone, but when errands are the height of excitement in one's week, one begins to lose perspective on the world and starts melting down over things like losing receipts, dogs bolting out the door on a merry chase, and so on. And then one ends up giving the Cat Daddy a 15 minute play-by-play on a 10 minute breakfast, and how exciting are repeated spoonfuls of Cheerios, really??
Part of the trick for me is discerning what qualifies as me-time. I usually get to shower by myself, but about 61% of the time the kids are going through the bathroom drawers and trying to run the hair dryer while I do this. Does that count? I jog 3 times per week, which helps keep my spirits up a whole lot, and I often get some time to think or pray or whatever. But about 90% of the time I'm either pushing a kid or two in the jogging stroller or watching them from the treadmill in the (fabulous) parent-kid room at the base gym. Does that count?
I think the determining factor is actually pretty subjective. If I feel refreshed, then I tend to think that me-time has been accomplished. Otherwise, no dice.
Take today, for example. The plan was to put the kids down for naptime and have some peace & quiet to look up how to do a crescent-chicken-thing on the pizza stone, and blog about how many nice people I've been getting to hang out with lately. Doesn't that sound nice?
The reality of life intervened, however. In the course of connecting with one friend, another friend dropped by with some books I had ordered. Normally pleasant and easily manageable happenings.
But not today.
In a rapid course of events, the doorbell rang, the dogs barked, and His Highness came barrelling out of his room where he should've been well on his way to dreamland. I opened the door to find my friend, and the dogs AND His Highness all pushed their way out and down the street faster than a speeding bullet. And then the Littler One started crying. So I had to hang up the phone.
Then I grabbed the Littler One and surveyed the situation where half my family was gallivanting along my street. I called for His Highness and had only slightly more success than when I called for Max & Zoe. Finally the neighbor-friend convinced His Highness that the dogs would follow him inside. Eventually. The dogs are so squirrelly that I usually just wait until they run off some energy and come home again.
So we chatted for a while until Zoe came running up. Then Zoe ran back out again. Then we saw Random Neighbor driving around and trying to capture the dogs (in a good way), so we thought maybe we should go outside and encourage them to come in. So finally the dogs were in. Then His Highness went a little nuts. I surmise that this is because he knew he was supposed to be napping, and wasn't, so why not run around like a crazy person and yell and scream and hit?
Now, amid this, there was much rejoicing around the peeing aspect of the potty-training, because His Highness is a certified Master Pee-er, which he ably demonstrated by peeing in the potty and then deciding to run around in nothing but his shirt. Which seems a little odd perhaps, but at this stage of the game, I'm perfectly fine with it.
He is not yet a Master Pooper, however. This, too, he demonstrated by pooping on the floor. You might think, "Um, maybe if you put some underwear on the kid he wouldn't poop on the floor." To which I would answer that, while disgusting, pooping on the floor is less gross than pooping in underwear. Trust me on this.
Unfortunately for His Highness, he just kept unraveling from there. He is currently sequestered to his room until 2012, with a slight chance of early release for dinner, but an almost certain ticket directly to bath & bed after that.
The Littler One really wants me to engage with him, and the Cat Daddy really wanted to borrow my lappy to check his stuff, but I kind of went over my limit for exasperation and tomfoolery, so I sit here stubbornly, nursing the Littler One (which is really what he wanted anyway) and typing one-handed in between steps of making the chicken-ring-thing, of which I finally found an illustration so I'm fairly confident the filling will remain contained.
Did I get any me-time? Well, I don't feel so much refreshed, so I'm leaning toward no. But I got a lot done today. I gave a quick little briefing for my moms' group, worked out at the gym, shopped for groceries, and made lunch before commencing with the afternoon's festivities. And I'm dangerously close to finishing this post. For that I feel glad and relieved.
And I did put the kibosh on the Littler One hanging out in the big oven. Even though it wasn't hot, it just didn't seem like a good idea...
Apr 20, 2010
Along Country Roads...
I haven't read any Donald Miller stuff in a while, but I'm reading Through Painted Deserts. It's a journal of his leaving home via a road trip with a friend some years back. They took several weeks to drive from Texas to Oregon, where he lives to this day.
I've only read two of his other books--Searching for God Knows What and the ever-popular Blue Like Jazz. I like his style of writing. It's very conversational, almost stream-of-consciousness, and quite poetic at times (The first two make me feel like I could be a real writer. The last one not so much, 'cuz I'm not all that poetic). His words just sort of seem to wander out onto the page. It's deceptive, though, because I think it takes a whole lot of skill to sound so casual while conveying ideas so nicely.
Anyway, he's becoming so popular that I shy away from his stuff a little bit...but I really do like everything of his that I've read. I don't agree with everything he says but, you know, whatever.
The biggest idea I've gathered from Through Painted Deserts is how separating from the fast paced everyday life changed his perspective. It's in the same vein as the standard needs-vs.-wants discussion. He describes it as getting away from the lies that we start to believe when we are watching ads and living among people, such as those that tell us that eating certain foods or wearing certain clothes and so on will somehow fulfill us. Meanwhile, when we get out of the marketing bombardment we find so much to enjoy in the things God has put right in front of us. Like nature, sunrises, and such.
It's good timing because I've been thinking along those lines lately. The other night I took out the trash and it was the perfect kind of night for doing such a thing: chilly but not frigid and dark enough to see a few stars, but sort of bright as far as nighttime skies go. I was outside maybe 30 seconds but I slowed enough to take it in and be aware of the quiet and the beauty.
A week or so ago I ran with a friend. She did 10 miles because she's training for a marathon in the fall. I am not training for a marathon in the fall but I am training for a 10K in a month, so the Cat Daddy dropped me (and the Littler One, safely strapped into the single jogger) off at her halfway point, and we did the second 5 miles together. Nearly half the run was along a quiet stretch of road looking down upon the whole city, so while it wasn't all that early it was still calm and lovely, and reminiscent of the sunrise runs I used to take back in the day (and plan to take again eventually). We were talking about the simplicity of running. That's one of the things I love about it--grab a pair of running shoes and you're good to go. No extra equipment or gear to lug around. At least, none that's required. You can get into headphones and heart rate monitors and all sorts of fun stuff, but you don't need those things to go for a run.
When we reached her house, we high fived as her husband brought out tall glasses of water for us, and then we basked in the endorphins a bit before stretching out and getting back to the grind of chores and screaming kiddos.
The thing I love about morning runs is doing something that is just for me as the first task of the day. After I finish my run I'm more ready to take on the regular grind (other than wanting to take a nap, that is). It's another little way of sticking it to the man a little bit...
I've only read two of his other books--Searching for God Knows What and the ever-popular Blue Like Jazz. I like his style of writing. It's very conversational, almost stream-of-consciousness, and quite poetic at times (The first two make me feel like I could be a real writer. The last one not so much, 'cuz I'm not all that poetic). His words just sort of seem to wander out onto the page. It's deceptive, though, because I think it takes a whole lot of skill to sound so casual while conveying ideas so nicely.
Anyway, he's becoming so popular that I shy away from his stuff a little bit...but I really do like everything of his that I've read. I don't agree with everything he says but, you know, whatever.
The biggest idea I've gathered from Through Painted Deserts is how separating from the fast paced everyday life changed his perspective. It's in the same vein as the standard needs-vs.-wants discussion. He describes it as getting away from the lies that we start to believe when we are watching ads and living among people, such as those that tell us that eating certain foods or wearing certain clothes and so on will somehow fulfill us. Meanwhile, when we get out of the marketing bombardment we find so much to enjoy in the things God has put right in front of us. Like nature, sunrises, and such.
It's good timing because I've been thinking along those lines lately. The other night I took out the trash and it was the perfect kind of night for doing such a thing: chilly but not frigid and dark enough to see a few stars, but sort of bright as far as nighttime skies go. I was outside maybe 30 seconds but I slowed enough to take it in and be aware of the quiet and the beauty.
A week or so ago I ran with a friend. She did 10 miles because she's training for a marathon in the fall. I am not training for a marathon in the fall but I am training for a 10K in a month, so the Cat Daddy dropped me (and the Littler One, safely strapped into the single jogger) off at her halfway point, and we did the second 5 miles together. Nearly half the run was along a quiet stretch of road looking down upon the whole city, so while it wasn't all that early it was still calm and lovely, and reminiscent of the sunrise runs I used to take back in the day (and plan to take again eventually). We were talking about the simplicity of running. That's one of the things I love about it--grab a pair of running shoes and you're good to go. No extra equipment or gear to lug around. At least, none that's required. You can get into headphones and heart rate monitors and all sorts of fun stuff, but you don't need those things to go for a run.
When we reached her house, we high fived as her husband brought out tall glasses of water for us, and then we basked in the endorphins a bit before stretching out and getting back to the grind of chores and screaming kiddos.
The thing I love about morning runs is doing something that is just for me as the first task of the day. After I finish my run I'm more ready to take on the regular grind (other than wanting to take a nap, that is). It's another little way of sticking it to the man a little bit...
Apr 14, 2010
Fun While It Lasted...
So, my sacrum held for a week. Now it is out again. Lame.
I'm disappointed but fully functional, so that's something. It could be much, much, worse--a fact I am aware of, and grateful that it isn't so.
And hey, at least I don't have tuberculosis...
I'm disappointed but fully functional, so that's something. It could be much, much, worse--a fact I am aware of, and grateful that it isn't so.
And hey, at least I don't have tuberculosis...
Apr 7, 2010
Normal Is Wonderful...
For the moment, my butt is in place.
Butt bootcamp went off without a hitch over the course of the latter half of January and all of February. I came away feeling stronger and more fit, which was a good feeling. I also came away feeling awesome, as I had declared myself as such early in the program.
Sportsmetrics involves plyometrics, which is a highly technical term for jumping. It's aimed at female soccer players--high schoolers in this case--for ACL injury prevention. I was a bit of an odd (wo)man out, having been out of high school for a few years, and being there to try to stabilize my butt instead of my knee, but whatever. Hanging out with high school girls made me miss all the great parts about teaching in my previous life. And after I declared myself awesome, they kept calling me awesome. Which was awesome.
Since the end of Sportsmetrics, I've been back for 2 follow-up visits so that the PT could try to whack my sacrum back into place, as it had been out for several months. No dice the first time, but finally, today, she did it. Now, anyone out there in the manual therapy related fields, if you ever want a case study, lemme know because I have it on high authority that I have one seriously stubborn sacrum. And anyone in the Cheyenne area who needs some PT, also lemme know because I can give you names and numbers...these guys are good, I tell you.
My problem seems to be whatever ligament it is back there. Sacro-tuberis? Something like that. The running theory is that, way back in high school softball when I dove backward (more or less) to catch a fly ball and threw it out of whack initially, the ligament loosened enough to make it really difficult for the SI joint to remain stable. On top of this, it took 9 years before the root problem was diagnosed (my main symptom is headaches--not so easy to deduce that my butt would cause them), so that was frustrating. And it seems I have joints which, to begin with, are on the loose end of normal, which isn't necessarily a problem, but throw in a trauma such as a fall and things can get a little hinky. And you can't just up & re-tighten a ligament. In my case the best option seems to be to compensate for the loosy-goosy ligament with muscle strength; hence my myriad exercises and semi-obsession with all things core strength.
Things were good for a while with this approach, but ever since I started having kids it hasn't been the same. It could be that the hormones of pregnancy and nursing (of which I've been doing one or the other constantly for the past 4 years) are keeping my joints just loose enough that the sacrum flops about all willy-nilly. I'm actually hoping that this is the case, because even though it means no certain end to the problem for a while, it also means that there will be an end. The scarier thought is having to consider other medical options involving needles and such, which I would consider, but only as a last resort and I'd have to think long and hard about them.
So I'm not sure how much hope to hold out that my sacrum will hold out. If it follows recent patterns, in 2 weeks it will slip at some random moment as I'm sitting down to use the bathroom or something. This would be frustrating, but not surprising. If you are a praying sort of person, please pray for me and my butt.
In the meantime though, I'm trying hard to keep perspective on the situation and enjoy the relief while I have it. If you hear me murmuring about how good my butt feels, bear with me because it really does feel wonderful when it feels normal.
Aaaaaaaaaahhhhh...
Butt bootcamp went off without a hitch over the course of the latter half of January and all of February. I came away feeling stronger and more fit, which was a good feeling. I also came away feeling awesome, as I had declared myself as such early in the program.
Sportsmetrics involves plyometrics, which is a highly technical term for jumping. It's aimed at female soccer players--high schoolers in this case--for ACL injury prevention. I was a bit of an odd (wo)man out, having been out of high school for a few years, and being there to try to stabilize my butt instead of my knee, but whatever. Hanging out with high school girls made me miss all the great parts about teaching in my previous life. And after I declared myself awesome, they kept calling me awesome. Which was awesome.
Since the end of Sportsmetrics, I've been back for 2 follow-up visits so that the PT could try to whack my sacrum back into place, as it had been out for several months. No dice the first time, but finally, today, she did it. Now, anyone out there in the manual therapy related fields, if you ever want a case study, lemme know because I have it on high authority that I have one seriously stubborn sacrum. And anyone in the Cheyenne area who needs some PT, also lemme know because I can give you names and numbers...these guys are good, I tell you.
My problem seems to be whatever ligament it is back there. Sacro-tuberis? Something like that. The running theory is that, way back in high school softball when I dove backward (more or less) to catch a fly ball and threw it out of whack initially, the ligament loosened enough to make it really difficult for the SI joint to remain stable. On top of this, it took 9 years before the root problem was diagnosed (my main symptom is headaches--not so easy to deduce that my butt would cause them), so that was frustrating. And it seems I have joints which, to begin with, are on the loose end of normal, which isn't necessarily a problem, but throw in a trauma such as a fall and things can get a little hinky. And you can't just up & re-tighten a ligament. In my case the best option seems to be to compensate for the loosy-goosy ligament with muscle strength; hence my myriad exercises and semi-obsession with all things core strength.
Things were good for a while with this approach, but ever since I started having kids it hasn't been the same. It could be that the hormones of pregnancy and nursing (of which I've been doing one or the other constantly for the past 4 years) are keeping my joints just loose enough that the sacrum flops about all willy-nilly. I'm actually hoping that this is the case, because even though it means no certain end to the problem for a while, it also means that there will be an end. The scarier thought is having to consider other medical options involving needles and such, which I would consider, but only as a last resort and I'd have to think long and hard about them.
So I'm not sure how much hope to hold out that my sacrum will hold out. If it follows recent patterns, in 2 weeks it will slip at some random moment as I'm sitting down to use the bathroom or something. This would be frustrating, but not surprising. If you are a praying sort of person, please pray for me and my butt.
In the meantime though, I'm trying hard to keep perspective on the situation and enjoy the relief while I have it. If you hear me murmuring about how good my butt feels, bear with me because it really does feel wonderful when it feels normal.
Aaaaaaaaaahhhhh...
Mar 25, 2010
A Bee In Your...
I've been thinking about my grandma this week. She'll be 90 at the end of this year. She's still pretty dang sharp--lives on her own, drives, and all that. She and my mom do most everything together, which is good because someone has to keep my mom in line.
For probably longer than I've been alive, Grandma's gotten her hair done (as opposed to doing her own styling). The style has varied some over the years, but the basic structure is the same--short, curled, teased, and Aqua Netted in place. This is the sort of hair where you don't take chances. You have a dedicated hair routine at bedtime, a perking-up hair routine in the morning, and under no circumstances do you go gallivanting out in the rain without some sort of hair protection.
Now, being an adult and having my own purse, I can guess at the contents of Grandma's purse, but as a kid I remember a basic few: Wrigley's Spearmint gum, mints, Kleenex, nail file, and the ever-present, never failing, fold-up rain bonnet. Living in Phoenix, she didn't use the rain bonnet all that often, but I do remember it on occasion. It always struck me as a silly, if handy, thing to keep around, but it's one of those things that always said, "grandma" to me, so there you have it. If nothing else, I understood and appreciated its function. And still do.
While I understood the rain bonnet, the thing I never "got" was the plain old handkerchief tied around the head, which I would sometimes see on other ladies. I mean, what on earth does a simple piece of fabric accomplish? It reminds me of women and girls from some arbitrary "Old Country" in WWII-era black and white photos, wearing sensible knee-length dresses, similar to Edith Bunker, along with lace-up shoes and either nylons or simple cotton crew socks, and looking not particularly happy, but somehow joyful just the same. But did they keep the rain out? I think not. Plus now, it's entirely appropriate for ladies to wear baseball caps, or to just tie their hair back with a hair tie or scrunchee.
(Incidentally, I'm pretty sure scrunchees have been way out of style for a while now, but I still wear one on my wrist, and most days it makes its way into my hair by 10 am due to grabbing and such by little hands. I have yet to find a hair tie with the same balance between tension and comfort that I can achieve with the right scrunchee.)
Well, I've lived in Cheyenne for over a year and a half now, and I finally put two and two together with old ladies wearing handkerchiefs on their heads and...the dang wind. Perhaps there's a little vanity involved, but here it's a very little vanity; it's more an issue of not having one's hair yanked out by the roots in the kind of gusts we get. A handkerchief can be tied snug enough to protect one's hair-helmet, without smushing it flat. If Grandma lived up here, I'm certain she would keep at least one handkerchief with her at all times, plus an emergency one hidden somewhere in her purse, in case she ever forgot.
I know that's what I'd do...
For probably longer than I've been alive, Grandma's gotten her hair done (as opposed to doing her own styling). The style has varied some over the years, but the basic structure is the same--short, curled, teased, and Aqua Netted in place. This is the sort of hair where you don't take chances. You have a dedicated hair routine at bedtime, a perking-up hair routine in the morning, and under no circumstances do you go gallivanting out in the rain without some sort of hair protection.
Now, being an adult and having my own purse, I can guess at the contents of Grandma's purse, but as a kid I remember a basic few: Wrigley's Spearmint gum, mints, Kleenex, nail file, and the ever-present, never failing, fold-up rain bonnet. Living in Phoenix, she didn't use the rain bonnet all that often, but I do remember it on occasion. It always struck me as a silly, if handy, thing to keep around, but it's one of those things that always said, "grandma" to me, so there you have it. If nothing else, I understood and appreciated its function. And still do.
While I understood the rain bonnet, the thing I never "got" was the plain old handkerchief tied around the head, which I would sometimes see on other ladies. I mean, what on earth does a simple piece of fabric accomplish? It reminds me of women and girls from some arbitrary "Old Country" in WWII-era black and white photos, wearing sensible knee-length dresses, similar to Edith Bunker, along with lace-up shoes and either nylons or simple cotton crew socks, and looking not particularly happy, but somehow joyful just the same. But did they keep the rain out? I think not. Plus now, it's entirely appropriate for ladies to wear baseball caps, or to just tie their hair back with a hair tie or scrunchee.
(Incidentally, I'm pretty sure scrunchees have been way out of style for a while now, but I still wear one on my wrist, and most days it makes its way into my hair by 10 am due to grabbing and such by little hands. I have yet to find a hair tie with the same balance between tension and comfort that I can achieve with the right scrunchee.)
Well, I've lived in Cheyenne for over a year and a half now, and I finally put two and two together with old ladies wearing handkerchiefs on their heads and...the dang wind. Perhaps there's a little vanity involved, but here it's a very little vanity; it's more an issue of not having one's hair yanked out by the roots in the kind of gusts we get. A handkerchief can be tied snug enough to protect one's hair-helmet, without smushing it flat. If Grandma lived up here, I'm certain she would keep at least one handkerchief with her at all times, plus an emergency one hidden somewhere in her purse, in case she ever forgot.
I know that's what I'd do...
Mar 10, 2010
Stuffy Stuffington...
Today I'm thinking about my war on stuff. Over the years the Cat Daddy and I have had the standard discussions on the ins & outs of stuff. Here's what we've come up with...
Stuff, in and of itself, is not bad.
Wanting to have stuff is not bad.
Caring more about stuff than about people is bad.
(On the one above I was going to say "Caring about stuff more than people or Jesus..." but Jesus is a person, after all, so I left him out. But I didn't really leave him out. Got it? Good.)
Caring more about stuff than about God breaks one of the ten commandments (I could probably put Jesus in this one too, but I didn't).
We like stuff. Not all stuff, or stuff simply for stuff's sake, but we are definitely fond of certain stuff.
He (the Cat Daddy; not Jesus) likes big stuff, good stuff, new stuff and a lot of stuff.
I like good stuff and functional stuff, but not too much stuff.
With some stuff, we will pay more for good stuff.
With other stuff, not so much.
...and that pretty much sums up our overall philosophy on stuff.
Lately, I've been feeling overwhelmed by our stuff. I like being organized, and having a place for everything, and all that, but I think it's also way too easy to get trapped into a constant upsizing cycle, where you get more space to hold your stuff, and then turn around & get more stuff to fill your space. Pretty soon, no matter how organized you are, it's still just a lot of stuff to keep track of. I've been feeling that way lately, anyway.
I thought about areas where I can get some tidying systems in place, and so on. I thought of some FlyLady rules I don't mind sticking to, such as concentrating on one room per month, doing 15-minute quick-cleans, and so on. The Cat Daddy has taken on much of the laundry as a personal challenge, which has been a big help. Still, in the end I decided that the only way to fight the clutter would be to get rid of stuff.
So I've been going through our house again, paring down stuff. I'm not as ruthless as I'd be by myself, but then again I have three other people to consider, so there's that. Paperbackswap.com has been huge--I'd always considered books to be permanent residents, but since I can get new books out of the deal, I'm getting rid of more of my old ones. When all is said and done I'm more or less getting new books for under $3 each, and I feel a little bit better knowing I'm sending the old ones to good homes.
I think next will be putting more pics on the walls. We have a stack of 6 pics we need to frame before we can put them up. Hello, Target.
In this process there's still stuff coming in (new books, picture frames, etc.), but I'm hoping it's efficient stuff. Books that will be read (and maybe even sent to someone else), instead of sitting on the shelf unopened for years. Pictures that will be on the wall instead of cluttering the guest room closet. And so on.
I read an article in Reader's Digest a few months ago about getting rid of stuff that you otherwise might not have considered parting with. The author, for example, gave away a table that had been her & her husband's first woodworking project together. It took a lot of time and some convincing for both her & her husband to be ready to give it up, but in the end they gave it to some newly-married friends who had always admired it. So it was a really meaningful gift, and they knew it was going to someone who would take good care of it, so maybe it wasn't quite as hard to let go.
I'm not, like, selling our bed or anything, but it did make me think a little differently about which stuff I would & wouldn't part with...
Stuff, in and of itself, is not bad.
Wanting to have stuff is not bad.
Caring more about stuff than about people is bad.
(On the one above I was going to say "Caring about stuff more than people or Jesus..." but Jesus is a person, after all, so I left him out. But I didn't really leave him out. Got it? Good.)
Caring more about stuff than about God breaks one of the ten commandments (I could probably put Jesus in this one too, but I didn't).
We like stuff. Not all stuff, or stuff simply for stuff's sake, but we are definitely fond of certain stuff.
He (the Cat Daddy; not Jesus) likes big stuff, good stuff, new stuff and a lot of stuff.
I like good stuff and functional stuff, but not too much stuff.
With some stuff, we will pay more for good stuff.
With other stuff, not so much.
...and that pretty much sums up our overall philosophy on stuff.
Lately, I've been feeling overwhelmed by our stuff. I like being organized, and having a place for everything, and all that, but I think it's also way too easy to get trapped into a constant upsizing cycle, where you get more space to hold your stuff, and then turn around & get more stuff to fill your space. Pretty soon, no matter how organized you are, it's still just a lot of stuff to keep track of. I've been feeling that way lately, anyway.
I thought about areas where I can get some tidying systems in place, and so on. I thought of some FlyLady rules I don't mind sticking to, such as concentrating on one room per month, doing 15-minute quick-cleans, and so on. The Cat Daddy has taken on much of the laundry as a personal challenge, which has been a big help. Still, in the end I decided that the only way to fight the clutter would be to get rid of stuff.
So I've been going through our house again, paring down stuff. I'm not as ruthless as I'd be by myself, but then again I have three other people to consider, so there's that. Paperbackswap.com has been huge--I'd always considered books to be permanent residents, but since I can get new books out of the deal, I'm getting rid of more of my old ones. When all is said and done I'm more or less getting new books for under $3 each, and I feel a little bit better knowing I'm sending the old ones to good homes.
I think next will be putting more pics on the walls. We have a stack of 6 pics we need to frame before we can put them up. Hello, Target.
In this process there's still stuff coming in (new books, picture frames, etc.), but I'm hoping it's efficient stuff. Books that will be read (and maybe even sent to someone else), instead of sitting on the shelf unopened for years. Pictures that will be on the wall instead of cluttering the guest room closet. And so on.
I read an article in Reader's Digest a few months ago about getting rid of stuff that you otherwise might not have considered parting with. The author, for example, gave away a table that had been her & her husband's first woodworking project together. It took a lot of time and some convincing for both her & her husband to be ready to give it up, but in the end they gave it to some newly-married friends who had always admired it. So it was a really meaningful gift, and they knew it was going to someone who would take good care of it, so maybe it wasn't quite as hard to let go.
I'm not, like, selling our bed or anything, but it did make me think a little differently about which stuff I would & wouldn't part with...
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