The day after Halloween, Parker woke up and said, "Trick or treat?!"
Ahhh no SweetP, we only get to do that once a year. Sadly.
As the child of a blended family, meaning my biological parents got divorced when I was about 1 and both were remarried by the time I was about 3. I have three sisters and two brothers, but they are not all part of the same family and range in age from 33 to 19.
This means just about every holiday I have celebrated from the time I was old enough to know the joys of birthday cake, the wonderfulness of Santa and how perfectly paired cranberry sauce and turkey can be, I have blessed with the pleasure of pulling double duty holiday-wise.
Santa visited both my mom's and dad's houses in addition to my Magraw's house and occasionally an aunt or uncle's house.
That Santa is good people.
My Christmas would start on Christmas Eve and end sometime around June, which was perfect since my birthday is in July!
Throughout my childhood, nearly the entire month of November was filled with turkey, family and pumpkin pie. I never tired of it because each family had it's own tradition, it's own take on gravy, it's own rules about who gets the wishbone. There was a sense of similarity, but overwhelming uniqueness.
Now that I am married with a family, we are developing our own traditions, our own gravy and we eat ham on Thanksgiving, so no wishbone rules here.
As I was thinking about all of this-life as a series of celebrations- I thought of how lucky I was/am. I mean my biological parents did me a HUGE favor in ending their marriage. They work best when they are not together. I have a enough siblings to never be alone- ever. I know and am related to a ton of amazing people.
It dawned on me though, the only holiday I never got two of was Halloween.
Trick or treating at my mom's neighborhood on October 31 with that set of siblings was super fun, but if I had ever gone to my dad's house the following day and tried to trick or treat, I probably would have gotten Charlie Brown's leftover rocks.
It is the only holiday I can think of that you absolutely cannot celebrate twice.
Even the Fourth of July can be celebrated at different times of the month without too much eye batting at your hot dog, firecracker Popsicle and the slightly misplaced bombs bursting in air. Just this past 4th my home town had at least 3 different celebrations.
I know Ptreat LOVED Halloween, but I have a feeling days of endless Christmas presents; our house, my parent's house, P's aunt's house, my uncle's house (the list goes on), will help him get over the post-trick or treat doldrums.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Monday, November 1, 2010
Smoke and Mirrors
Confession: I am a Halloween costume GENIUS!
Last year I made Parker's costume using a long sleeved onesie and puffy paint. He WAS Pman.
This year I used an apron and chef's hat he already owned and created the cutest costume in the world, (part 2) again using mostly puffy paint. He was the head chef of the to-be-hit show- "Cooking with P!"
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Last year I made Parker's costume using a long sleeved onesie and puffy paint. He WAS Pman.
This year I used an apron and chef's hat he already owned and created the cutest costume in the world, (part 2) again using mostly puffy paint. He was the head chef of the to-be-hit show- "Cooking with P!"
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I took him around our suburban hood while Josh stayed home to hand out candy (I still have 5 unopened bags left...).
I thought Psizzle would only last a dozen or so houses for trick or treating, but I was wrong. Parker's newest hobby is trick or treating.
He lasted about an hour and walked the entire time. I set up our little red wagon with juice and a blanket because I just knew he was not going to walk the whole time.
Wrong again.
Instead of sitting in the wagon he used it as a dumping station when his loot bag got a bit too heavy.
When we got home, he took 1 bite out of several different pieces of new-to-him candy. We found out that he LOVES Mike and Ikes- the candy I thought only old men and the homeless liked. He can, with expert precision suck the chocolate off a Raisinet and spit out a perfectly whole raisin. Smart kid, raisins are the devil's candy.
Sadly, he does not seem to like Reese's peanut butter cups. I say sadly, because I think they are delicious and he got a lot of them. I guess I will have to eat them all.
Because P's costume was so spectacular, Josh demanded I make him one as well. Using a Sharpe, leftover sparkle puffy paint and a white undershirt, I created this masterpiece:
As a family, this is what we looked like at a neighbor's Halloween party.
Aside from the people throwing the party, we were the only family who dressed up. That is just how the Phillips' roll.
Hope your Halloween was Happy!
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Official Announcement
I was at the MVA (or DMV- depending on your geographical location and/or your generation) earlier this week. After removing my belt in front of 4 old men I did not otherwise know, I walked through the metal detector and made my way to a chair to wait for my number to be called.
While I sat and counted ceiling tiles, I also eavesdropped on an old lady and her relic of a mother have a conversation, at one of the service cubicles, with the MVA employee. The older old lady was so old she did not even have a standard birth certificate.
I heard the employee ask the cotton haired lady, if she had any hearing or vision impairments. She immediately- well as immediate as she could manage- looked at her old lady daughter through her thick as a coffee table eye-glasses and said something that makes, "HUH?" sound eloquent.
I mean I understand old people do not want their driving rights taken away, but it frightens me to core to think of this 142 year old on the road. She was also very short. If you live in my area, be on the look out for a white fluff of hair peering through the steering wheel of a very old Buick going the wrong way down the highway. Or possibly the median.
Why was I at the MVA where time and life stand still? I had to turn in my tags. My Santa Fe has moved onto a land free of toddler hand prints and lollipops. She served us well, but her time has passed.
There is no easy way to say what I am about to say, so I will just supply you with a picture:
I am OFFICIALLY a minivan lover. She's a nice sensible basic model. No DVD player. No GPS. I have a year of free satellite radio, but so far, I'm not that impressed. I have counted 452 cup holders at this point, but I have yet to venture into the third row of seats, so that number may go up.
Right now, Parker cannot reach the windows so they are hand print free. The CD player has yet to be jacked up by my sweetP. And my two favorite features are I can control the radio from the steering wheel (!) and I can hook up my ipod without using the old skool cassette tape connector method.
Although, perhaps I should have sprung for the GPS model. I recently got lost on the way home from a baby shower that was about 90 miles away from my house. Normally for me, a 4 hour trips take 7 hours and a 7 hour trip usually requires an over night stay at a seedy motel and possibly a Sherpa.
Truthfully, it was a difficult bullet to bite. I feel like I've crossed some dividing line and I need to confess and introduce myself to the others. My name is Nikki and I drive a minivan.
I will do my best to stay as cool as I can, but I have a feeling it is all slipping away. After officially purchasing the car I texted a picture of it to my older sister and she said, "Oh, it's not that bad. It looks more like an SUV than most minivans." My sister is good people.
While I sat and counted ceiling tiles, I also eavesdropped on an old lady and her relic of a mother have a conversation, at one of the service cubicles, with the MVA employee. The older old lady was so old she did not even have a standard birth certificate.
I heard the employee ask the cotton haired lady, if she had any hearing or vision impairments. She immediately- well as immediate as she could manage- looked at her old lady daughter through her thick as a coffee table eye-glasses and said something that makes, "HUH?" sound eloquent.
I mean I understand old people do not want their driving rights taken away, but it frightens me to core to think of this 142 year old on the road. She was also very short. If you live in my area, be on the look out for a white fluff of hair peering through the steering wheel of a very old Buick going the wrong way down the highway. Or possibly the median.
Why was I at the MVA where time and life stand still? I had to turn in my tags. My Santa Fe has moved onto a land free of toddler hand prints and lollipops. She served us well, but her time has passed.
There is no easy way to say what I am about to say, so I will just supply you with a picture:
I am OFFICIALLY a minivan lover. She's a nice sensible basic model. No DVD player. No GPS. I have a year of free satellite radio, but so far, I'm not that impressed. I have counted 452 cup holders at this point, but I have yet to venture into the third row of seats, so that number may go up.
Right now, Parker cannot reach the windows so they are hand print free. The CD player has yet to be jacked up by my sweetP. And my two favorite features are I can control the radio from the steering wheel (!) and I can hook up my ipod without using the old skool cassette tape connector method.
Although, perhaps I should have sprung for the GPS model. I recently got lost on the way home from a baby shower that was about 90 miles away from my house. Normally for me, a 4 hour trips take 7 hours and a 7 hour trip usually requires an over night stay at a seedy motel and possibly a Sherpa.
Truthfully, it was a difficult bullet to bite. I feel like I've crossed some dividing line and I need to confess and introduce myself to the others. My name is Nikki and I drive a minivan.
I will do my best to stay as cool as I can, but I have a feeling it is all slipping away. After officially purchasing the car I texted a picture of it to my older sister and she said, "Oh, it's not that bad. It looks more like an SUV than most minivans." My sister is good people.
Friday, October 22, 2010
Panty Ho
I have written previously about my love for the show Designing Women. Mix together Suzanne Sugarbaker and Anthony Bouvier. Stir in the sarcastic wit of Julia and Mary Jo with a dash of Charlene's innocence and who would not swoon with delight. A heartless, humorless sap that's who.
One episode in particular still makes me laugh to myself a little when I think about it. Charlene just had a baby. She was a tired, lactating, sobbing mess- you mama's know the drill She was telling the ladies of the Sugarbaker Design Office about her new mommy woes and how she tripped in a doctor's office and dropped baby suppositories all over the floor. The tripping culprit? Twisted up pantyhose.
She said, "My pantyhose are so twisted I've been walking like John Wayne all day."
Now, I am 100% against pantyhose. A few years ago I gave myself a pass to never have to wear them again after an unfortunate butt chaffing incident that no one wants to hear about.
They squeeze in on the wrong area on an apple shaped girl like myself. They snag and run way too easily and they are generally very itchy. Also, as Ms. Charlene points out they can get all twisted up and make you walk like you've been riding the range a wee bit too long on a horse that was a wee bit too wide.
So, there I was Friday morning not a thing to wear (because nothing is ironed). Despite the fact that it is almost Halloween, I picked a summer dress and a sensible cardigan. No pantyhose.
However, it is dreadfully chilly at 7a.m. and I did have to stop by the grocery store for something else anyway...ug- I gave in. I bought pantyhose. Stockings. Tights. Whatever.
I teach at a local community college. My plan was to go into one of the typically empty bathrooms and pull my hose on in the privacy of an ill lit, very small potty stall.
The building is fairly new and the toilet are the automatic flush kind...they flush ALL the time. When you open the stall door-flush. When you sit down- flush- and gross. When you reach for toilet paper- flush. You get the picture.
All the twisting and pulling and tugging and yanking was making that toilet flush like a reverse Old Faithful.
I finally wrestled the hose on and hoisted the "wasitband" up to my bra region, but some how the crotch part (sorry, I know it's a bit crass, but really what else is it?) was will some where near my ankles.
What seemed like hours later, I emerged from the stall- hose, mostly, in tact and in place and proceeded down the hall to my classroom.
About half way through the class I looked down. It seems there was a stray plasticy thread thing on the inside of my shoe, shoes I have worn a million times before and never noticed any sort of plastic thread, had worked a hole in the heel of my hose.
Six dollars and one hour later- the damn things are torn. They are still some what, if not mostly, twisted around my hips and thighs. I have never wanted to comfort of sweatpants so badly- well...a pantyhose chaffed butt will make you want sweatpants in the worst way too.
The pantyhose band is back ON!
One episode in particular still makes me laugh to myself a little when I think about it. Charlene just had a baby. She was a tired, lactating, sobbing mess- you mama's know the drill She was telling the ladies of the Sugarbaker Design Office about her new mommy woes and how she tripped in a doctor's office and dropped baby suppositories all over the floor. The tripping culprit? Twisted up pantyhose.
She said, "My pantyhose are so twisted I've been walking like John Wayne all day."
Now, I am 100% against pantyhose. A few years ago I gave myself a pass to never have to wear them again after an unfortunate butt chaffing incident that no one wants to hear about.
They squeeze in on the wrong area on an apple shaped girl like myself. They snag and run way too easily and they are generally very itchy. Also, as Ms. Charlene points out they can get all twisted up and make you walk like you've been riding the range a wee bit too long on a horse that was a wee bit too wide.
So, there I was Friday morning not a thing to wear (because nothing is ironed). Despite the fact that it is almost Halloween, I picked a summer dress and a sensible cardigan. No pantyhose.
However, it is dreadfully chilly at 7a.m. and I did have to stop by the grocery store for something else anyway...ug- I gave in. I bought pantyhose. Stockings. Tights. Whatever.
I teach at a local community college. My plan was to go into one of the typically empty bathrooms and pull my hose on in the privacy of an ill lit, very small potty stall.
The building is fairly new and the toilet are the automatic flush kind...they flush ALL the time. When you open the stall door-flush. When you sit down- flush- and gross. When you reach for toilet paper- flush. You get the picture.
All the twisting and pulling and tugging and yanking was making that toilet flush like a reverse Old Faithful.
I finally wrestled the hose on and hoisted the "wasitband" up to my bra region, but some how the crotch part (sorry, I know it's a bit crass, but really what else is it?) was will some where near my ankles.
What seemed like hours later, I emerged from the stall- hose, mostly, in tact and in place and proceeded down the hall to my classroom.
About half way through the class I looked down. It seems there was a stray plasticy thread thing on the inside of my shoe, shoes I have worn a million times before and never noticed any sort of plastic thread, had worked a hole in the heel of my hose.
Six dollars and one hour later- the damn things are torn. They are still some what, if not mostly, twisted around my hips and thighs. I have never wanted to comfort of sweatpants so badly- well...a pantyhose chaffed butt will make you want sweatpants in the worst way too.
The pantyhose band is back ON!
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Post Race Stats
Saturday, October 16, 2010 I woke up at 4:50a.m. I did not need to get up until 5:45a.m., but once I was up the race was in my head and the adrenaline was flowing. I got up, brushed my teeth, looked at my clothes, pulled my hair into a ponytail- all actions of a normal day. I was not going to let myself waste energy and enthusiasm on the getting ready process.
Jenn (2nd leg runner), Josh and I got in the car and drove to Baltimore. We talked about finding the other team members, where we would park and our post race plans, but we did not really talk about the race. We met Tina and Scott in front of the M&T Bank stadium and stood, talking to each other in short, hushed and halted sentences. We tried to coordinate who would meet where after each leg of the race.
Jenn made her way to the bus that would take her to the beginning of her leg.
Scott, Tina and Josh followed me to the start of my leg- the first leg of the race. The crowd got thicker and thicker the closer we got to my starting point. Eventually I just said my good byes and good lucks to them and made my way to my starting point alone.
It was a little moment of zen. I tuned out everything around me and gave myself a little pep talk. "You can do this." "You have worked so hard for this and here you are." "You don't need to go to the bathroom one last time." "Don't let that hill psych you out."
As I settled into my starting point, I chatted up (surprise!) a couple next to me. They gave me some pointers, we wished each other good luck and took off on our own.
Confetti was flying through the air as I officially began the race running through the balloon arch. Running themed songs were blaring over the loud speakers, cow bells were ringing, strangers- hundreds of strangers- were cheering the runners, me, on.
As we started up the street the runners around me started to figure out their place in the race. Some people blew past me and I never saw them again. Others sort of hoovered around me in a group.
A friends' husband, who has run quite a bit, suggested that I pick someone ahead of me and just keep pace with them- always have them in my line of view. I picked a girl in a gray t-shirt.
Then I passed her.
I missed the first mile marker. I was running and thinking that this first mile felt terribly long and I was not going to be able to make it through my entire leg. Then I looked up and saw "MILE 2" written in red on a white sandwich board.
Mile 2? Great! Oh. Wait- THE HILL is on mile 3- it's coming!
Shortly after seeing the mile 2 marker, I dropped the timing chip. This means that our team's time would not be recorded past my first two miles. In a sense my team would not be official. Once I realized the chip was not on my wrist, I immediately went into panic mode. I froze.
Then I turned around and frantically scanned the ground with my eyes. A lady shouted, "It's just back there a bit further!"
I ran for about 40 or 50 yards without the chip, so I had to go back about 40 or 50 yards to get it. Then I was just praying no one stepped on it because if the chip was crushed, again no tracking time.
I found it and it was in tacked. I put it back on my wrist and made myself forget it and focus on the race again.
Mile 3- 245 feet above sea level- THE HILL.
I crushed that hill. Two hundred forty five feet above sea level? I spit in your face.
Mile 4-down.
Mile 5- peace out! Only .7 to go.
Wait, there's another hill? The last bit of my leg serpentined through some sort of gravel sand lot and then I saw it. A hill. Not a big hill, but a steep hill. You've got to be kidding me. I'm not walking across the finish line. I will not let Jenn see me walking when I ran the whole thing. I will finish running.
As I came up the top of the hill I saw her. Dressed in black, wearing an Adidas hat, just like me, and a bouncy blonde ponytail- Jenn. My finish line. I pushed the timing chip into her hand, took her jacket and she was off.
After an unexpected adventurous bus ride, an impromptu mile trek to the end of Jenn's leg (and the beginning of Scott's), followed by about another mile to find Josh, we finally all met up again after Tina finished her leg. We had our medals. We accomplished our goal.
I ran my entire leg in about an hour. My team finished in just over 4 hours. I am not a runner. When I was asked to do this I initially said no. I'm so glad I changed my mind. The work that went into this was beyond worth it. The support of my family and friends make me feel so very lucky. I am overwhelmed by all of this.
There are events in your life that kind of stop you in your tracks. You are forced to realize their impact and power- your wedding day, finding out you going to have a baby and then meeting that baby, setting a goal and achieving it.
It sounds silly, but as I was running and people were coming out of their houses to cheer us on, when I ran up that hill I was scared of moments before, when I saw some of my best friends at the end of the race and knew we did this together- all these moments, brought tears to my eyes.
Final verdict: It was SUPER fun and I WILL do it again- maybe even the half marathon...one day...
Jenn (2nd leg runner), Josh and I got in the car and drove to Baltimore. We talked about finding the other team members, where we would park and our post race plans, but we did not really talk about the race. We met Tina and Scott in front of the M&T Bank stadium and stood, talking to each other in short, hushed and halted sentences. We tried to coordinate who would meet where after each leg of the race.
Jenn made her way to the bus that would take her to the beginning of her leg.
Scott, Tina and Josh followed me to the start of my leg- the first leg of the race. The crowd got thicker and thicker the closer we got to my starting point. Eventually I just said my good byes and good lucks to them and made my way to my starting point alone.
It was a little moment of zen. I tuned out everything around me and gave myself a little pep talk. "You can do this." "You have worked so hard for this and here you are." "You don't need to go to the bathroom one last time." "Don't let that hill psych you out."
As I settled into my starting point, I chatted up (surprise!) a couple next to me. They gave me some pointers, we wished each other good luck and took off on our own.
Confetti was flying through the air as I officially began the race running through the balloon arch. Running themed songs were blaring over the loud speakers, cow bells were ringing, strangers- hundreds of strangers- were cheering the runners, me, on.
As we started up the street the runners around me started to figure out their place in the race. Some people blew past me and I never saw them again. Others sort of hoovered around me in a group.
A friends' husband, who has run quite a bit, suggested that I pick someone ahead of me and just keep pace with them- always have them in my line of view. I picked a girl in a gray t-shirt.
Then I passed her.
I missed the first mile marker. I was running and thinking that this first mile felt terribly long and I was not going to be able to make it through my entire leg. Then I looked up and saw "MILE 2" written in red on a white sandwich board.
Mile 2? Great! Oh. Wait- THE HILL is on mile 3- it's coming!
Shortly after seeing the mile 2 marker, I dropped the timing chip. This means that our team's time would not be recorded past my first two miles. In a sense my team would not be official. Once I realized the chip was not on my wrist, I immediately went into panic mode. I froze.
Then I turned around and frantically scanned the ground with my eyes. A lady shouted, "It's just back there a bit further!"
I ran for about 40 or 50 yards without the chip, so I had to go back about 40 or 50 yards to get it. Then I was just praying no one stepped on it because if the chip was crushed, again no tracking time.
I found it and it was in tacked. I put it back on my wrist and made myself forget it and focus on the race again.
Mile 3- 245 feet above sea level- THE HILL.
I crushed that hill. Two hundred forty five feet above sea level? I spit in your face.
Mile 4-down.
Mile 5- peace out! Only .7 to go.
Wait, there's another hill? The last bit of my leg serpentined through some sort of gravel sand lot and then I saw it. A hill. Not a big hill, but a steep hill. You've got to be kidding me. I'm not walking across the finish line. I will not let Jenn see me walking when I ran the whole thing. I will finish running.
As I came up the top of the hill I saw her. Dressed in black, wearing an Adidas hat, just like me, and a bouncy blonde ponytail- Jenn. My finish line. I pushed the timing chip into her hand, took her jacket and she was off.
After an unexpected adventurous bus ride, an impromptu mile trek to the end of Jenn's leg (and the beginning of Scott's), followed by about another mile to find Josh, we finally all met up again after Tina finished her leg. We had our medals. We accomplished our goal.
I ran my entire leg in about an hour. My team finished in just over 4 hours. I am not a runner. When I was asked to do this I initially said no. I'm so glad I changed my mind. The work that went into this was beyond worth it. The support of my family and friends make me feel so very lucky. I am overwhelmed by all of this.
There are events in your life that kind of stop you in your tracks. You are forced to realize their impact and power- your wedding day, finding out you going to have a baby and then meeting that baby, setting a goal and achieving it.
It sounds silly, but as I was running and people were coming out of their houses to cheer us on, when I ran up that hill I was scared of moments before, when I saw some of my best friends at the end of the race and knew we did this together- all these moments, brought tears to my eyes.
Final verdict: It was SUPER fun and I WILL do it again- maybe even the half marathon...one day...
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Pre- Race Stats
Confession: I am super psyched about the race this Saturday.
Despite my recent amazing running time (5K at 29:30 winning me a second place medal for my age group thankyouverymuch) I am typically a 11 minute mile.
I am running the first leg of the Baltimore Marathon this Saturday. At 5.7 miles, my leg is the shortest. This kind of disappoints me because I have been training for this for nearly a year. I can run further than that.
When I agreed to do this, I would have begged for the shortest leg of the race. About this time last year I weighed about 15 pounds more than I do now and struggled to lightly jog a 14 minute mile.
When I agreed to do this two of my best friends (one of whom is running the race) were pregnant with their babies, who are now here.
I now have pants I can't wear unless I have a belt and I can run 7 miles if needed (not quickly, but running the whole time). There are a couple different play lists on my ipod specifically for running- long runs, fast runs, I just can't go another second and am in desperate need of motivation runs.
The use of an iPod is discouraged during the marathon.
Participants are encouraged to immerce themselves in the race and enjoy all that Baltimore has to offer. Runners are supposed to be alert and ready in the event a race facilitator needs to redirect them or something. In fact, if you are running in the hopes of earning a reward, you cannot get the reward and accolades if you use an ipod or any other "crutch".
I'm bringing mine anyway. It's a necessary tool and I'm ok with it.
Despite being the shortest leg, my portion does have the highest peak at mile 3- 245 feet above sea level. This is freaking me out a bit. I don't even know what 245 feet above sea level is, in the same way that I don't know what the square footage of Oprah's house is and what 103.5 million dollars looks like.
I know it's a lot, but I have no tangible reference. Knowing that IT'S THE HIGHEST POINT (cue thunderous music)is enough of a psychological blow.
I will do it. That hill is MINE!
Side note: My leg is not the hilliest. That is leg 3, which we happily gave to Scott because he has already run the whole marathon before and is really the driving force behind all of this craziness.
At this point I am most worried about logistics- will I find my team member quickly after my leg so I can hand her the tracking device? Will Josh and I be able to find each other after my leg? How will we all find each other after the race to have a congratulatory fatty Frappiccino or Mimosa or 64 oz beer?
Promises to myself: I will run my whole leg. I will not beat myself up about my time or how many people may pass me. When I feel like the hill may, in fact, beat me, I will think of all the people who have supported me during my training and who have started running (in some cases again) because of me.
Tina? Scott? Jenn? Let's do the damn thing!!
Despite my recent amazing running time (5K at 29:30 winning me a second place medal for my age group thankyouverymuch) I am typically a 11 minute mile.
I am running the first leg of the Baltimore Marathon this Saturday. At 5.7 miles, my leg is the shortest. This kind of disappoints me because I have been training for this for nearly a year. I can run further than that.
When I agreed to do this, I would have begged for the shortest leg of the race. About this time last year I weighed about 15 pounds more than I do now and struggled to lightly jog a 14 minute mile.
When I agreed to do this two of my best friends (one of whom is running the race) were pregnant with their babies, who are now here.
I now have pants I can't wear unless I have a belt and I can run 7 miles if needed (not quickly, but running the whole time). There are a couple different play lists on my ipod specifically for running- long runs, fast runs, I just can't go another second and am in desperate need of motivation runs.
The use of an iPod is discouraged during the marathon.
Participants are encouraged to immerce themselves in the race and enjoy all that Baltimore has to offer. Runners are supposed to be alert and ready in the event a race facilitator needs to redirect them or something. In fact, if you are running in the hopes of earning a reward, you cannot get the reward and accolades if you use an ipod or any other "crutch".
I'm bringing mine anyway. It's a necessary tool and I'm ok with it.
Despite being the shortest leg, my portion does have the highest peak at mile 3- 245 feet above sea level. This is freaking me out a bit. I don't even know what 245 feet above sea level is, in the same way that I don't know what the square footage of Oprah's house is and what 103.5 million dollars looks like.
I know it's a lot, but I have no tangible reference. Knowing that IT'S THE HIGHEST POINT (cue thunderous music)
I will do it. That hill is MINE!
Side note: My leg is not the hilliest. That is leg 3, which we happily gave to Scott because he has already run the whole marathon before and is really the driving force behind all of this craziness.
At this point I am most worried about logistics- will I find my team member quickly after my leg so I can hand her the tracking device? Will Josh and I be able to find each other after my leg? How will we all find each other after the race to have a congratulatory fatty Frappiccino or Mimosa or 64 oz beer?
Promises to myself: I will run my whole leg. I will not beat myself up about my time or how many people may pass me. When I feel like the hill may, in fact, beat me, I will think of all the people who have supported me during my training and who have started running (in some cases again) because of me.
Tina? Scott? Jenn? Let's do the damn thing!!
Monday, October 11, 2010
Under Pressure
Confession: Long weekend make me itchy.
Josh works a compressed work schedule (CWS) which means he works about an extra hour every day, but he has off every other Friday. This is mostly a pretty sweet deal.
Except when P and I are at odds and there are still 3 hours to kill before J gets home.
This past week Josh had off on Friday, and Monday so we were staring down the barrel of a fun filled four day family weekend. Whenever we are faced with this uninterrupted family time we get excited, but plan way too much, which means we usually get snarky and snappy under the pressure of making each moment perfect and fun and amazing.
When I returned from work on Friday we headed to the barely there Farmer's Market and then to the store for some wine. Josh was tired. Parker was cranky. I was feeling sticky and was quickly developing a monster headache.
Saturday morning brought bright new beginnings. P and I made coffee and pumpkin French Toast. We ate together as a family, then Josh cleaned up our mess. At some point though, things started to unravel.
I can't even remember what was said, but it was not a positive conversation. We pushed on and loaded ourselves and the supplies for the day into the family truckster and headed to a pumpkin patch.
It was unseasonably hot while we trolled around the patch, making our October Fall day more like a mid-August heat wave.
We had $20 cash and made a strict agreement to not take out any more. Somewhere along the way, we had a disagreement about who should be doing what and how to spend our last $10 (we ended up buying 2 beers- parents of the year).
Last year we went to this same pumpkin farm and it was truly one of the best days of the year. This time around, the day was just filled with this pressure to make it perfect again.
We pulled P in our little red wagon, he got out, I let go of the wagon to chase him, leaving J with a run away wagon full of pumpkins, mums and slew of other crap not worth itemizing.
We were sweaty and frustrated. It was not like last year.
Then we had plans to hit up a cool German themed restaurant for dinner. While we ate we played along and sang the songs and, despite missing his nap, we were able to coaxed P into happy baby mode. We drank Gugunshinmen beer and ate uderbraten soaked in drunkenbrstein. (I'm pulling out my creative spelling license here).
It was not the same as last year.
Sunday we spend the better part of the day- from 10:30a to about 3p searching for my car keys. They were in my hands then they weren't.
Vanished.
Poof.
Gone.
It was maddening. I told Josh to just take P, who I was convinced hid the keys, out of the house.
I needed to search on my own without someone following me around saying, "Mommy train? Mommy train?" or "Did you check here? Did you look there? When did you have them last?"
In the end we found them- in a drawer.
More specifically, in one of my drawers.
Most specifically, a drawer that is way too high for P to be able to get into.
I truly have no clue how they got there. I was stressed. I was not very nice. I felt terrible and if Parker was a wee- bit older he would have taken full advantage of my profound guilt. I'm talking junior mints for dinner followed by popcorn and Yo Gabba Gabba till midnight guilt.
Today P and I cooked almost all day. He's awesome. He will stir gentle, pour carefully and taste anything. He is a forgiving soul- thankfully. Josh does not hold a grudge- thankfully.
I learned that when faced with a four day family weekend- not every moment has to be fun-filled and your keys are not in the last place you look, but in the last place you THINK to look. (These are very different things.)
Josh works a compressed work schedule (CWS) which means he works about an extra hour every day, but he has off every other Friday. This is mostly a pretty sweet deal.
Except when P and I are at odds and there are still 3 hours to kill before J gets home.
This past week Josh had off on Friday, and Monday so we were staring down the barrel of a fun filled four day family weekend. Whenever we are faced with this uninterrupted family time we get excited, but plan way too much, which means we usually get snarky and snappy under the pressure of making each moment perfect and fun and amazing.
When I returned from work on Friday we headed to the barely there Farmer's Market and then to the store for some wine. Josh was tired. Parker was cranky. I was feeling sticky and was quickly developing a monster headache.
Saturday morning brought bright new beginnings. P and I made coffee and pumpkin French Toast. We ate together as a family, then Josh cleaned up our mess. At some point though, things started to unravel.
I can't even remember what was said, but it was not a positive conversation. We pushed on and loaded ourselves and the supplies for the day into the family truckster and headed to a pumpkin patch.
It was unseasonably hot while we trolled around the patch, making our October Fall day more like a mid-August heat wave.
We had $20 cash and made a strict agreement to not take out any more. Somewhere along the way, we had a disagreement about who should be doing what and how to spend our last $10 (we ended up buying 2 beers- parents of the year).
Last year we went to this same pumpkin farm and it was truly one of the best days of the year. This time around, the day was just filled with this pressure to make it perfect again.
We pulled P in our little red wagon, he got out, I let go of the wagon to chase him, leaving J with a run away wagon full of pumpkins, mums and slew of other crap not worth itemizing.
We were sweaty and frustrated. It was not like last year.
Then we had plans to hit up a cool German themed restaurant for dinner. While we ate we played along and sang the songs and, despite missing his nap, we were able to coaxed P into happy baby mode. We drank Gugunshinmen beer and ate uderbraten soaked in drunkenbrstein. (I'm pulling out my creative spelling license here).
It was not the same as last year.
Sunday we spend the better part of the day- from 10:30a to about 3p searching for my car keys. They were in my hands then they weren't.
Vanished.
Poof.
Gone.
It was maddening. I told Josh to just take P, who I was convinced hid the keys, out of the house.
I needed to search on my own without someone following me around saying, "Mommy train? Mommy train?" or "Did you check here? Did you look there? When did you have them last?"
In the end we found them- in a drawer.
More specifically, in one of my drawers.
Most specifically, a drawer that is way too high for P to be able to get into.
I truly have no clue how they got there. I was stressed. I was not very nice. I felt terrible and if Parker was a wee- bit older he would have taken full advantage of my profound guilt. I'm talking junior mints for dinner followed by popcorn and Yo Gabba Gabba till midnight guilt.
Today P and I cooked almost all day. He's awesome. He will stir gentle, pour carefully and taste anything. He is a forgiving soul- thankfully. Josh does not hold a grudge- thankfully.
I learned that when faced with a four day family weekend- not every moment has to be fun-filled and your keys are not in the last place you look, but in the last place you THINK to look. (These are very different things.)
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