tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-70993116118888259302024-03-13T02:16:07.420-05:00At Least We Know . . .we're crazy.
Thoughts from a life gone terribly right.Marylisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15489863348639565056noreply@blogger.comBlogger840125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7099311611888825930.post-22505510266857023412012-05-30T09:18:00.000-05:002012-05-30T09:18:51.180-05:00MOVING DAYA year or more ago our blog reader-friend Jeremy J tried to convince me I would be happier using a different platform for my blog. Now you know how emotionally attached I get to things and how difficult change is for me, so I just wasn't ready. But Jeremy J is freaky smart about a lot of things, so I finally took a look at what he was talking about, and I was instantly convinced we need to make the move.<br />
<br />
One of the things I am hoping we will gain in the move is the ability for you to comment. I have had problems with the comment section almost since I started. It seemed the only people able to comment were angry Europeans and people trying to sell "enhancement" products.<br />
<br />
So here's what's going to happen: The new place has an import feature, so when I get done here I am going to go ahead and try importing the old blog into the new one. I am not convinced this is going to be as easy as it sounds, but we'll try. If you are a subscriber or RSS reader, <b>I think</b> you'll just get moved over. If you visit this page or get lost the new address is:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://atleastweknow.wordpress.com/">atleastweknow.wordpress.com</a></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Notice that the address here was "leastweknow" and the new address is "atleastweknow."</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Okay. Here goes nothing.</div>Marylisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15489863348639565056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7099311611888825930.post-55728586357017726202012-05-29T16:11:00.002-05:002012-05-29T16:11:33.980-05:00Preschooler D Gets a Library Card<i><u>PLACE</u>: The library</i><br />
<br />
<u>LIBRARIAN WENDY:</u> Now D, here is your very own new library card. You will need it every time you check out a book. There's a big card and a card for your key ring some day when you get a key ring. This is free, but don't lose it because then you will have to pay a fee. Are you ready? (<i>Pushes card to D</i>)<br />
<br />
<u>PRESCHOOLER D</u>: No. (<i>Pushes card back to Librarian Wendy. Librarian Wendy looks stunned.</i>)<br />
<br />
<u>THE MOTHER</u>: Why don't I just put it in my purse for now?<br />
<br />
Librarian Wendy called just now still laughing. She said she's never had anyone weigh the responsibility of the library card so heavily.Marylisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15489863348639565056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7099311611888825930.post-73653955645995074892012-05-24T14:59:00.000-05:002012-05-24T14:59:41.706-05:00Am I cleaning? No.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxJfRLP3oM-EnbkaxuMBUYPvu0WMuG3ZsLcR3x-PaNEenJKP5bEEWBxiVssqcLhGe7D9C7z36PNo3EE4P7Pgg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />Marylisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15489863348639565056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7099311611888825930.post-68264816993538479182012-05-23T15:44:00.001-05:002012-05-23T15:44:54.288-05:00The Son RisesNot that son (although He did too). My son. May I just brag on my child for a moment? Good. We can take turns bragging about our children. I will start.<br />
<br />
So we forced Colin to join the track team this spring, not sure if it would be too much for him or not. It was an experiment, and to be honest, we were sort of expecting to fail. <br />
<br />
Here he is with Shelby. Colin has his eyes closed, but it is such a rarity that Shelby has her eyes open, that we have to look at this one.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio1mUc7X8q8OhYY1NzAu6AkcxznFmpkyMxPWgNKATLNZnhUEQYbwzGaj55DLUIa_T1hCeoFQ8hFST2OnqWdPGAZdJyAPvnCCwd2hYBsiFnFvCWuK1T50Gqyz46dC-sLobehZJ30mkS0f8/s1600/IMG_0003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio1mUc7X8q8OhYY1NzAu6AkcxznFmpkyMxPWgNKATLNZnhUEQYbwzGaj55DLUIa_T1hCeoFQ8hFST2OnqWdPGAZdJyAPvnCCwd2hYBsiFnFvCWuK1T50Gqyz46dC-sLobehZJ30mkS0f8/s320/IMG_0003.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I will be darned if that kid didn't run (sort of against his will), keep up his grades, keep up his music and have a cheerful and cooperative attitude most of the time.<br />
<br />
Here he is with Jeremy:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeD60swRKrCwovmRgzf5DaYPvMlMUDE71l-DG5dmmZ1rkSj417i9NwOH8XA4GhcXu4k9-xzGNZ22SVsoPMsJdmGEvTr_hQuGFgwBbn59qWnRaZRGxBgiNshCQ1A07FzLs6yogFHqju_48/s1600/2012-05-18_19-12-12_586.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeD60swRKrCwovmRgzf5DaYPvMlMUDE71l-DG5dmmZ1rkSj417i9NwOH8XA4GhcXu4k9-xzGNZ22SVsoPMsJdmGEvTr_hQuGFgwBbn59qWnRaZRGxBgiNshCQ1A07FzLs6yogFHqju_48/s320/2012-05-18_19-12-12_586.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<br />
We had a couple of ugly mornings when he had track practice, Awana and then 7 am jazz band rehearsal, but he did it AND kept up with Awana as well. Here he is with his upside down award.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLMM_4KDGvR4C9yjPVfhIfIRBtkLh70L0_NhrUnYDc3xdWn8S6l_Mt6hsuOyCJHs9wJo5TXLZtxuLwxwHF4PCL_JtAsrhHj7Fqv27rvPOAFMXmJuCm7Vzdbx-oyYsV9NvMBlj5lucSNhU/s1600/IMG_0019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLMM_4KDGvR4C9yjPVfhIfIRBtkLh70L0_NhrUnYDc3xdWn8S6l_Mt6hsuOyCJHs9wJo5TXLZtxuLwxwHF4PCL_JtAsrhHj7Fqv27rvPOAFMXmJuCm7Vzdbx-oyYsV9NvMBlj5lucSNhU/s320/IMG_0019.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
I remember bawling my eyes out 9 years ago this summer, wondering what he would be able to do.<br />
<br />
I ask you, what can't this kid do?<br />
<br />
Mmmmmmm, put his dishes in the dishwasher for one, put his folded clothes away for another. . .Marylisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15489863348639565056noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7099311611888825930.post-10458187152887862972012-05-22T12:15:00.000-05:002012-05-22T12:15:05.284-05:00Insanity, etc.I don't know for sure how parents with more than four widely spaced children do it. We have been to a program and/or event every night for more than a week and we have one more to go to tonight. I am running out of energy and "competent mom" outfits. (Don't pretend you don't know what I mean.)<br />
<br />
I am burning the candle at both ends so seriously that I ran too far today. Normally I check, check and recheck my route for the day. For some reason I didn't today. I got out there and was running away like a tough girl in the raging wind. I swallowed a bug and another one flew into my eye. Shortly after the bug swallowing incident, I started to think, "This seems pretty far." I was supposed to run 2.75 miles. I checked my GPS thing and I'd gone 1.64 miles. I'm not great at math -- especially after I've swallowed a bug -- but I realized that when I got home I would have run over three miles. I never over run. Sometimes when I get back from run, I won't have gone quite far enough, so I run around the parking lot across the street until I get the right distance.<br />
<br />
I didn't know if I should be proud of myself or disgusted that I'd wasted miles I did not need. The fact that I even had that argument with myself just proves how far I've come.<br />
<br />
This weekend Brent took me to a sporting goods store, so I could shop for sporting goods. Friends and loved ones, I have never been to a sporting goods store with a purpose in my life. It was time to retire the old yoga and group aerobics clothes and figure out what runners wear.<br />
<br />
A young tiny salesperson came over and asked how I was doing. I looked at her helplessly.<br />
<br />
"Well," I said. "I'm about 10 weeks into running and I need to move into some more serious running clothes. I don't think the world is ready to see my thighs, though. What do you have for the middle aged mommy?"<br />
<br />
She looked at me and smiled. "You're a runner," she said. "They are supposed to see your thighs. Other serious runners aren't looking and anyone else has no right to criticize."<br />
<br />
I wanted to hug her, but that seemed inappropriate.Marylisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15489863348639565056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7099311611888825930.post-91528501506665161432012-05-18T15:34:00.000-05:002012-05-18T15:34:05.570-05:00At the Track Meet with ColinSCENE: <i>The mother observes autistic son talking to himself at the track meet, she wanders over to remind him this isn't socially acceptable behavior.</i><br />
<br />
<u>THE MOTHER: </u>Colin, you're talking to yourself.<br />
<br />
<u>COLIN:</u> (<i>Puts his arm around The Mother. He pats her gently on the back and smiles.</i>) Mom, you're embarrassing me.Marylisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15489863348639565056noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7099311611888825930.post-30464990357529816752012-05-17T11:03:00.002-05:002012-05-17T11:03:47.793-05:00A Moment of Compassion with Preschooler D<i>SCENE: The mother of the home is in tears over something only another stay-at-home mom would understand. It seems no one knows how to open the dishwasher and put in his plate.</i><br />
<br />
<u>THE MOTHER</u>: What's the matter with you people?! You're always eating! You make dishes dirty and consume food constantly!! I am always at the grocery store!! And you wear <i>clothes</i> that then have to be <i>washed </i>and<i> folded </i>and<i> dumped </i>in a drawer where they get all wrinkly and it looks like you just rolled out of bed and<i> <b>put on the first thing you found on the floor</b></i>!!<br />
<br />
<u>PRESCHOOLER D</u>: Mom!! Mom!! It wasn't me!! It wasn't me who told on you!! It was Colin!!Marylisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15489863348639565056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7099311611888825930.post-38787248414867805962012-05-15T16:18:00.003-05:002012-05-15T16:18:44.919-05:00At the Dentist with Preschooler D<span style="color: blue;">Lovely Dental Hygienist Teresa:</span> Preschooler D, do you have any concerns about your teeth?<br />
<br />
<span style="color: red;">D:</span> Well, actually, I was eating some Cheetos and got some stuck right in here. (Point to tooth)<br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue;">Theresa:</span> Oh, yes. I see.Marylisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15489863348639565056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7099311611888825930.post-790204910266834122012-05-14T14:36:00.002-05:002012-05-14T14:36:54.596-05:00Seeking AdventureMy dearest little friend Allyson came for coffee today. You may remember her as Chief Babysitter Ally. She is married almost two years now and hasn't babysat for us since we called Preschooler D, Baby D. Her husband joined the Air Force and they have been living out of state while he trained. Now they are home before he takes his first permanent assignment in Germany.<br />
<br />
Naturally, she is both excited and nervous. Wouldn't you be?<br />
<br />
But what an adventure -- to be so young and married and living overseas and making friends and seeing things together.<br />
<br />
Brent asked me at lunch if I feel badly that I missed that sort of adventure. Yes and no. It would have been fun to have lived like that with Brent. We had a more domestic beginning.<br />
<br />
You know I have been thinking about Gigi. She never stops learning something new. One day this spring she was at my house looking at a rug. "I'd like to get a loom," my 88-year-old grandma said.<br />
<br />
Of course she would.<br />
<br />
I think this might be the key to the adventurous life. Not weaving (but who wouldn't want a loom) -- but always being open to a new experience and seeing your life for the adventure it is.<br />
<br />
A few weeks ago I was at a store that carries natural beauty products. "Can I get a massage bar for sports injuries. I just started running," I said. Young, Pierced and Tattooed led me where I needed to go.<br />
<br />
"Anything else?" she asked.<br />
<br />
"Yes, do you have anything for the callous on my finger from my bass guitar?"<br />
<br />
Young, Pierced and Tattooed looked at me, tilted her head and smiled. "You play bass guitar? Do you have a band?"<br />
<br />
"Ah . . . well, yes . . . as a matter of fact, I do."<br />
<br />
"Wow!! And you just started running? You are busy. That's amazing!"<br />
<br />
Oh, honey, I thought. You don't know the half of of it. You wouldn't believe the adventure in my life.Marylisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15489863348639565056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7099311611888825930.post-36576783007132628712012-05-10T15:21:00.003-05:002012-05-10T15:21:42.533-05:00Cleaning2 hours 51 minutes until our church small group friends arrive. I have yet to start cleaning.<br />
<br />
Did my "speed training" this morning. Good heavens. Not as awful as hill sprints, but challenging.<br />
<br />
Baked a birthday cake for my mom. Her birthday isn't until Saturday, but I thought she might like to serve it to unexpected birthday company that will drop in on her now through the weekend.<br />
<br />
Delivered cake. Had argument with D. He felt since Grandma's was close we should walk and therefore not pollute the earth with our drive over to her house. I won the argument, but I felt like a heel. Forgive me, Mother Earth.<br />
<br />
Made chocolate chip bars. Not sure if someone is bringing dessert tonight. I like to be ready.<br />
<br />
Finished a game I was playing with D.<br />
<br />
Talked to my cousins on Facebook.<br />
<br />
Emptied and filled the dishwasher. Brent started it, so I have to give credit where credit is due.<br />
<br />
Talked to the lawn guy.<br />
<br />
Couldn't start vacuuming because there was a good song on.<br />
<br />
So now I am talking to you. Amid the rabble. With 2 hours 40 minutes to go . . .Marylisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15489863348639565056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7099311611888825930.post-8982088306148489132012-05-09T14:03:00.000-05:002012-05-09T14:03:27.767-05:00RecoveryWell, I think I have finally recovered from all the excitement on Saturday. I had to. Coach Sam, seeing my commitment to the process, has decided it's time to step it up, so yesterday I did my first hill sprint. Yeah -- no -- that's just what it sounds like. I jog *a mile* to a hill, sprint up the hill, and jog home. It was awful.<br />
<br />
Let me say that again so you understand. It was awful.<br />
<br />
Carrie, my friend/dental hygienist, asked today, "But wasn't it great when you got to the top?"<br />
<br />
No. No, it wasn't. I was seriously, literally nauseous.<br />
<br />
Plus then I had to jog *a mile* back home.<br />
<br />
But . . . why not? I mean, eight weeks ago I didn't think I could run a mile.<br />
<br />
How do you like me now?Marylisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15489863348639565056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7099311611888825930.post-16334440735096249092012-05-05T15:10:00.000-05:002012-05-06T14:56:52.872-05:002 Timothy 4:7<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoRV022yXRF7iFvpPraNcvz5tNkync2IaNm9KM242hH5zkoSs_7pZIHMQNsgD6BqTxnM6tmwObqBMvflY014uRja_HzUtWBZB53nZiYamlZDPYXYXidc1MnPEO-xUZ5fV8yZK0QXNwTOk/s1600/DSC_0454.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoRV022yXRF7iFvpPraNcvz5tNkync2IaNm9KM242hH5zkoSs_7pZIHMQNsgD6BqTxnM6tmwObqBMvflY014uRja_HzUtWBZB53nZiYamlZDPYXYXidc1MnPEO-xUZ5fV8yZK0QXNwTOk/s320/DSC_0454.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I have fought the good fight. I have finished the race. I have kept the faith.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">(Shout out to Cousin Josh for the theme of today's blog.) </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Friends and loved ones, I finished that race and I ran the whole way -- except for the part where I had to stop and tie my shoe. I should have had pants on. I should have checked my laces. I should have . . . <b>who cares?!! I did it!</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1OtbNF92xkJwOrV3AJWb4hdsf-_ssRVaTa7DlONdgCBwcTWfrkaUHTn7TAw-i1fLXDMF8KivklcMVYEFQf-fBrnyORfBNNtJgn8WSHgfXUhKgEjXxY-suS-V6SONGXYWfPglGQEd21C4/s1600/DSC_0437.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1OtbNF92xkJwOrV3AJWb4hdsf-_ssRVaTa7DlONdgCBwcTWfrkaUHTn7TAw-i1fLXDMF8KivklcMVYEFQf-fBrnyORfBNNtJgn8WSHgfXUhKgEjXxY-suS-V6SONGXYWfPglGQEd21C4/s320/DSC_0437.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Here I am with Rita, my photographer and the sweetest BFF a girl could have. I was getting cold and discouraged out at the starting line waiting for it start -- when along came Rita with a coat and a prayer. Just what I needed.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvS-W64bCnZLy0qc-xzbAHiZ17JuCAQLXiEusxLjxIDNisdHwlNHBO5mmlRmAIu-LfDOExWsdjEE4yBy3l4C68a-nO9r6pK4GsJrzM_Ktr8IS9ugOUH4lpvp2bDNdx7OpzeImPE_0eKks/s1600/DSC_0462.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvS-W64bCnZLy0qc-xzbAHiZ17JuCAQLXiEusxLjxIDNisdHwlNHBO5mmlRmAIu-LfDOExWsdjEE4yBy3l4C68a-nO9r6pK4GsJrzM_Ktr8IS9ugOUH4lpvp2bDNdx7OpzeImPE_0eKks/s320/DSC_0462.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Don't I look serious?? It was my goal not to look like I was in pain. I am nearing the finish line in this shot. I run with an app that tracks me via GPS. Brent sent me messages along the way and the app read them to me. How great was that? Say it with me in your best computer monotone, "Doing great, baby. Run your own race."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1wtVHad6fdTRwOW_HsiNR3QkgQbspmlUrWIWGBTER207-56W4FN_sWfy-gLper_0rxNJR3N_QHHPwwkU-R7D-MJRkv4hzBYjOJKQ4yv3V_HJbuO8R5Ce_dvNor7-RQCXEylO337ZVDQI/s1600/DSC_0468.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1wtVHad6fdTRwOW_HsiNR3QkgQbspmlUrWIWGBTER207-56W4FN_sWfy-gLper_0rxNJR3N_QHHPwwkU-R7D-MJRkv4hzBYjOJKQ4yv3V_HJbuO8R5Ce_dvNor7-RQCXEylO337ZVDQI/s320/DSC_0468.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">There I am crossing the finish line ahead of several girls who are obviously younger than I am. (HA!) I was so glad to see my cheering squad: Big Daddy and the boys, Sue and Les, my parents, Rita and Gregg, and Coach Sam . . .</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: -webkit-auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLrlQAuY7Z3xABJi43aOSMU2mlcXeCEoTpgXH-SFDPH6-HBRiuTxqGe5NmIlS59SO7SoVExQjs8aB0efspNQMS31jPXgG_jdgkjFwmbWMo7e4xu7kD0GLUMUsiBwXfoEzC6tLahinMwpY/s1600/DSC_0471.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLrlQAuY7Z3xABJi43aOSMU2mlcXeCEoTpgXH-SFDPH6-HBRiuTxqGe5NmIlS59SO7SoVExQjs8aB0efspNQMS31jPXgG_jdgkjFwmbWMo7e4xu7kD0GLUMUsiBwXfoEzC6tLahinMwpY/s320/DSC_0471.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Isn't he cute in a completely platonic-brother-in-Christ way? Wouldn't you run 3.1 miles?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><br />
Do you remember my rather blue entry from Wednesday or so? Where I said I hoped that my zit would be cleared and Gigi would be at the finish line with my birthday card? Well, thank you Photoshop, we will never remember that zit. And after I finished my shower and came downstairs for a coffee, the doorbell rang.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieItkgqM7XD_6-QRrhdC6Ioz7cVn51MTOgXFcUjidkGymk4eStqwrUOfZqZKhYNsrIjzyZtDDOTCZNXi1Fx_miSc_o510K_-Hd5YMIeUB-ItoDzOPBTYgZe_L0f-PYudOZ79flRQX-Vnk/s1600/IMAG0116.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieItkgqM7XD_6-QRrhdC6Ioz7cVn51MTOgXFcUjidkGymk4eStqwrUOfZqZKhYNsrIjzyZtDDOTCZNXi1Fx_miSc_o510K_-Hd5YMIeUB-ItoDzOPBTYgZe_L0f-PYudOZ79flRQX-Vnk/s320/IMAG0116.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
It was Gigi.<br />
<br />
Thank you all, blog reader-friends, for praying for me and cheering for me. What a day.Marylisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15489863348639565056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7099311611888825930.post-15691564949136215562012-05-04T14:53:00.001-05:002012-05-04T14:53:12.024-05:002 Timothy 1:7<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;">For the Spirit God gave us does not make us timid, </span><sup class="crossreference" style="background-color: white; font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-29817A" title="See cross-reference A">A</a>)"></sup><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;">but gives us power, </span><sup class="crossreference" style="background-color: white; font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-29817B" title="See cross-reference B">B</a>)"></sup><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;">love and self-discipline.</span></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6QmFqqCMZrZ4HiturDNcb9JuQEjZtFb2VjSKhHNX7xtn-CEEFOSGy-6wlCmOz6ZtYClNX9ymrWVelf3EOeuBwYY7rE4iBw4Ta4rm_MGryPBWYcH6dhgnX4QYAOnBM_2IfkyDb9ai47K8/s1600/IMAG0114.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6QmFqqCMZrZ4HiturDNcb9JuQEjZtFb2VjSKhHNX7xtn-CEEFOSGy-6wlCmOz6ZtYClNX9ymrWVelf3EOeuBwYY7rE4iBw4Ta4rm_MGryPBWYcH6dhgnX4QYAOnBM_2IfkyDb9ai47K8/s320/IMAG0114.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span></span>Marylisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15489863348639565056noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7099311611888825930.post-88057606882194700352012-05-03T11:42:00.003-05:002012-05-03T11:42:58.794-05:00Pre-Dinner Conversation with DPreschooler D: <i>What is that smell?</i><br />
<br />
ME: French fries.<br />
<br />
D: <i>No, what is that </i>delicious<i> smell?</i><br />
<br />
M: French fries.<br />
<br />
D: <i>And?</i><br />
<br />
M: French fries.<br />
<br />
D: <i>No, I mean what else?</i><br />
<br />
M: Just french fries.<br />
<br />
D: <i> It smells like chicken nuggets.</i><br />
<br />
M: Oh, yeah. It does. Nope, just french fries.<br />
<br />
D: <i>But it </i>smells<i> like chicken nuggets.</i><br />
<br />
M: I don't know what to tell you. It's just french fries.<br />
<br />
D: <i>Mom! It </i>looks<i> like the smell of chicken nuggets.</i><br />
<br />
M: Yes, son, I actually follow that train of thought. Sadly, there are only french fries in the oven.Marylisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15489863348639565056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7099311611888825930.post-10590728150557140342012-05-02T13:32:00.001-05:002012-05-02T13:32:17.665-05:00Birthday Part 2: Still not whiningGigi forgot my birthday, but she sent my niece two presents which makes us think she forgot to flip the calendar and is just living last month over. Perhaps I'll see something at the end of the month . . . or maybe she will have caught up by then.<br />
<br />
I called my mother to complain and I realized at the end of the conversation that I wanted to hear her say, "Well, I'm sure she'll make up for it when she's feeling better."<br />
<br />
I don't think that's going to happen, but you never know with Gigi.<br />
<br />
My life right now feels like a series of little defeats. There's nothing big. No major tragedy or catastrophe, but just when I've caught my breath from the last hurdle, there's another to jump over. (Nice running metaphor, right??) There's a giant infected zit in the middle of my forehead. My hair is especially wonky in my new driver's license photo. My pedicure was smooshed in my new shoes. The coffee machine makes a sick whirring sound which makes me think it's on its deathbed just when I have received a three month back order of coffee in the specialized pods it takes.<br />
<br />
It's just one of those small seasons where it's important to focus on the bright side and the things for which I can be thankful; otherwise, the whining could get ugly and I think Cyberspace is still in a pinching mood.<br />
<br />
Somewhere in the back of my head I think when I conquer this race on Saturday, everything is going to turn around. My forehead will clear up. My pedicure will be magically fixed and Gigi will be standing at the end with my birthday card.<br />
<br />
That's an awful lot to ask of one little race. Maybe I should just focus on getting to the finish line.Marylisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15489863348639565056noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7099311611888825930.post-25112722492607566492012-04-30T14:26:00.001-05:002012-04-30T14:45:03.660-05:00Birthday!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Iq0qCvRJi8VPOYOPoFuAKiKhkE8uJAda9vqVpUTdXkvmTs2frw8pXsOs2UgQV4Zk8OvPwT3_OKh3S0R00Aky9L4WDWFXqygSPY9quQj8KhWDa8Gi1zMpSF___S9_C3OTJtwKIpmr4-4/s1600/IMAG0107.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Iq0qCvRJi8VPOYOPoFuAKiKhkE8uJAda9vqVpUTdXkvmTs2frw8pXsOs2UgQV4Zk8OvPwT3_OKh3S0R00Aky9L4WDWFXqygSPY9quQj8KhWDa8Gi1zMpSF___S9_C3OTJtwKIpmr4-4/s320/IMAG0107.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
If I whine about how it's going today -- my actual birthday -- my sister Cyerspace Sarah will drive up here and pinch me. I will be silent. Let's just say some days don't go as we plan, do they?<br />
<br />
No, I had a truly delightful weekend with Big Daddy Brent. We stayed at the hotel where he took me out for dinner on my 23rd birthday, (ahem) 20 years ago. We had fun hanging out together, window shopping, eating and such. The highlight of the trip was going to see Mama Mia.<br />
<br />
Now, I knew that Mama Mia had a pretty enthusiastic following, but I was not prepared for how excited these friends would get. The large grandpa-type man next to me could not stop dancing . . . even though there wasn't really room for his dancing and my body in the seat next to him.<br />
<br />
Grandma lady in front of us brought her daughter and three small granddaughters. I wouldn't have done that. There are some "adult situations." It was all pretty funny stuff, but I wouldn't have brought the boys. At one point small granddaughter turned to ask her mother about a certain word that was used . . . that had to do with the pollination of gymnosperm . . . sort of. I thought, "Well, that kinda serves you right, lady." Anyway, apparently grandma had gotten into an altercation with a man in the bar line and used a naughty word with him and then spun around and had a drink spilled on her. <br />
<br />
"Serves you right," said daughter.<br />
<br />
I don't know. It was an interesting crowd. Lots of cheering. Lots of dancing. That's the way to celebrate a birthday!<br />
<br />
PLUS, Brent bought me a pink birthday cake. Just right for a gal in a household of boys. Think I'll eat some right now.Marylisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15489863348639565056noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7099311611888825930.post-80546474383335689432012-04-27T11:22:00.001-05:002012-04-27T11:22:24.247-05:00I Can Fix It"I am so mad at you," said our dearly beloved reader-friend Sue. And then we were interrupted by another friend so I could not hear exactly why she was mad.<br />
<br />
Do you remember the movie Protocol with Goldie Hawn? No? Just me, then. The head of the protocol office asks Goldie, "My dear, do you know what you've done?"<br />
<br />
Goldie answers something to the effect, "Whatever it is I can fix it. Or clean it. Or pay for it."<br />
<br />
That was the thought going through my mind, "Whatever it is I can fix it. Or clean it. Or pay for it."<br />
<br />
I panicked because the last thing in the world I wanted was to have Sue mad at me.<br />
<br />
Turns out Sue thought it was time I stopped referring to myself as a<strike> fat mommy runner</strike>. I will do my very best, but it is going to be a while before I can refer to myself as a runner -- period -- without laughing.<br />
<br />
I haven't actually seen Coach Sam in several weeks; although, we have kept in touch by email. Sue's husband Les has done a nice job acting as assistant coach. I'm not sure he knows I've given him the title. He will now. One day my leg was bothering me and because he is a former phy ed teacher*, I asked him what he thought.<br />
<br />
"Well, you should ask your coach," he said and then gave me a list of about 20 things to try. It was excellent advice and my leg felt better in a couple of days.<br />
<br />
Are you ever too old to need the comfort and advice and cheerleading from people a little farther along the path than you are? I surely hope not.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">* I'd like to insert a joke here about him being especially helpful because he was an adaptive phy ed teacher, but . . .</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"> (1) I don't want to get into more trouble with Sue.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"> (2) I don't want to show any disrespect to adaptive phy teachers who are amazing heroes in this particular house. ;)</span>Marylisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15489863348639565056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7099311611888825930.post-20068551309877705642012-04-25T08:23:00.000-05:002012-04-25T08:23:01.244-05:00More Track Meet ThoughtsBefore Colin's last race on Monday I found myself in a panic, "That's too far! He can't run that far! How can he run that far?"<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I was in such an awkward position. I didn't want him to the the autistic kid on the track team. Above all else I want Colin to be one of the guys, but there in that moment I wanted to shout, "Shouldn't someone let the autistic kid have a head start????"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
No. Not if he's going to be just one of the guys on the track team.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And he didn't need it. Sure he came in last, but he kept up. And we found out later that for whatever reason he was running with older kids.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Sometimes "normal" kids come in last.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
At dinner the subject of marriage came up. I asked Colin if he thought he would get married.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Yeah, I don't think I want to be single."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Panic set in my heart. Will there ever be a girl with the patience for the kind of isolation Colin requires to recharge his batteries every day? Will Colin learn to communicate effectively with her? How is this ever going to happen??</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But wait. How many mothers of 13-year-old boys wonder if they are ever going to leave the nest. I would guess a lot.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
What a gut-wrenching heart-ripping thing motherhood can be.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Curses to you, autism, for making it even more complicated.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Thank you, autism, for making my child the lovely interesting kid that he is.</div>Marylisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15489863348639565056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7099311611888825930.post-71959644167005388752012-04-23T11:58:00.000-05:002012-04-23T11:58:16.893-05:00Track Meet!Hooray, the track team finally had their first meet. Colin will not be going to the Olympics this year, but I don't think any other junior higher from this group will be either, so if you look at it that way . . .<br />
<br />
It's hard to get a good start when you have your ears plugged because you don't like the starting pistol. Maybe some ear plugs would help. We should have sent some today. I have to say that even though he didn't come blazing across the finish line in any of his races, he did look like a tough track team kid. These weeks in the weight room are really paying off.<br />
<br />
I found the whole thing sort of tortuous. I would never have said I was a pushy athletic parent, but there I was from the sidelines, "KEEP YOUR HEAD DOWN!!!!! KEEP RUNNING!!!!!! DON'T QUIT NEAR THE EEEEEEEEEEND!!!!!"<br />
<br />
Really the other junior high parents were most silent. It was just me. Horrifying. I have seven more meets to practice good parent etiquette.Marylisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15489863348639565056noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7099311611888825930.post-64154880322861467782012-04-20T11:55:00.000-05:002012-04-20T11:55:01.875-05:00Diana's DressesMy dear friend Roberta and I went to see Princess Diana's dresses yesterday at the Very Big Mall. You are forbidden to take photos inside the exhibit. One teeny, tiny little old lady in a large red hat was taken to the ground when she took a snap of the wedding dress. You could, however, photograph this replica of the wedding cake all you liked:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja1X9tZbQpT67x-1d3XpS2LkdEs3S7LdVBu6wBduAteZekvU2IvQJuqfxIJ8Jf9GFFCH-knSosRdzCSVb9UtmzrTVL70C-cNcGXnYCkCBdbp72SwSOpIKv5ujN-zROL58IKaClL6qNtUk/s1600/IMG_0004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja1X9tZbQpT67x-1d3XpS2LkdEs3S7LdVBu6wBduAteZekvU2IvQJuqfxIJ8Jf9GFFCH-knSosRdzCSVb9UtmzrTVL70C-cNcGXnYCkCBdbp72SwSOpIKv5ujN-zROL58IKaClL6qNtUk/s320/IMG_0004.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Those decorations on the sides are different state symbols. Thank goodness there were not state symbols on mine. Just dessert-y goodness. Can you imagine? "Oh, look! I got the Windsor coat of arms!"<br />
<br />
Truthfully, I got a little misty in the wedding dress room. I was 13 when she got married. The perfect age to imagine there was an older charming prince waiting for me. The dress is starting to yellow and it looks dated by today's wedding dress standards, but it is still certainly beautiful. In fact, with the exception of a few dresses she wore during her engagement, all of the dresses displayed were beautiful and classic. You could wear any one of them today and no one would notice that you were wearing something 15 plus years old. She had good taste . . . or she was surrounded by people with good taste. Either way.<br />
<br />
In the end, even though my prince doesn't have as much nobility as hers, I think I got the better end of the deal, if not the clothes. My prince is unarguably better looking and more emotionally stable. He did not come with lands and castles, but he came with Jeremy and Shelby and that was a pretty good deal.<br />
<br />
Plus, no one from the press is chasing me down. Well, except for Jimmy who publishes a monthly paper for seniors. We saw each other at preschool pick up. <br />
<br />
He wanted to tell me he saw my letter in Newsweek.Marylisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15489863348639565056noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7099311611888825930.post-57213426129550464622012-04-18T08:05:00.002-05:002012-04-18T08:05:13.408-05:00Entry Form: Part 2I left you hanging.<br />
<br />
I did enter the race, so here we go . . .<br />
<br />
Two and a half weeks.<br />
<br />
I would like to tell you I am feeling more confident emotionally, but I am not. Complete panic in my heart of hearts. That being said, I do think I can drag my fat mommy butt across the finish line, so that's something.<br />
<br />
I shall think about and look for signs of the life cycle of the gymnosperm on my way.<br />
<br />
HA! Ohhhhhhhhh! Some days we are crazier than others.Marylisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15489863348639565056noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7099311611888825930.post-62478220336383010182012-04-17T10:36:00.002-05:002012-04-17T10:37:44.983-05:00Homework<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdVOctt00KzCtx-ZXppjQDUn2iKwsudD0Ujt-OG1iY3Ov2ybfa4ygs09EElWSnCFt1zpEWqxc7I3YdkztEnVZNKWnYzgk9A2lG4-x3RgiFq_ge8UU-sPwSQAxPhUF40lTobatJhqESCnc/s1600/IMAG0098.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdVOctt00KzCtx-ZXppjQDUn2iKwsudD0Ujt-OG1iY3Ov2ybfa4ygs09EElWSnCFt1zpEWqxc7I3YdkztEnVZNKWnYzgk9A2lG4-x3RgiFq_ge8UU-sPwSQAxPhUF40lTobatJhqESCnc/s320/IMAG0098.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pine Cone resting comfortably after exhausting trip through reproduction</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Who is ready for a break from 7th grade homework besides me? Last night we had this:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">LIFE CYCLE OF THE GYMNOSPERM</span> </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
(which is a pine cone in case you didn't remember)</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Fill in the blank.</span></div>
<br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The (blank) is (blank) and grows (blank) to (blank). (Blank) then (blank) and is released by (blank) which then (blank).</span><br />
<br />
Okay. I am exaggerating. It wasn't that bad. Or maybe it was worse. Either way, I wanted to cry. I am going to be 43 in a couple of weeks. I have two bachelor's degrees and I just couldn't figure out what was supposed to go in those blanks.<br />
<br />
Not that I was doing my son's homework for him, but reading comprehension isn't really his bag. It helps if I can point to the area in the text where he needs to start looking. Only last night (and this was not the first time), the text and the worksheet didn't seem to match.<br />
<br />
This is good for me anyway. Reading comprehension is my bag, so when I was Colin's age I zoomed through these worksheets. I retained none of it. Now I know the life cycle of the pine cone.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjwOP_k3ZVehcgBk9IcFyiRnNEkP-sqNukE9o0v9CNoRfX-VNPUeGj1-Xu8PnRKezsh0AgGxkHt1uzfIE22Ak5HCqzZbdv67cLtt_2AWcSe5Kj6C8Wt1sP7NZRvuCchMkThYvxnHoqWjA/s1600/IMG_0001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjwOP_k3ZVehcgBk9IcFyiRnNEkP-sqNukE9o0v9CNoRfX-VNPUeGj1-Xu8PnRKezsh0AgGxkHt1uzfIE22Ak5HCqzZbdv67cLtt_2AWcSe5Kj6C8Wt1sP7NZRvuCchMkThYvxnHoqWjA/s320/IMG_0001.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Soon to be track star and favorite s'daughter Shelby.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Track is getting less painful for Colin each passing day. We have yet to go to a track meet. It was cold and rainy -- and when I say "rainy" I mean snowy -- from Friday to Monday, so two meets were rescheduled. We try again this Friday. I will keep you posted.Marylisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15489863348639565056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7099311611888825930.post-45552110378052711372012-04-12T11:30:00.002-05:002012-04-12T11:31:02.210-05:00Letter to the EditorOne of the best parts of the week in the family weekly newspaper business was reading the letters to the editor. Every periodical no matter how large or small has writers who send in regular letters. Some of these writers are crazier than others.<br />
<br />
One of ours was a woman whose personal campaign was public schools. She lived near an elementary school and she had some really powerful opinions. One of her beefs was that the elementary school had trees on their property. The leaves fell off these trees and she, an innocent taxpayer, was forced to clean up the mess. The least the school could do was send over some child to rake. I mean how were those kids going to learn responsibility?<br />
<br />
My favorite letter from her concerned school breakfast. In Minnesota if the majority of your district's residents are under a certain income level, the school must serve free breakfast to the elementary students. My letter writer was incensed! Incensed, I tell you!! Couldn't these children learn to make toast?! Why was she, an innocent taxpayer, forced to feed them? Especially since they couldn't even be bothered to rake her yard!<br />
<br />
She was just one of several regular writers we had. It made me sensitive to responding to something in writing. I really have to be fired up -- and then I tend to assume maybe I am overreacting. Maybe I need to think carefully and choose my words carefully, so I don't sound like a crazy person forcing kindergartners on a diet of bread and water and forced labor.<br />
<br />
Well, last week I read an article in a national news magazine that I mostly agreed with but thought the author had taken some liberties with what I believe are the facts. Rather than mull over my best argument, I sat right down at this very computer and dashed off a strongly worded email with pertinent references. As I hit send I thought to myself, "Huh. I wish I had taken more time to think that through. Oh, well. I will never have my letter printed in this magazine. They will probably say, 'Crazy person!' and throw it in the trash."<br />
<br />
So it was with trepidation I opened this week's copy of the magazine and . . . there it was. Right there. In a national news magazine.<br />
<br />
I have never felt such a tremendous mix of pride and horror. Why, oh why, oh why didn't I take a few more minutes to think through my argument rather than just fire off what was on the tip of my tongue? Why?<br />
<br />
On the plus side, it is nicely edited. And it is my debut as an international writer. HA! And the news cycle is very short. As we used to tell upset people when they called the newspaper, "Next week there will be a different copy."<br />
<br />
As long as I don't keep writing or endorse child labor, I should be okay.Marylisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15489863348639565056noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7099311611888825930.post-2344090968778923152012-04-10T10:45:00.001-05:002012-04-10T10:45:18.542-05:00Entry FormThis is week five of my running training. It's going better than I thought it would. It's time to pre-register for the 5K which is four weeks from now.<br />
<br />
I've had the on-line form open on my desktop for two days now. I can't bring myself to do it, but what am I afraid of?<br />
<br />
I suspect I am having old phy ed emotional issues. I don't want anyone looking at me while I run (even though my daily route takes me alongside a state highway). I don't want to be passed by 10k runners. I don't want my high school classmates laughing at my goofy self-expressive running outfit (even though it's been 25 years since I was in high school). I don't want to be defeated by the hill which starts the run. I don't want pitiful looks as I come panting my fat-mommy pant across the finish line.<br />
<br />
What if I get stuck?<br />
<br />
What if I get sick?<br />
<br />
What if Jesus comes and I am out in the middle of a field instead of standing with my family?<br />
<br />
What if I am beaten by a rogue gang of highway robbers?<br />
<br />
What if I am the dead last one and everyone has gone home?<br />
<br />
What if I am the dead last one and everyone has stood around waiting for me?<br />
<br />
<i>What's that you say? Just enter the stupid race because you're going to be fine?</i><br />
<br />
*sigh*<br />
<br />
Okay. But you better wait for me at the finish and pretend like I'm not dead last and you haven't been standing there all day.Marylisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15489863348639565056noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7099311611888825930.post-18075912045065337082012-04-09T12:04:00.000-05:002012-04-09T12:04:13.731-05:00Running Update and other Sundry Items of Little InterestI chose today's title over "Writer's Block Monday: The Anguish Continues." It's just very dull around here.<br />
<br />
Running is going fine. Saturday was 2.5 miles. It's been very windy which has been a challenge. Also, I seem to have aggravated an injury I received walking downhill at reader-friend Molly's last summer. I may or may not have been trying to balance my tasty summertime cocktail and some snacks as I made my way back down to the lake in wedge flip flops. Tricky.<br />
<br />
Colin has survived his first week of track. He's not in love with it. He doesn't like it when he doesn't know exactly what to expect. I, personally, know how this feels. I'm hoping when he gets his first meet out of the way, he'll rally.<br />
<br />
I was remembering this morning that for the entire length of last school year, he swore up and down it was his last year of choir. Then when it came time to register, he registered for choir. Who can understand the male adolescent mind?<br />
<br />
The neighbors out my kitchen window are snowbirds. They have not returned yet, but someone came and got their car. This weekend a great-granddaughter or someone came and dug up the peonies. Stay tuned for further action packed neighborhood updates.Marylisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15489863348639565056noreply@blogger.com0