MOVING DAY

A 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.

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.

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, I think you'll just get moved over. If you visit this page or get lost the new address is:

atleastweknow.wordpress.com

Notice that the address here was "leastweknow" and the new address is "atleastweknow."

Okay.  Here goes nothing.

Preschooler D Gets a Library Card

PLACE: The library

LIBRARIAN WENDY:  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? (Pushes card to D)

PRESCHOOLER D: No. (Pushes card back to Librarian Wendy. Librarian Wendy looks stunned.)

THE MOTHER:  Why don't I just put it in my purse for now?

Librarian Wendy called just now still laughing.  She said she's never had anyone weigh the responsibility of the library card so heavily.

Am I cleaning? No.

The Son Rises

Not 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.

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.

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.

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.

Here he is with Jeremy:

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.

I remember bawling my eyes out 9 years ago this summer, wondering what he would be able to do.

I ask you, what can't this kid do?

Mmmmmmm, put his dishes in the dishwasher for one, put his folded clothes away for another. . .

Insanity, 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.)

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.

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.

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.

A young tiny salesperson came over and asked how I was doing.  I looked at her helplessly.

"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?"

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."

I wanted to hug her, but that seemed inappropriate.

At the Track Meet with Colin

SCENE:  The mother observes autistic son talking to himself at the track meet, she wanders over to remind him this isn't socially acceptable behavior.

THE MOTHER: Colin, you're talking to yourself.

COLIN: (Puts his arm around The Mother.  He pats her gently on the back and smiles.) Mom, you're embarrassing me.

A Moment of Compassion with Preschooler D

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.

THE MOTHER:  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 clothes that then have to be washed and folded and dumped in a drawer where they get all wrinkly and it looks like you just rolled out of bed and put on the first thing you found on the floor!!

PRESCHOOLER D:  Mom!! Mom!!  It wasn't me!!  It wasn't me who told on you!!  It was Colin!!

At the Dentist with Preschooler D

Lovely Dental Hygienist Teresa:  Preschooler D, do you have any concerns about your teeth?

D:  Well, actually, I was eating some Cheetos and got some stuck right in here. (Point to tooth)

Theresa:  Oh, yes.  I see.

Seeking Adventure

My 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.

Naturally, she is both excited and nervous.  Wouldn't you be?

But what an adventure -- to be so young and married and living overseas and making friends and seeing things together.

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.

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.

Of course she would.

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.

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.

"Anything else?" she asked.

"Yes, do you have anything for the callous on my finger from my bass guitar?"

Young, Pierced and Tattooed looked at me, tilted her head and smiled.  "You play bass guitar?  Do you have a band?"

"Ah . . . well, yes . . . as a matter of fact, I do."

"Wow!! And you just started running? You are busy.  That's amazing!"

Oh, honey, I thought.  You don't know the half of of it.  You wouldn't believe the adventure in my life.

Cleaning

2 hours 51 minutes until our church small group friends arrive.  I have yet to start cleaning.

Did my "speed training" this morning. Good heavens.  Not as awful as hill sprints, but challenging.

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.

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.

Made chocolate chip bars.  Not sure if someone is bringing dessert tonight.  I like to be ready.

Finished a game I was playing with D.

Talked to my cousins on Facebook.

Emptied and filled the dishwasher.  Brent started it, so I have to give credit where credit is due.

Talked to the lawn guy.

Couldn't start vacuuming because there was a good song on.

So now I am talking to you.  Amid the rabble. With 2 hours 40 minutes to go . . .

Recovery

Well, 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.

Let me say that again so you understand.  It was awful.

Carrie, my friend/dental hygienist, asked today, "But wasn't it great when you got to the top?"

No.  No, it wasn't.  I was seriously, literally nauseous.

Plus then I had to jog *a mile* back home.

But . . . why not?  I mean, eight weeks ago I didn't think I could run a mile.

How do you like me now?

‎2 Timothy 4:7

I have fought the good fight.  I have finished the race. I have kept the faith.

(Shout out to Cousin Josh for the theme of today's blog.)  


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 . . . who cares?!!  I did it!

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.

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."

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 . . .

Isn't he cute in a completely platonic-brother-in-Christ way?  Wouldn't you run 3.1 miles?


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.

It was Gigi.

Thank you all, blog reader-friends, for praying for me and cheering for me.  What a day.

2 Timothy 1:7

For the Spirit God gave us does not make us timid, but gives us power, love and self-discipline.

Pre-Dinner Conversation with D

Preschooler D:  What is that smell?

ME: French fries.

D: No, what is that delicious smell?

M: French fries.

D: And?

M: French fries.

D: No, I mean what else?

M: Just french fries.

D:  It smells like chicken nuggets.

M: Oh, yeah.  It does.  Nope, just french fries.

D: But it smells like chicken nuggets.

M:  I don't know what to tell you.  It's just french fries.

D:  Mom! It looks like the smell of chicken nuggets.

M:  Yes, son, I actually follow that train of thought. Sadly, there are only french fries in the oven.

Birthday Part 2: Still not whining

Gigi 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.

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."

I don't think that's going to happen, but you never know with Gigi.

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.

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.

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.

That's an awful lot to ask of one little race.  Maybe I should just focus on getting to the finish line.

Birthday!

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?

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.

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.

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.

"Serves you right," said daughter.

I don't know.  It was an interesting crowd.  Lots of cheering.  Lots of dancing.  That's the way to celebrate a birthday!

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.

I 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.

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?"

Goldie answers something to the effect, "Whatever it is I can fix it. Or clean it. Or pay for it."

That was the thought going through my mind, "Whatever it is I can fix it. Or clean it. Or pay for it."

I panicked because the last thing in the world I wanted was to have Sue mad at me.

Turns out Sue thought it was time I stopped referring to myself as a fat mommy runner.  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.

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.

"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.

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.

* I'd like to insert a joke here about him being especially helpful because he was an adaptive phy ed teacher, but . . .
 (1) I don't want to get into more trouble with Sue.
 (2) I don't want to show any disrespect to adaptive phy teachers who are amazing heroes in this particular house. ;)

More Track Meet Thoughts

Before 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?"

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????"

No.  Not if he's going to be just one of the guys on the track team.

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.

Sometimes "normal" kids come in last.

At dinner the subject of marriage came up.  I asked Colin if he thought he would get married.

"Yeah, I don't think I want to be single."

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??

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.

What a gut-wrenching heart-ripping thing motherhood can be.

Curses to you, autism, for making it even more complicated.

Thank you, autism, for making my child the lovely interesting kid that he is.

Track 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 . . .

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.

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!!!!!"

Really the other junior high parents were most silent.  It was just me.  Horrifying.  I have seven more meets to practice good parent etiquette.

Diana's Dresses

My 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:

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!"

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.

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.

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.

He wanted to tell me he saw my letter in Newsweek.