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.