Before Tom and I moved to this new area we had an opportunity to go out with a group of friends for a night out on the town. One of the couples offered to pick Tom and I up at our house and drive because our house was on the way to the restaurant. They arrived at our house in their beautiful Honda mini van. Now let me be clear here, I am the daughter of former GM employee so I always buy American when it comes to my vehicles. However, if I ever had to buy a foreign mini van, I would definitely buy a Honda. This mini van is amazing! The side doors can automatically open and close at the touch of a button. The seats are comfortable, and the interior as well as exterior are pretty stylish. I was impressed.
We had a fantastic dinner with our friends, and then we all headed over to a favorite Irish pub for a couple after dinner drinks. Parking around this pub could be tricky on any given day, but on a Saturday night it could be darn near impossible. We were ecstatic when we approached the pub and discovered there was a parallel parking place right in front of the pub. My friend pulled into the spot, hit the automatic door button, we all hopped out of the van, hit the automatic close button, and happily headed into the pub giddy with laughter and enthusiastically talking about our luck at finding such great parking. It was as I was walking into the pub that I happened to notice a group of younger guys standing outside of the pub smoking, and smirking at us. What was so amusing to these young, single, no obligations guys? Was it our obvious enthusiasm over finding front space parking? Was it the awe and excitement that Tom and I showed over automatic side doors on a mini van? Was it my clearly jazzed up clothing that I sported because I was so excited to be out of the standard jeans and t-shirt? Was it the near spillage of toddler toys and books that often happens when a mini van doors are opened? Or was it the obvious joy all of us showed over a big night out on the town without our children? Did we appear, dare I say, pathetic to these 20 something’s?
Personally, if I were a 20 something, I would have found the whole scene of these 30 something’s experiencing a big night out in the family mini van to be pretty comical. When I was a 20 something, I swore that I would never own a mini van. Tom and I purchased one just prior to Hailey’s birth. When I was a 20 something, I could head out any night of the week with my friends and stay out as late as I wanted. Tom and I are now reliant on the availability of babysitters, and we are also obligated to the babysitter’s curfew. We no longer close down the joint, because the babysitter has to be home by midnight, and the kids will be up early the next day. When I was a 20 something I could sleep in until noon the next day. Now I hope I can sleep in until 8:00am. To further that point, when I was a 20 something I was often crawling into bed at 4 am. Now as a 30 something there have been far too many mornings when I have been waking up at 4 am. Dreadful! When I was a 20 something, I had some standard “night out outfits”. Now I have standard “Mom outfits” and a night out requires hours of thumbing through my wardrobe looking for something “fun” to wear. It even occasionally necessitates a trip to the mall for a new purchase. When I was a 20 something empty diet coke bottles spilled out of my car. It wasn’t all that long ago that baby bottles and sippy cups were spilling out of my car. Now it is usually stale French fries, empty Gatorade bottles, and wadded up old school papers that never made it into the house. When I was a 20 something, I never really appreciated those nights when I was out laughing and having carefree moments with my friends. Now I plan outings days sometimes weeks in advance and look forward to them with great anticipation as the days edge closer to our night out. Now I truly cherish a night out with friends.
Yes, I sometimes miss those carefree moments of my youth, but I would never trade today for yesterday. I would never trade my girls for the no strings, no responsibilities of my youth. These truly are the days for Tom and me. Those 20 something guys were probably sympathetic towards those 30 something adults hopping out of a mini van, but these 30 something parents are sympathetic of those 20 something guys who just don’t know what they are missing out on. Nothing beats the smell of a newborn baby. Nothing beats watching your baby take their first walking steps and fall into your arms laughing and proud. Nothing beats watching your child learn to ride a two wheeler. Nothing beats the smile on your child’s face when they make a great play at a sporting event. Nothing beats a hand made Valentine from your child. Nothing beats breakfast in bed made by your children and spouse. Nothing beats crayon pictures of your family. Nothing beats an, “I love you Mom and Dad,” when the finances are tight and work is stressful. Nothing beats being a 30 something with kids.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Leaf Lady
Years ago Tom and I rented a house for a brief period of time in a remote area. The only neighbors we had were three houses across the street which were inhabited by retired people. The couples in two of the houses were very friendly and extremely helpful. This particular area received a lot of snow in the winter time. When I say a lot of snow, I mean it snowed everyday. Hailey had just joined our family. Between a newborn and a 2 year old, Tom and I were pretty busy. Our kind neighbors took turns coming over to our house and snow blowing the driveway everyday. It was the kindest and most helpful thing I think anyone has ever done for us. Tom and I both greatly appreciated their generosity.
The last of the three neighbors was a little different. I didn’t see the husband so much, but I saw the wife everyday. The wife was, shall we say, a little obsessive about her yard and driveway. In the spring she was out everyday picking up winter twigs and preparing her flower beds. In the summer she was either mowing her lawn, raking her lawn, pulling weeds, or sweeping (yes sweeping) her driveway. She swept her driveway everyday at least once. In the winter she was busy clearing her driveway of snow. But it was the fall that puzzled me the most. In the Midwest the trees lose their leaves practically by the second throughout the fall. My neighbor was outside everyday raking leaves. After she had raked all her fallen leaves from the night before, she would retreat to her home. If the story stopped here then it wouldn’t be odd, but the story doesn’t stop here. Whenever a new leaf would fall on her yard, she would run out from her house and pick up the leaf. I am completely serious. Her days in the fall were spent running in and out of her house grabbing fallen leaves as soon as they landed on her pristine lawn. Now I’ve heard of having pride in ones lawn but this takes it to a whole new level. I’ve also heard of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, and I suspect we had a classic text book case of this going on across the street.
At that time, Megan was only 2 and I can recall standing in the big picture window of our family room watching the neighbor race out her front door in pursuit of the fallen leaf. I can also recall Megan commenting in her toddler vocabulary, “That weird Mommy.” Out of the mouths of babes. It was weird and sad at the same time. I was curious about this woman and what caused her obsession with her yard. I felt it was possibly my neighborly responsibility to run across the street and perform and intervention, but labor pains started and the only intervention I wanted was medical intervention for me.
Now that I am at home full time with two children in school full time, I see how easily it could be to slide down that slippery slope of OCD. I have nothing to keep me entertained during the day so why not run outside and play a game of keep away with the leaves and my lawn. Why not get down on my hands and knees everyday and clean my base boards with a little brush? Why not freak out whenever liquid from the nights dinner spills over onto the oven floor? Why not climb a ladder daily and wipe down the ceiling fans? Why not? Because there is a plethora of good TV to watch throughout the day. Because there is a whole world of knowledge to be found via the internet. Because there are countless hobbies that one can become obsessed with which are far more productive then lawn and house obsessions. Because I guess I am just too lazy and too strong mentally to take a ride down the OCD slope.
Still I do look back at the time I spent watching the Leaf Lady race out of her house and chase down leaves, and I feel great sympathy and regret. Sympathy because evidently this lady had nothing else in life to find joy and completeness. Regret because I never took the time to go over to her house and save her. Leaf Lady if you are still out there, there are some great 12 step programs to assist you with this problem. There are also some fine medications. I would suggest you pursue both.
The last of the three neighbors was a little different. I didn’t see the husband so much, but I saw the wife everyday. The wife was, shall we say, a little obsessive about her yard and driveway. In the spring she was out everyday picking up winter twigs and preparing her flower beds. In the summer she was either mowing her lawn, raking her lawn, pulling weeds, or sweeping (yes sweeping) her driveway. She swept her driveway everyday at least once. In the winter she was busy clearing her driveway of snow. But it was the fall that puzzled me the most. In the Midwest the trees lose their leaves practically by the second throughout the fall. My neighbor was outside everyday raking leaves. After she had raked all her fallen leaves from the night before, she would retreat to her home. If the story stopped here then it wouldn’t be odd, but the story doesn’t stop here. Whenever a new leaf would fall on her yard, she would run out from her house and pick up the leaf. I am completely serious. Her days in the fall were spent running in and out of her house grabbing fallen leaves as soon as they landed on her pristine lawn. Now I’ve heard of having pride in ones lawn but this takes it to a whole new level. I’ve also heard of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, and I suspect we had a classic text book case of this going on across the street.
At that time, Megan was only 2 and I can recall standing in the big picture window of our family room watching the neighbor race out her front door in pursuit of the fallen leaf. I can also recall Megan commenting in her toddler vocabulary, “That weird Mommy.” Out of the mouths of babes. It was weird and sad at the same time. I was curious about this woman and what caused her obsession with her yard. I felt it was possibly my neighborly responsibility to run across the street and perform and intervention, but labor pains started and the only intervention I wanted was medical intervention for me.
Now that I am at home full time with two children in school full time, I see how easily it could be to slide down that slippery slope of OCD. I have nothing to keep me entertained during the day so why not run outside and play a game of keep away with the leaves and my lawn. Why not get down on my hands and knees everyday and clean my base boards with a little brush? Why not freak out whenever liquid from the nights dinner spills over onto the oven floor? Why not climb a ladder daily and wipe down the ceiling fans? Why not? Because there is a plethora of good TV to watch throughout the day. Because there is a whole world of knowledge to be found via the internet. Because there are countless hobbies that one can become obsessed with which are far more productive then lawn and house obsessions. Because I guess I am just too lazy and too strong mentally to take a ride down the OCD slope.
Still I do look back at the time I spent watching the Leaf Lady race out of her house and chase down leaves, and I feel great sympathy and regret. Sympathy because evidently this lady had nothing else in life to find joy and completeness. Regret because I never took the time to go over to her house and save her. Leaf Lady if you are still out there, there are some great 12 step programs to assist you with this problem. There are also some fine medications. I would suggest you pursue both.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
The Daily Grind
When the car door slams behind my daughters after I drop them off at school, a seven hour stretch of quiet and boredom sets in. Have you ever gone seven straight hours without hearing your voice? I do it most days. I have actually contemplated calling my house phone with my cell phone just to verify that the house phone is working because it has been days since it has rung.
It’s a catch twenty-two. When your children are really little you long for a day alone in the house with peace and quiet. Then they get older and head off to school and most people head back to work full time. Due to my most recent circumstances I am back at home full time with no one to care for. I drop my children off at school and head home to an empty and very quiet house. I passed the point of being able to enjoy the peace and quiet a long time ago. Now it is just plain boring.
My weeks are pretty dull. I do laundry on Monday, clean the house on Tuesday, ummm nothing really for Wednesday, Bible Study on Thursday, and volunteer in Hailey’s classroom on Friday. I also get to go grocery shopping on Friday which is exciting for me because I pretend I am “real” shopping. Due to my recent circumstances I have also had to curb my shopping. Grocery shopping is a close second. Every now and then I get to throw into my week an “extra event”. This could be something like getting my hair cut, going to the PTA meeting, or visiting the dentist. It is on these days that there is a little extra pep in my step, sparkle in my eyes, and glow across my face. Now I ask you, how sad is it when a woman gets excited about her annual exam? It’s just not right.
Just recently I was roaming around my home town when I noticed a home décor store had a sign advertising free home decorating classes. I nearly stood out on the sidewalk and screamed! Are you kidding me? Oh happy day! I ran right in and signed up for every class. That evening I announced to my family that I had signed up for some free home decorating classes. Tom was overjoyed as he feels I definitely need classes in this area. Megan asked me when I would be attending the class. I told her it was on Thursday. She said, “Oh, Bible study and a decorating class all in one day. That’s a big day for you Mom.” So sad when your child even realizes that you have no life.
On the day of my mantel decorating class, a friend of mine from my old hometown emailed me for her routine safety check. I responded that I was alive and doing well. I told her that I had attended a mantel decorating class. Her response was, “What kind of class?” Yes, they do have whole classes devoted specifically to decorating ones fireplace mantel, and yes I attended one. I could tell she was laughing at me from the other end of the email, but she said it sounded like a great class. She admitted that she would be interested in attending a class on mantel decorating. She also stated she was glad to know I wasn’t spending all my days on the sofa viewing one Lifetime movie after another. Well not today anyway thanks to my class, but tomorrow is another story.
My friend shared this mantel decorating news with a mutual friend of ours. Her response was that the class sounded like fun but did they have a mantel building class as she would need that first. I told her I would check at Home Depot and look into it. I offered to take the class and build her a mantel if Home Depot had such a class. My friend didn’t seem opposed to my offer, but then again she’s never heard about my chainsaw massacre.
Yes, it is a challenge to fight the daily grind, but I am finding that there are a lot of unique and interesting opportunities out there. On my list of future possibilities are Salsa classes, a mammogram, and something called Krumba?
It’s a catch twenty-two. When your children are really little you long for a day alone in the house with peace and quiet. Then they get older and head off to school and most people head back to work full time. Due to my most recent circumstances I am back at home full time with no one to care for. I drop my children off at school and head home to an empty and very quiet house. I passed the point of being able to enjoy the peace and quiet a long time ago. Now it is just plain boring.
My weeks are pretty dull. I do laundry on Monday, clean the house on Tuesday, ummm nothing really for Wednesday, Bible Study on Thursday, and volunteer in Hailey’s classroom on Friday. I also get to go grocery shopping on Friday which is exciting for me because I pretend I am “real” shopping. Due to my recent circumstances I have also had to curb my shopping. Grocery shopping is a close second. Every now and then I get to throw into my week an “extra event”. This could be something like getting my hair cut, going to the PTA meeting, or visiting the dentist. It is on these days that there is a little extra pep in my step, sparkle in my eyes, and glow across my face. Now I ask you, how sad is it when a woman gets excited about her annual exam? It’s just not right.
Just recently I was roaming around my home town when I noticed a home décor store had a sign advertising free home decorating classes. I nearly stood out on the sidewalk and screamed! Are you kidding me? Oh happy day! I ran right in and signed up for every class. That evening I announced to my family that I had signed up for some free home decorating classes. Tom was overjoyed as he feels I definitely need classes in this area. Megan asked me when I would be attending the class. I told her it was on Thursday. She said, “Oh, Bible study and a decorating class all in one day. That’s a big day for you Mom.” So sad when your child even realizes that you have no life.
On the day of my mantel decorating class, a friend of mine from my old hometown emailed me for her routine safety check. I responded that I was alive and doing well. I told her that I had attended a mantel decorating class. Her response was, “What kind of class?” Yes, they do have whole classes devoted specifically to decorating ones fireplace mantel, and yes I attended one. I could tell she was laughing at me from the other end of the email, but she said it sounded like a great class. She admitted that she would be interested in attending a class on mantel decorating. She also stated she was glad to know I wasn’t spending all my days on the sofa viewing one Lifetime movie after another. Well not today anyway thanks to my class, but tomorrow is another story.
My friend shared this mantel decorating news with a mutual friend of ours. Her response was that the class sounded like fun but did they have a mantel building class as she would need that first. I told her I would check at Home Depot and look into it. I offered to take the class and build her a mantel if Home Depot had such a class. My friend didn’t seem opposed to my offer, but then again she’s never heard about my chainsaw massacre.
Yes, it is a challenge to fight the daily grind, but I am finding that there are a lot of unique and interesting opportunities out there. On my list of future possibilities are Salsa classes, a mammogram, and something called Krumba?
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Hotel OBGYN
I feel obligated to disclose that this column might be uncomfortable for a man so beware and stop reading if you feel squeamish over discussions regarding females and their doctor appointments. With that disclosure out of the way, here we go.
I recently had to go to my annual exam. As some of you are aware, I have relocated to a new town which necessitated a new doctor. I have moved around quite a bit over the past few years, so I have had to get acquainted with a new doctor a lot lately. It is kind of like going on blind date. I’m not real sure what the doctor will be like or if I will want a long term relationship with the doctor. So it’s a gamble with each annual exam.
I have to admit that I was impressed when I arrived at my appointment. I walked into the office, and it looked like I was walking into a hotel lobby. It was nicely decorated with wallpaper, flower arrangements, and inviting plush sofas. I “checked in” at the front desk and patiently waited for the nurse to call me back to the exam room. Let me just say that I do not like having my annual exam. I detest it. So while I was waiting for the nurse, I sat in the waiting room and grew ever anxious about my impending appointment.
At last it was my turn. I followed the nurse back to the exam room which was also decorated very invitingly, very hotelish. I then proceeded to answer all of her personal and invasive questions. Afterwards I was instructed to strip down completely and put on a flimsy paper gown which I was to leave open in the front. Nothing quite like cutting to the chase. After the nurse left and I prepared myself for the exam, it occurred to me just how personal this relationship is. Here I am in an office that I have never been in before being questioned by a nurse and doctor that I have never met before, and about to have a very intimate moment with said doctor. It begged to question that perhaps having an annual exam would be a little bit more pleasurable if I were offered a glass of wine at check in and the doctor dimmed the lights a little. I mean seriously, here we are about to get very personal and the only efforts to make me feel comfortable and relaxed are some nice decorations and furniture. If you’re going to go to all of this effort, why not go the extra mile and offer some relaxing beverages and mood lighting.
A couple of years ago, I had to have a mammogram. I was pretty nervous about having the procedure and had put it off for a long time. I had heard so many horror stories from other women and let’s face it having your breast flattened like a pancake just doesn’t sound like a good time. When a friend of mine was diagnosed with breast cancer, I decided it was time to get over the fear of a mammogram because cancer is way scarier. I remember waiting in the exam room for the technician and noticing an array of comics related to having a mammogram hanging on a bulletin board. Not one to turn down an opportunity to have a good laugh, I began reading the comics. I also remember laughing very hard at the comics and instantly relaxing. I was no longer freaked out about the smashing machine located behind me. Not only was the procedure not bad at all, but I remember saying to the technician that I would much rather come back every year and have my breasts smashed then go to the gynecologist for my annual exam. She said they get that a lot.
So, if the OBGYN isn’t going to offer wine and mood lighting, can they at least offer up some good comics? I was talking with a pharmaceutical sales representative one time who calls on gynecologist offices. He said once when he was in an office he saw a comic in the break room that showed a woman looking at a written message her husband had left for her on the refrigerator door. The message said, “Your doctor called and said your Pabst Beer is ok.” Now that’s funny. If that comic had been plastered to the ceiling of my exam room, I could have been laying there laughing rather then hyperventilating. So my suggestion is this for the OBGYN, either offer wine or comics. I have a feeling comics will win out over wine, but hey, I tried.
I recently had to go to my annual exam. As some of you are aware, I have relocated to a new town which necessitated a new doctor. I have moved around quite a bit over the past few years, so I have had to get acquainted with a new doctor a lot lately. It is kind of like going on blind date. I’m not real sure what the doctor will be like or if I will want a long term relationship with the doctor. So it’s a gamble with each annual exam.
I have to admit that I was impressed when I arrived at my appointment. I walked into the office, and it looked like I was walking into a hotel lobby. It was nicely decorated with wallpaper, flower arrangements, and inviting plush sofas. I “checked in” at the front desk and patiently waited for the nurse to call me back to the exam room. Let me just say that I do not like having my annual exam. I detest it. So while I was waiting for the nurse, I sat in the waiting room and grew ever anxious about my impending appointment.
At last it was my turn. I followed the nurse back to the exam room which was also decorated very invitingly, very hotelish. I then proceeded to answer all of her personal and invasive questions. Afterwards I was instructed to strip down completely and put on a flimsy paper gown which I was to leave open in the front. Nothing quite like cutting to the chase. After the nurse left and I prepared myself for the exam, it occurred to me just how personal this relationship is. Here I am in an office that I have never been in before being questioned by a nurse and doctor that I have never met before, and about to have a very intimate moment with said doctor. It begged to question that perhaps having an annual exam would be a little bit more pleasurable if I were offered a glass of wine at check in and the doctor dimmed the lights a little. I mean seriously, here we are about to get very personal and the only efforts to make me feel comfortable and relaxed are some nice decorations and furniture. If you’re going to go to all of this effort, why not go the extra mile and offer some relaxing beverages and mood lighting.
A couple of years ago, I had to have a mammogram. I was pretty nervous about having the procedure and had put it off for a long time. I had heard so many horror stories from other women and let’s face it having your breast flattened like a pancake just doesn’t sound like a good time. When a friend of mine was diagnosed with breast cancer, I decided it was time to get over the fear of a mammogram because cancer is way scarier. I remember waiting in the exam room for the technician and noticing an array of comics related to having a mammogram hanging on a bulletin board. Not one to turn down an opportunity to have a good laugh, I began reading the comics. I also remember laughing very hard at the comics and instantly relaxing. I was no longer freaked out about the smashing machine located behind me. Not only was the procedure not bad at all, but I remember saying to the technician that I would much rather come back every year and have my breasts smashed then go to the gynecologist for my annual exam. She said they get that a lot.
So, if the OBGYN isn’t going to offer wine and mood lighting, can they at least offer up some good comics? I was talking with a pharmaceutical sales representative one time who calls on gynecologist offices. He said once when he was in an office he saw a comic in the break room that showed a woman looking at a written message her husband had left for her on the refrigerator door. The message said, “Your doctor called and said your Pabst Beer is ok.” Now that’s funny. If that comic had been plastered to the ceiling of my exam room, I could have been laying there laughing rather then hyperventilating. So my suggestion is this for the OBGYN, either offer wine or comics. I have a feeling comics will win out over wine, but hey, I tried.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Brownie Anyone?
There is another reason why I run other then the fact that I enjoy it, and I am trying to set a good example for my children. I run because if I didn’t then I would surely weigh close to 500 pounds. Why you might ask? Because I am addicted to the Foodnetwork channel. Yes I confess that I spend hours and hours viewing various shows on the Foodnetwork. Some of this time has been spent in frustration i.e. Croquet Monsieur is really just a grilled ham and cheese sandwich. I’ve been making those quite regularly for 10 years. I don’t need a detailed TV show to give me the how to’s on that one. Yes, that was a half hour of my life that I will never get back.
Now when I worked outside of the home both full time and part time, my family would regularly ask me if I could bake some brownies or cookies or cupcakes, etc. I was working and when I wasn’t working then I was usually trying to take care of more important household things like laundry and house cleaning. I didn’t have time to bake. If I did bake then most of the time it came from a boxed mix I bought at the grocery store on sale that week.
Since I am no longer working outside of the home, I do have time to bake for my family. Tom mentioned one night that brownies sounded good. I was elated. The next day I opened my computer and clicked on the Foodnetwork website and found a recipe for brownies which I made from scratch. From scratch people! Did you even know that was possible? I didn’t. I thought brownies were something that Duncan Hines and Pillsbury made up and boxed the mix. Those homemade brownies were fantastic if I do say so myself. I noticed that Tom and the girls enjoyed them very much too which made me happy.
A few days later, Hailey was complaining that there are “never any snacks in the house.” So the next day I set to work on cookies, followed a few days later by more brownies, and then 2 kinds of cupcakes with, wait for it…real buttercream frosting! When I tasted that frosting, I thought I was going to pass out it was so good. I got that recipe from the Foodnetwork website too. It was heavenly.
The problem is that I guess the novelty of homemade baked goods has worn off because every hour when I get up off the sofa to go get another treat, I notice that there is the exact same number of treats as the last time I had my hand in the cookie jar. What am I saying? I am the only piggy in this family! The three people who used to hound me for homemade cookies and brownies when I was working full time and had no time or energy to bake, now don’t seem so interested in all the homemade goodness that Foodnetwork and I have to offer. Well isn’t that just a kick in the hay? I am trying very hard to control myself with the sweets but have you ever had homemade buttercream? For a moment I thought I should just package the cupcakes up and take them to the girl’s school and put them in the teacher lounge, but I wasn’t ready to part with such sweet goodness. I pack the goodies in the girls’ lunches, but I noticed that they are not eating them. When they get home from school and I open their lunch bags the sweets are still in the bag. What is wrong with this picture? When I was a kid the first thing I ate in my lunch box was the dessert. Only my children would choose carrot sticks over a chocolate cupcake.
The other option is that I could gorge myself on the sweets. My parents pop kettlekorn at arts and crafts festivals in the summer. They have been doing this for a number of years now. When they first started working the festivals, I went with them and helped out with the popping and bagging of the kettlekorn. I took home big bags and ate it like my life depended on it. The result is that I can not even look at kettlekorn now without my stomach turning. I am sick of kettlekorn. So maybe I could apply this concept to cupcakes with buttercream frosting, brownies, and cookies. Except that I just found homemade buttercream and it seems a shame to end our relationship so soon after meeting. I think I better give it some further consideration before I make any hasty decisions. I mean there is just no going back after a good gorging. No, there just don’t seem to be any viable options at this time. Perhaps I should just sit down with a plate of brownies and a cup of tea and ponder my options. Brownie anyone?
Now when I worked outside of the home both full time and part time, my family would regularly ask me if I could bake some brownies or cookies or cupcakes, etc. I was working and when I wasn’t working then I was usually trying to take care of more important household things like laundry and house cleaning. I didn’t have time to bake. If I did bake then most of the time it came from a boxed mix I bought at the grocery store on sale that week.
Since I am no longer working outside of the home, I do have time to bake for my family. Tom mentioned one night that brownies sounded good. I was elated. The next day I opened my computer and clicked on the Foodnetwork website and found a recipe for brownies which I made from scratch. From scratch people! Did you even know that was possible? I didn’t. I thought brownies were something that Duncan Hines and Pillsbury made up and boxed the mix. Those homemade brownies were fantastic if I do say so myself. I noticed that Tom and the girls enjoyed them very much too which made me happy.
A few days later, Hailey was complaining that there are “never any snacks in the house.” So the next day I set to work on cookies, followed a few days later by more brownies, and then 2 kinds of cupcakes with, wait for it…real buttercream frosting! When I tasted that frosting, I thought I was going to pass out it was so good. I got that recipe from the Foodnetwork website too. It was heavenly.
The problem is that I guess the novelty of homemade baked goods has worn off because every hour when I get up off the sofa to go get another treat, I notice that there is the exact same number of treats as the last time I had my hand in the cookie jar. What am I saying? I am the only piggy in this family! The three people who used to hound me for homemade cookies and brownies when I was working full time and had no time or energy to bake, now don’t seem so interested in all the homemade goodness that Foodnetwork and I have to offer. Well isn’t that just a kick in the hay? I am trying very hard to control myself with the sweets but have you ever had homemade buttercream? For a moment I thought I should just package the cupcakes up and take them to the girl’s school and put them in the teacher lounge, but I wasn’t ready to part with such sweet goodness. I pack the goodies in the girls’ lunches, but I noticed that they are not eating them. When they get home from school and I open their lunch bags the sweets are still in the bag. What is wrong with this picture? When I was a kid the first thing I ate in my lunch box was the dessert. Only my children would choose carrot sticks over a chocolate cupcake.
The other option is that I could gorge myself on the sweets. My parents pop kettlekorn at arts and crafts festivals in the summer. They have been doing this for a number of years now. When they first started working the festivals, I went with them and helped out with the popping and bagging of the kettlekorn. I took home big bags and ate it like my life depended on it. The result is that I can not even look at kettlekorn now without my stomach turning. I am sick of kettlekorn. So maybe I could apply this concept to cupcakes with buttercream frosting, brownies, and cookies. Except that I just found homemade buttercream and it seems a shame to end our relationship so soon after meeting. I think I better give it some further consideration before I make any hasty decisions. I mean there is just no going back after a good gorging. No, there just don’t seem to be any viable options at this time. Perhaps I should just sit down with a plate of brownies and a cup of tea and ponder my options. Brownie anyone?
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
One Fish, Two Fish, Dead Fish, New Fish
Our family has a new member. His name is Blue Knight, and he is a fish. This is not our first experience with fish. It is a return to fish ownership after a good 4 year hiatus. I swore there would be no more fish in our household, but then again I also swore I would never own a mini van, and would never move again. Hmm, I am beginning to see a pattern here.
Why might I be so against fish? Let me take you back a few years to a bright and sunny, summer evening. Tom arrived home from work and asked the girls and I to join him outside because he had a surprise for the girls. Tom opened his van and presented each daughter with her very own fish bowl, rocks for the bowl, plastic plants, fish food, and 2 gold fish each. Their sweet little eyes lit up with jubilation. I crossed my arms and began whining. What? Seriously! I didn’t want any fish. Tom said that the fish would teach the girls responsibility and that the care and well being of the fish would be up to the girls. They were 4 and 6! I just wanted Hailey to make it the bathroom on time, and Megan to remember to brush her teeth regularly. If we could accomplish those two things before their next birthdays then I would have been ecstatic. That would have been about all the responsibility I expected of my daughters at that moment in their lives. Since we were having minor challenges on those two areas, I was pretty sure the fish were going to be either dead in a couple days or my responsibility.
The girls were pretty good about remembering to feed their fish for the first several days. Perhaps a little too good, within a matter of a day or two there were large amounts of uneaten food floating on the top and bottom of the fish bowl because a “pinch of food” to a young child is more like a “glob of food”. Tom gave a careful instructional to the girls on how to clean the fish bowls. I think he figured that showing them one time how to clean a fish bowl would equate to them being able to complete the task solo from then on out. Apparently he had forgotten how many times we had to show them how to tie their own shoes. But I digress, the second time the fish bowls needed to be cleaned I assisted the girls. The third time the girls were over fish bowl cleaning and didn’t want anything to do with it. The fourth time, I didn’t even bother asking for help. I just did it. I seem to recall I had other battles to win that day.
As was to be expected, after a couple of weeks in the new home one of Megan’s fish was discovered to be floating on top of the water. To say that Megan was upset would be an understatement. She seized the opportunity to practice the art of dramatics. We comforted Megan and offered to have a funeral for her fish. She perked right up at the mention of some new kind of activity to not only fill her day but also place great attention solely on her. Megan opted for a non-traditional fish burial. She opted to have her fish buried in the front flower bed as opposed to the more traditional water burial method. In lieu of flowers, she took up monetary donations for the purchase of a new fish. Following the ceremony we had milk and cookies in the kitchen. It was a beautiful ceremony in which Megan shared some of her more precious moments with her fish i.e. fishy faces through the bowl, singing fish his apparent favorite Hillary Duff songs, and telling fish all her secret thoughts and wishes.
Two days later one of Hailey’s fish died and we had to repeat the whole process over again. Common sense would have told me to not replace the fish as they died, but I was sad because my girls were sad. So, I continued to replace these fish even after the novelty of owning fish had passed and even though I was now the sole caretaker of the fish. The burial of the fish had by now resorted to me saying, “Another fish died,” at which time I would flush it down the toilet while the rest of the family simply responded with an, “oh.” Finally after months of this and more money then I care to count up, I said enough with the fish and discarded the neglected and empty fish bowls. Tom said the girls would be really disappointed. When asked they said they really didn’t care. I told Tom we would never own anymore fish because as suspected they had become my responsibility.
Fast forward 4 years and Hailey is now 8. Hailey has been bugging me for quite some time that she wants a fish, and I have regularly reminded her of our past fish experience of which she has no recollection. We went on a family trip over spring break, and Hailey decided that she was not going to spend any of her allowance money on souvenirs. No, she decided that she was going to save it and buy a fish when we returned home. I caved. I decided that she should be able to spend her money as she wanted and maybe if she had some ownership in the fish she would be more likely to care for it. When we returned home from our trip, she bought Blue Knight. Blue Knight has been in our home for 4 months and knock on wood he hasn’t kicked the bowl yet (get it? Bucket? Bowl? Ok so that was a stretch). Anyway, Hailey is doing better at caring for Blue Knight. She doesn’t clean his bowl completely on her own; however, she does assist which is more then she did on our last attempt at fish ownership.
Our last bout with fish was a learning experience for everyone including Tom. First you have to tackle one area of responsibility at a time. With toilet training successfully behind her, Hailey was more prepared to take on greater challenges such as caring for a fish. Second ask the wife before you bring another living breathing creature to the house who might require care and attention. There is only so much Mom to go around! Third wait until I am a full time stay at home Mom with nothing better to do during my day then to make fishy faces at Blue Knight through his bowl.
Why might I be so against fish? Let me take you back a few years to a bright and sunny, summer evening. Tom arrived home from work and asked the girls and I to join him outside because he had a surprise for the girls. Tom opened his van and presented each daughter with her very own fish bowl, rocks for the bowl, plastic plants, fish food, and 2 gold fish each. Their sweet little eyes lit up with jubilation. I crossed my arms and began whining. What? Seriously! I didn’t want any fish. Tom said that the fish would teach the girls responsibility and that the care and well being of the fish would be up to the girls. They were 4 and 6! I just wanted Hailey to make it the bathroom on time, and Megan to remember to brush her teeth regularly. If we could accomplish those two things before their next birthdays then I would have been ecstatic. That would have been about all the responsibility I expected of my daughters at that moment in their lives. Since we were having minor challenges on those two areas, I was pretty sure the fish were going to be either dead in a couple days or my responsibility.
The girls were pretty good about remembering to feed their fish for the first several days. Perhaps a little too good, within a matter of a day or two there were large amounts of uneaten food floating on the top and bottom of the fish bowl because a “pinch of food” to a young child is more like a “glob of food”. Tom gave a careful instructional to the girls on how to clean the fish bowls. I think he figured that showing them one time how to clean a fish bowl would equate to them being able to complete the task solo from then on out. Apparently he had forgotten how many times we had to show them how to tie their own shoes. But I digress, the second time the fish bowls needed to be cleaned I assisted the girls. The third time the girls were over fish bowl cleaning and didn’t want anything to do with it. The fourth time, I didn’t even bother asking for help. I just did it. I seem to recall I had other battles to win that day.
As was to be expected, after a couple of weeks in the new home one of Megan’s fish was discovered to be floating on top of the water. To say that Megan was upset would be an understatement. She seized the opportunity to practice the art of dramatics. We comforted Megan and offered to have a funeral for her fish. She perked right up at the mention of some new kind of activity to not only fill her day but also place great attention solely on her. Megan opted for a non-traditional fish burial. She opted to have her fish buried in the front flower bed as opposed to the more traditional water burial method. In lieu of flowers, she took up monetary donations for the purchase of a new fish. Following the ceremony we had milk and cookies in the kitchen. It was a beautiful ceremony in which Megan shared some of her more precious moments with her fish i.e. fishy faces through the bowl, singing fish his apparent favorite Hillary Duff songs, and telling fish all her secret thoughts and wishes.
Two days later one of Hailey’s fish died and we had to repeat the whole process over again. Common sense would have told me to not replace the fish as they died, but I was sad because my girls were sad. So, I continued to replace these fish even after the novelty of owning fish had passed and even though I was now the sole caretaker of the fish. The burial of the fish had by now resorted to me saying, “Another fish died,” at which time I would flush it down the toilet while the rest of the family simply responded with an, “oh.” Finally after months of this and more money then I care to count up, I said enough with the fish and discarded the neglected and empty fish bowls. Tom said the girls would be really disappointed. When asked they said they really didn’t care. I told Tom we would never own anymore fish because as suspected they had become my responsibility.
Fast forward 4 years and Hailey is now 8. Hailey has been bugging me for quite some time that she wants a fish, and I have regularly reminded her of our past fish experience of which she has no recollection. We went on a family trip over spring break, and Hailey decided that she was not going to spend any of her allowance money on souvenirs. No, she decided that she was going to save it and buy a fish when we returned home. I caved. I decided that she should be able to spend her money as she wanted and maybe if she had some ownership in the fish she would be more likely to care for it. When we returned home from our trip, she bought Blue Knight. Blue Knight has been in our home for 4 months and knock on wood he hasn’t kicked the bowl yet (get it? Bucket? Bowl? Ok so that was a stretch). Anyway, Hailey is doing better at caring for Blue Knight. She doesn’t clean his bowl completely on her own; however, she does assist which is more then she did on our last attempt at fish ownership.
Our last bout with fish was a learning experience for everyone including Tom. First you have to tackle one area of responsibility at a time. With toilet training successfully behind her, Hailey was more prepared to take on greater challenges such as caring for a fish. Second ask the wife before you bring another living breathing creature to the house who might require care and attention. There is only so much Mom to go around! Third wait until I am a full time stay at home Mom with nothing better to do during my day then to make fishy faces at Blue Knight through his bowl.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Mad Housewife
We had a rather large liquor distributor chain in our old hometown. Often, I would go to the store and waste away my dull, boring, housewife day just wandering up and down the aisles reading the labels on wine bottles. Have you ever taken the time to be amused at the many creative and laugh out loud funny names of wine that are out there? If not you are totally missing out, and I strongly urge you to head to your nearest and largest wine store for a couple hours of good times.
I discovered this store through my parents. Whenever they were in Chicago, they would go to the store and purchase liquor and wine because it was significantly less money then purchasing it in their hometown. We had no idea that it was a chain establishment so imagine my excitement when I was driving around one afternoon, discovering my new hometown and I happened across the store. Oh happy day!
The store is quite large and has every imaginable wine, liquor, and beer you can think of. They also carry a large assortment of cigars and imported foods (cheese, chocolates, crackers). Essentially everything you might need to throw a killer cocktail party. Whenever I had company coming in from out of town, or whenever I just needed a good laugh, I would head out to the store for guaranteed amusement. I am quite sure that the salespeople found me to be slightly disturbed. I would think so too because who could possibly be so hard up for entertainment that they would slowly wander up and down every wine aisle looking at every label.
Let me give you some examples of a few favorites. I first tried Red Truck at this store. It is now in many stores, but the first time I saw it was at this store. I love the simplicity of the name, Red Truck. There is also the white wine version which is White Truck. They should consider making a beer and call it Brown Truck. Just a suggestion but I want royalties from that. After Red Truck I moved on to another mode of transportation: Red Bicycle. All I’m going to say is that as you go down in transportation, you also go down in quality. Another one that I found to be laugh out loud funny was Marilyn Merlot. Now come on, you can’t tell me that isn’t a great play on words. There was also the Jailhouse Rock which I assume is from the same maker of Marilyn Merlot. Here is another suggestion, how about a hologram of Elvis on the label. When one turns the bottle ever so slightly back and forth they can see Elvis shaking his pelvis. Now that’s fun stuff. I also enjoy Middle Sister because I am a middle child, not a middle sister but a middle child so I enjoy it anyway. Three Blind Moose was not bad, and I would say better then Three Blind Mice. When I first saw LeSnoot with its bright cartoony picture of a pig wearing a feather boa, I couldn’t help but put that bottle in my cart. How could one pass up a Miss. Piggyish bottle of wine? It was fabulous. In hindsight, frog legs might have been a nice compliment to the wine. Sorry but I just couldn’t help that one. House Wine was quite good. The simple black and white label was reminiscent of the Unbranded foods my mom used to purchase when I was a kid. And then there was Oops. Oops is very good, but be careful because if you drink too much Oops you might oops and say something you might regret. Just a disclosure there. During a rather dark moment I happened across a beautiful black bottle with a delicate pink label. On the label was a black heart and there was a dagger going through the heart. The name of this wine…Bitch. Of course I bought it! I drank that with a dear friend of mine when she needed some “me” time and an opportunity to do nothing but bitch. I was most happy that I was able to supply a bottle of wine which could coordinate with the theme of the evening. How very Martha Stewart of me.
My all time favorite label and the wine that I practically bought in bulk was, Mad Housewife. The label sported a 1950’ish housewife all beehived up, in her pretty June Cleaver dress and pointy glasses holding a wire whisk in her hand. The first time I saw this label it was like one of those scenes in a movie when everything around me faded away and all I saw was Mad Housewife. There was a chorus of singers singing, “Ahhhh.” I had found my sole mate of wines. I laughed at this perfect bottle of wine and laughed and laughed. I laughed so hard, I practically had a, “might need Depends” moment, and then I grabbed a case and put it in my cart. Well, OK maybe not a whole case, but I have tried to maintain a constant supply of my good friend Mad Housewife. She makes me smile every time I pull a bottle from the wine cupboard. She may only be $9.99 but in my opinion, she is one classy and priceless lady.
I discovered this store through my parents. Whenever they were in Chicago, they would go to the store and purchase liquor and wine because it was significantly less money then purchasing it in their hometown. We had no idea that it was a chain establishment so imagine my excitement when I was driving around one afternoon, discovering my new hometown and I happened across the store. Oh happy day!
The store is quite large and has every imaginable wine, liquor, and beer you can think of. They also carry a large assortment of cigars and imported foods (cheese, chocolates, crackers). Essentially everything you might need to throw a killer cocktail party. Whenever I had company coming in from out of town, or whenever I just needed a good laugh, I would head out to the store for guaranteed amusement. I am quite sure that the salespeople found me to be slightly disturbed. I would think so too because who could possibly be so hard up for entertainment that they would slowly wander up and down every wine aisle looking at every label.
Let me give you some examples of a few favorites. I first tried Red Truck at this store. It is now in many stores, but the first time I saw it was at this store. I love the simplicity of the name, Red Truck. There is also the white wine version which is White Truck. They should consider making a beer and call it Brown Truck. Just a suggestion but I want royalties from that. After Red Truck I moved on to another mode of transportation: Red Bicycle. All I’m going to say is that as you go down in transportation, you also go down in quality. Another one that I found to be laugh out loud funny was Marilyn Merlot. Now come on, you can’t tell me that isn’t a great play on words. There was also the Jailhouse Rock which I assume is from the same maker of Marilyn Merlot. Here is another suggestion, how about a hologram of Elvis on the label. When one turns the bottle ever so slightly back and forth they can see Elvis shaking his pelvis. Now that’s fun stuff. I also enjoy Middle Sister because I am a middle child, not a middle sister but a middle child so I enjoy it anyway. Three Blind Moose was not bad, and I would say better then Three Blind Mice. When I first saw LeSnoot with its bright cartoony picture of a pig wearing a feather boa, I couldn’t help but put that bottle in my cart. How could one pass up a Miss. Piggyish bottle of wine? It was fabulous. In hindsight, frog legs might have been a nice compliment to the wine. Sorry but I just couldn’t help that one. House Wine was quite good. The simple black and white label was reminiscent of the Unbranded foods my mom used to purchase when I was a kid. And then there was Oops. Oops is very good, but be careful because if you drink too much Oops you might oops and say something you might regret. Just a disclosure there. During a rather dark moment I happened across a beautiful black bottle with a delicate pink label. On the label was a black heart and there was a dagger going through the heart. The name of this wine…Bitch. Of course I bought it! I drank that with a dear friend of mine when she needed some “me” time and an opportunity to do nothing but bitch. I was most happy that I was able to supply a bottle of wine which could coordinate with the theme of the evening. How very Martha Stewart of me.
My all time favorite label and the wine that I practically bought in bulk was, Mad Housewife. The label sported a 1950’ish housewife all beehived up, in her pretty June Cleaver dress and pointy glasses holding a wire whisk in her hand. The first time I saw this label it was like one of those scenes in a movie when everything around me faded away and all I saw was Mad Housewife. There was a chorus of singers singing, “Ahhhh.” I had found my sole mate of wines. I laughed at this perfect bottle of wine and laughed and laughed. I laughed so hard, I practically had a, “might need Depends” moment, and then I grabbed a case and put it in my cart. Well, OK maybe not a whole case, but I have tried to maintain a constant supply of my good friend Mad Housewife. She makes me smile every time I pull a bottle from the wine cupboard. She may only be $9.99 but in my opinion, she is one classy and priceless lady.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Running
I am a runner. Please don’t conjure up images of me as a high school cross country star or track star. I was anything but when I was in high school.
I seem to remember enjoying gym class when I was in elementary school where the only real form of athleticism or skill that a person needed was the ability to bombard classmates with big Nerf balls in a serious game of dodge ball. Then came middle school and later high school when everything changes. Suddenly it mattered how fast you could run a mile, how many push ups and sit ups you could perform, or how many chin ups you could do. Even worse were the “team” sports activities which were anything but “team” oriented. Yah, you guessed it, I was among the last chosen and least used in the game which is actually a good thing. I really didn’t mind warming the bench. I really lack all coordination when it comes to sports. One time when Megan was about 4 years old she asked me if I would go outside with her and play catch. I can not for the life of me catch a ball when it is thrown at me. I gently explained to Megan that Mommy isn’t so good at that kind of thing and maybe Daddy could play catch with her. Megan in her sweet little angelic voice said, “I can teach you Mommy.” To which Tom replied, “Actually she could.”
Simply put I hated gym class. Gym class can truly rob a person of all self respect. At least if you suck in math class it’s between you and your teacher. But in gym class if you suck it’s between you and well everyone. Part of my problem was the “pleasantly plump” body that I carried around. The most dreaded event for me was the one mile timed run. I hated it. I more than hated it but right now I just can not think of a better word, wait, detested it. How’s that? The night before I had to run a mile in class I would pray that I could please develop the stomach flu or a raging fever. Maybe sprain my leg. Anything just please don’t make me run that mile. Our evil teacher graded us based on our time so I knew I was going to get a bad grade because no on with a “pleasantly plump” build could ever tear it up on the track. It’s hard to focus on getting a good time on your one mile run when you are focused on your lungs exploding because they haven’t had that much physical activity in a while and you’re concerned about your shorts bunching up in your crotch area because your blubbery thighs are pushing them there. Or, even better, the rash that is developing in between your thighs from the friction caused from the constant rubbing and sweat. Ugh! Horrid memories.
I would actually look forward to the Health Education segment in class which was actually just sex education. It wasn’t that I was really all that interested in sex education. I had an older friend who explained it all to me using Barbie and Ken as examples so I knew everything. No, I didn’t need the instruction, I just didn’t want to have to endanger my physical well being by putting exercise demands on a poorly cared for body.
Then college came along. By then I was a little interested in health. I had shed some of that plumpness and was interested in avoiding its return, so I minored in Health and Wellness. One of my classes that I had to take was a general phys ed class. Here we go again. Well not exactly. See I went to a small college and the playing field gets leveled a little. My college was in the middle of nowhere. The only form of entertainment on weekends was parties at the fraternity and sorority houses. Let’s face it, walking downstairs to get your next beer was the new mile run, keg stands were the new push up, and quarter bounce was the new dodge ball. Good times, good times.
Yet, inevitably my professor announced one day that we would have a one mile run during our next class. Well slap me with a beer bong, I didn’t even know where my tennis shoes were. The next day of class I schlepped to the track with my class who all looked to be schlepping too. It is highly possible that we were all at a party the night before and, well, enough said. Professor told us to start running and I did. I ran, well okay, I jogged, very slowly, but it was definitely more than a fast walk. I could hear that evil middle school gym teacher in her witchy, raspy voice yelling, “Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth.” As I was running, right it was really just a slow jog but please indulge me here, so as I was running I noticed that many of my classmates, some of them “athletes” had dropped down to a walk. Was I actually doing something better than an athlete? It was almost like an out of body experience. Step by step and lap by lap I was actually going to accomplish running this mile while “real” athletic people in my class were walking. In my mind I could hear the song from Chariots of Fire as I glided, well actually stumbled, around the track. The finish line was in sight as I moved in some form of a jog towards it with lungs burning and a fountain of sweat pouring from all crevices of my body. I hurled my body across the finish line. This time there was no teacher barking out a time for all my classmates to hear. Instead I heard my professor say, “Good job. Way to run the whole mile and not give up.” It was the most positive feedback I ever got in a phys ed class. Thank you professor.
I don’t really know how I got from there to actually running a half marathon, but I’m glad that I did. Sometimes when I am really delirious, I actually think about running a marathon! I’m proud to be called wife, Mom, daughter, sister, and friend, but I have to admit there is a certain special pride I feel when I call myself “runner”.
I seem to remember enjoying gym class when I was in elementary school where the only real form of athleticism or skill that a person needed was the ability to bombard classmates with big Nerf balls in a serious game of dodge ball. Then came middle school and later high school when everything changes. Suddenly it mattered how fast you could run a mile, how many push ups and sit ups you could perform, or how many chin ups you could do. Even worse were the “team” sports activities which were anything but “team” oriented. Yah, you guessed it, I was among the last chosen and least used in the game which is actually a good thing. I really didn’t mind warming the bench. I really lack all coordination when it comes to sports. One time when Megan was about 4 years old she asked me if I would go outside with her and play catch. I can not for the life of me catch a ball when it is thrown at me. I gently explained to Megan that Mommy isn’t so good at that kind of thing and maybe Daddy could play catch with her. Megan in her sweet little angelic voice said, “I can teach you Mommy.” To which Tom replied, “Actually she could.”
Simply put I hated gym class. Gym class can truly rob a person of all self respect. At least if you suck in math class it’s between you and your teacher. But in gym class if you suck it’s between you and well everyone. Part of my problem was the “pleasantly plump” body that I carried around. The most dreaded event for me was the one mile timed run. I hated it. I more than hated it but right now I just can not think of a better word, wait, detested it. How’s that? The night before I had to run a mile in class I would pray that I could please develop the stomach flu or a raging fever. Maybe sprain my leg. Anything just please don’t make me run that mile. Our evil teacher graded us based on our time so I knew I was going to get a bad grade because no on with a “pleasantly plump” build could ever tear it up on the track. It’s hard to focus on getting a good time on your one mile run when you are focused on your lungs exploding because they haven’t had that much physical activity in a while and you’re concerned about your shorts bunching up in your crotch area because your blubbery thighs are pushing them there. Or, even better, the rash that is developing in between your thighs from the friction caused from the constant rubbing and sweat. Ugh! Horrid memories.
I would actually look forward to the Health Education segment in class which was actually just sex education. It wasn’t that I was really all that interested in sex education. I had an older friend who explained it all to me using Barbie and Ken as examples so I knew everything. No, I didn’t need the instruction, I just didn’t want to have to endanger my physical well being by putting exercise demands on a poorly cared for body.
Then college came along. By then I was a little interested in health. I had shed some of that plumpness and was interested in avoiding its return, so I minored in Health and Wellness. One of my classes that I had to take was a general phys ed class. Here we go again. Well not exactly. See I went to a small college and the playing field gets leveled a little. My college was in the middle of nowhere. The only form of entertainment on weekends was parties at the fraternity and sorority houses. Let’s face it, walking downstairs to get your next beer was the new mile run, keg stands were the new push up, and quarter bounce was the new dodge ball. Good times, good times.
Yet, inevitably my professor announced one day that we would have a one mile run during our next class. Well slap me with a beer bong, I didn’t even know where my tennis shoes were. The next day of class I schlepped to the track with my class who all looked to be schlepping too. It is highly possible that we were all at a party the night before and, well, enough said. Professor told us to start running and I did. I ran, well okay, I jogged, very slowly, but it was definitely more than a fast walk. I could hear that evil middle school gym teacher in her witchy, raspy voice yelling, “Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth.” As I was running, right it was really just a slow jog but please indulge me here, so as I was running I noticed that many of my classmates, some of them “athletes” had dropped down to a walk. Was I actually doing something better than an athlete? It was almost like an out of body experience. Step by step and lap by lap I was actually going to accomplish running this mile while “real” athletic people in my class were walking. In my mind I could hear the song from Chariots of Fire as I glided, well actually stumbled, around the track. The finish line was in sight as I moved in some form of a jog towards it with lungs burning and a fountain of sweat pouring from all crevices of my body. I hurled my body across the finish line. This time there was no teacher barking out a time for all my classmates to hear. Instead I heard my professor say, “Good job. Way to run the whole mile and not give up.” It was the most positive feedback I ever got in a phys ed class. Thank you professor.
I don’t really know how I got from there to actually running a half marathon, but I’m glad that I did. Sometimes when I am really delirious, I actually think about running a marathon! I’m proud to be called wife, Mom, daughter, sister, and friend, but I have to admit there is a certain special pride I feel when I call myself “runner”.
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