In continuing with the theme from my last post I wanted to talk about conversations with my father that make me uncomfortable.
But I did have a phone message from him today that said: Natlee (he says my name wrong) I have to go buy frozen cat food.(My mom buys special cat food for her hypoallergenic cats that I am allergic to.)Then I am going to the American Girl Doll store to buy Carmella some doll? I think it is the Doll of the Year or maybe it is the world. . . Call me so I don't buy the wrong doll. . .
Poor guy sounded so defeated. But that is what happens when my mom is finishing work for a show.
But really? My dad in the American Girl Doll store? You have to know him but it gave me a great big laugh. I mean, this is the guy that told me he would sew swans onto my jeans rather than shell out the money for designer Gloria Vanderbilt jeans. So I had to swim like 3 miles just so he would buy me some.
So yeah, anyway. . . it is almost Carmella's 9th birthday. This year she and her Bff opted to have a joint party since their birthdays are 6 days apart. They picked to have the party at the Bff's house. Fine.By.Me!
BUT! Bff's mom is crazier than I am. Really. There are those people. She is an artist and having grown up with an artist for a mom I know what that means. It means you must have the most awesome and creative and labor intensive parties possible. So yeah, we made American Girl Doll beds.
When Bff's mom called me last week to tell me that she had come up with a great idea for the party I tried to be encouraging and realistic about her ambitious doll bed project. She assured me it would be easy. (I've heard this before with my own mother when had to make the invitations, favors, floral arrangements and I can't remember what else for my wedding. Pain in the ass is, what I've discovered it means when artists say "easy." Just like when trail runner's say, "Nat, you are going to love this trail. It is really neat." It is code for muddy, steep as hell and I am so NOT going to love it.) I know the artist line of thinking: it is what I call the Bob the Builder mindset. You know: We can make it!
I think, really?
Just cause we can; should we?
Let me tell you, in case you are entertaining any idea like this, the answer is no. The answer is ALWAYS no. If you can afford to pay someone else to make or do something-- then you should. Pay them. For crissakes, at the very least, you are helping the economy. Which, does everyone else hear-- at least once a day-- "well, it's this economy".
So I say: Help it! Don't make your own stuff. Save America! Spend your money!!!
But because I am poor and because I know too many artists and am related to too many engineers I always find myself making something.
Let me tell you. My talents? They lay in ideas (see blog head quote) and in bossing people around, organizing people, short cutting and in embellishing. Tiny details, measuring and putting crap together they do not.
But whatever. Yes, I can make it. If I have to. . .
Two days before the party I started receiving texts from the bff's mom saying stuff like "Who the hell's idea was it to make doll beds?"
So I knew come party day. I would be making doll beds. And that is what I did last night. Thankfully the party was smaller --from the original 8 down to 6 girls-- so only 6 beds had to be made. But I was there until midnight--assembling, nailing, designing, cutting, hot-gluing and stapling doll beds together for 6 little girls. Six adorable little girls that I love! Who, while they did help some, were all thrilled and proud of their each individual bed. They all complimented and admired one another's--as if they had put the whole thing together themselves.
So yep, it was worth it but man, kid birthday parties wear me out!
And so, therefore, today I had no desire to go out and do my mid length run. I've struggled all week with low mojo. But I've gotten my run workouts done. Some cross training I've let slide.I always have a bare minimum goal that I must meet. This week it was 50 miles. So today I had to at least run 6 miles to meet that.
After Ryan yelling at me to get on with it because he wanted to go out to lunch eventually I sucked it up--after MUCH procrastinating- and headed out for my run.
Not even a quarter mile in it began sleeting. I told myself I deserved it for not HTFU earlier and said I can do six miles. But then I went right which meant instantly I was adding 2 miles onto my six mile loop. So then, I was committed to at least 8 miles in this crappy cold sleety weather.
See how I trick myself?
See my little games?
They are dumb but they work. I am so stupid I can trick myself. (Note, this may not work on more intelligent people, just saying. )
Then, as it often happens, I was feeling good so I headed out for my 10 mile loop which because of my extra 2 miles would mean I was doing 12 miles today. Which was my original goal. See how sneaky I am?
Yay, me! (And, I ended up adding on 2 more miles so I totally tricked myself into 14. Only my already sore and pissed of Achilles tendon is the wiser.)
So, really, it was all fine. Sleet wasn't terrible. My pace was actually great and I felt good. I was just trucking along and headed back home with five or so miles to go. I noticed up ahead a dark spot off to the side of the sidewalk. Figured it was debris from all the recent rain. But once I was within a few feet my brain registered BEAVER!!!
Holy crap and what the F . . .?
On the freaking sidewalk, across the street from the Greek Orthodox church and almost a quarter of a mile away from a body of water was a freaking beaver. A BEAVER!
I thought it was alive and it scared the bejesus out of me.
Do beavers bite?
What the hell is it doing on the sidewalk in the middle of the suburbs?
Do they get rabies?
I stood 10 feet away and took this picture:
The beaver didn't move. Even after I threw a stick at it. So I ventured closer and took this picture. Not sure why it is smaller other than that the camera on my phone sucks:
I inspected the beaver and it didn't look like it had been hit by a car. More like it was just frozen. So I don't know what happened to it but it was pretty weird. It looked, posed and like any second it would simply cross the street.
I texted the picture to Ryan who texted back: Is that dead beaver?
And thankfully I am coordinated enough to text back "yes" while running. My talents? Many and varied. Again, though not with measuring and cutting wood.
Then he texted back: Get the pelt. We can sell it.
The thought of it's this economy came to mind again as I envisioned, briefly, turning back, grabbing the beaver and running home. Money in my pocket! I could use that! F . . . Peta! I considered, the thought of me running the final 5 or so miles home carrying a dead beaver and my bet? My bet was that no one would even think to question someone running down the sidewalk with a dead beaver clutched to her chest. Not in this economy.
Desperate times, people. Desperate times.
Still here. Getting it done. One foot in front of the other. One day at a time.