Underachievers of the World Unite: A New Leader is Found

I imagine that if the underachievers of the world could motivate to get themselves organized and were to set out on a search for their leader as the Buddhists do for the Dalai Lama then I would come home from a run one day and find them all lined up outside my house; ready to administer a series of uncomplicated and incomplete tests on Beau to see if he is indeed the chosen one.

And undoubtedly he would be deemed the chosen one.


After all, I have to think, as the youngest child of parents, both classic underachievers themselves one with ADD (me) and one with Dyslexia (Ryan) it is his destiny. It is Carmella who is the surprise and if she didn't look so much like us I would think there was some kind of mix up at the hospital.


Two months ago I mentioned that I was going to make a "chore chart" and they would have to follow it. Beau's only comment was that the idea was "lame" but Carmella perked right up wanting to know how I was planning on organizing it and could she help? Would it be a big chart or a small chart? And she had lots of ideas of what could go on the chore chart and expressed how much fun it was going to be to have one. And at least once a week she asks me about the chart; when am I going to make it.

And just in case there are any other underachiever parents out there I found this website and the kids can earn points by doing chores and buy clothes for virtual kitties--or something like that. (Sort of like Webkinz world but you don't actually have to buy and populate your house with bazillions of stuffed animals.) I figure, hey, whatever can get Beau to brush his teeth, make his bed and pick up his toys. And yes I think this website is more of a motivator for the already motivated child but I couldn't find a "purchase arms and take over the world" reward chore chart. Weird how they wouldn't make something like that because that would totally motivate Beau.

I know I am being one of those parents who compare their children but really they are so vastly different it completely boggles me. I just don't even understand how I ended up with Carmella. She is an absolute mystery to me (and clearly an example of recessive genes.) I spent my life being threatened with "someday I hope you grow up and have a child just like you!" And then I get Carmella. The joke there isn't on me; it is on Lala. But then I had Beau and the universe evened stuff out and Lala got her karma.

Parenting Beau is like getting to watch a movie of my childhood but to protect my identity the role has been changed to a blond boy instead of a scragally haired spaztic little girl. And as frustrating as it is to deal with Beau at times I will admit there is bit of a comfort zone there for me; I wholly understand the grain from which he is cut.


By far the most frustrating aspect of parenting Beau has involved school. Unless you have a learning disability or you have a child that has a learning disability you can't begin to understand what it is like to have to deal with academic institutions. And, I have to admit that I feel like I am getting the short end of the stick here. I mean, I spent most of my life fighting an uphill battle in the school system because I am not one of those "traditional learners" and now I have to do it all over again with my kid. Big huge sigh.

I have known since Beau was 2 and we first discovered his speech problem (phonological processing disorder) that school was probably not going to be easy for him (or me). Add to that being one of the youngest in the class and you compound the problem. Red shirting him-- as many parents of boys with summer birthdays choose to do-- just wasn't an option since speech therapy was a priority--and academically he was "ready". Even socially, I was told, he was head of the curve.

Just to be clear, I absolutely do not regret sending Beau to kindergarten a few weeks after he turned 5 because we are now able to understand 100% of what he says. He made massive progress last year. More progress than he made in speech the previous 3 years combined. Beau going to kindergarten when he was 5 was the absolute right choice and so far not one single person at that school has told me otherwise.


So, to be clear, Beau's problem is not one of immaturity or not being smart enough and while there may very well be the ADD diagnosis looming in our quickly approaching future his immediate issue is one of compliance. And whether that is an aspect of ADD or just personality the fact of the matter (that I know all too well) is that in the school setting it does not matter. It won't matter if I hold him back a year or send him to a pricey private school or pump him full of Ritalin. He will have to learn to follow the rules.

I know and his teacher knows that he knows what to do; what is expected of him but often flat out chooses not to do it. Absolutely he is a high energy kid but I have seen him sit still; I have seen him listen and follow directions. But for who knows what reason, sometimes he really just doesn't want to do as told and often will expend more energy trying to convince some one else to do it for him or even better; argue why he shouldn't have to do anything at all.

The beginning of every school year is the worst. I view it as Beau's "breaking in period." He is trying to figure out right away what and how much he can get away with. You'd think he would just know that every year the rules are basically the same; i.e: sitting still, following directions, picking up after yourself, doing your work etc. But he just can't help himself and has to try to see how little he can get by with. He even told me the first week of school that "the teachers go easy on the kids the first few weeks. I don't have to try so hard yet."

Every year I warn his teachers about his lack of compliance (along with the potential ADD possibility) and to please be extra strict with him. Boundaries and structure are Beau's best friend (and worst enemy). I warn them that he will try to charm them with kisses and hugs and by being funny. Don't fall for it, I tell them. But mostly importantly I explain: do not laugh or smile if you are cross with him. He reads body language before he hears words so you must not contradict what you say with your face. He will not take you seriously if you are fighting a smile.

I assure them that I will "fight the battles" at home but tell them that they will have to fight the battle at school with him. He isn't a bad kid but he is manipulative and likes to feel he is in control. Some how he figured out early on that just because you have to follow the rules with one person doesn't mean you can't try to do it your way with another.

Nevertheless here we are a month into the new school year and Beau is back to his usual ways. He learned in preschool (and kindergarten) that you can get away with one naughty day a week so long as you are gold the other 5 days. The idea of being golden all 5 days just has never occurred to him. If you can still get rewards on 4 days of good behavior why would you bother to be compliant all 5 days? That's just dumb.

I had to explain this to his teacher when she called me on Tuesday because Beau was on a "4". In his class they have a banana. It moves up and down the tree branches (numbered 1-5)based on their behavior that day. They start out each day at a "2" and if they stay there that means they had a "great" day. If they do something extra special they get to move up to a "1". The teacher explained that "1" is a rarity. Beau has been on "1" once so far. A 3 means they are not making the best choices and is a warning. You can redeem yourself and move back to a 2 by correcting your poor choices. I think most days Beau has to spend some time correcting his choices. A 4 means the choices were not corrected and you miss some of minutes from recess and you will get a note or a phone call home. 5 is just really bad and means a trip to the principals and possible being sent home.

Beau got on 4 the other day because all day he flat out refused to do his work. By the end of the day he knew that he was going to be in trouble when he got home and knew would have extra homework. Being on anything but a 2 means no Nintendo Ds and extra homework. My thinking is that if you are getting in trouble at school then you are not doing work and therefore need to make up for that at home. How much extra homework you have to do depends on how much trouble you got in at school. Beau knew he was looking at a long time of homework. For the record I do not take away playing outside. I think it is important for high energy people to get to run around. Instead I take away the privilege of being able to play with his friends on the days he gets in trouble. Playing alone is punishment for Beau. He loves his little friends.

Anyway, on Tuesday his teacher called me because Beau was very upset by the end of the day because he was still on 4 and knew he was in deep do-do. She explained what happened and even told me that he tried to bribe the student teacher with money to move his banana back up the tree. My first concern was that maybe the work was too hard for him but she assured me it wasn't--that he has been doing fine. I then addressed the ADD angle and that having to sit still can be incredibly difficult for him. She told me that she recognized that and allows him to move around the classroom provided that he is listening and not distracting other children.

So I sighed and apologized for him "taking more than his share of the teacher's attention" and assured her that he and I would be having a conversation. I also told her about his 4 "on" days and one "off" day each week. I told her I didn't support it but that has so far been his credo. And she said she could concede to one bad day a week with Beau. I think that is pretty terrible that Beau has manipulated not only me but also his teacher into accepting that he gets an off day. Do they have military school for six year olds? Cause I think that is what we need.

Well at any rate Beau made it through the rest of last week all on "2" so he was true to form with his one bad day. At dinner on Friday he further supported his "aim low" credo with this conversation:

Ryan, noticing a hand out on the refrigerator about the upcoming CogAT test. "Looks like you are going to have test next week Beau. You better try your best."

Beau, immediately stressed and surprised "What?! I got no test. First graders don't take tests!" hmm maybe he isn't paying attention . . .

Carmella pipes up, "It is for Target. If you do good on it you get to go to Target." Target is the talented and gifted program. A program I was never a part of and yet I am so clearly not only talented but also gifted. Extraordinarily so, I would add. Emphasis on the "extra" not the ordinary.

Beau, wide eyed and about to pee in his pants says, "You mean I get to shoot stuff?"

Carmella starts to explain that you get to go to extra projects and stuff but Ryan, stifling laughter quips "No, it means you have to do more work." Ryan was also not in Target either.

Beau, shrugs and says" Oh, well I am not going to try and do good on that test then."

I'm telling you, it has got to be genetic but I am trying to break the cycle. Granted, not with grand gestures; but baby steps--so to speak. This card carrying lifelong underachiever pushed the envelope with training and finished last week just over 73 miles. For the past six weeks I've been pushing my miles over my "50 miles per week" comfort zone and finally made into the 70's. I've tried the less is more approach to marathoning and now I am giving the more is more approach a try. Whether or not that equates success at Rocket City in December remains to be seen but hey, it is worth a shot. Maybe Beau will adopt a similar attitude. Hopefully it will be sooner for him that it has been for me.

Rope Hanger

This is my little rope hanger:
He has that perma-grin the whole time he is rope hanging, half drowning, half karate-man swimming his way across the pool--vertically not horizontally--you know, like how most people swim.
That, by the way, is his back stroke. He thinks he is AWESOME at backstroke. His freestyle looks the same except he goes forward.

That kid?

Pain in my ass that he is has the BEST attitude about swim practice.

This year is his first year on swim team. And while he struggles every single practice he doesn't complain, he doesn't get down that I (and everyone else) constantly yells at him TO GET OFF THE ROPE. He just smiles and makes his way anyway he can down the pool.

And let me tell you. The past few weeks have been the practices of tough-love-suck-it-up-get-your-butt-in-the-pool-buttercup.

I went through this last year with Carmella so she knows better but at least half of the kids are crying, shivering, complaining with their "I can't's" and "I won't's" and whining and belly aching their way through practice. I am not just talking about the 5-6 year olds. I've even seen a few 8 years lose their marbles at practice. You should have seen it when the coach said they had to swim for 5 minutes straight. Carnage everywhere.

But Beau.

He has a smile on his blue freezing face the whole time; swimming past all his little friends who are crying and begging their mommies to let them get out. The positive attitude though does not make up for the rope hanging. It is a problem and has become a habit for him. I even think he is doing it on purpose--not out of necessity. I constantly walk along the pool and scream "Put your face down and swim!" He just smiles up at me.

So I tried a different tactic and told him that he would NOT be able to swim in a meet if he couldn't swim to the end of the pool without touching the rope. Even still, at practice everyday, he was a rope hanger. Nevertheless the coach put him in one event.

So he got to swim: 25yd Freestyle.

And he did not touch the rope once. But urgency was not his. He even swam slower than he did at the time trials a week ago.
Why?
Because he had his face up the whole time looking around and smiling at everyone looking at him and yelling at him to swim!!!
He LOVED it.
Guess he wanted to prolong his moment and make it all his. Then he got to the shallow end and realized that he could actually stand up (since he was swimming vertically down the pool). So he stopped. Stood up. Raised his shoulders in a motion that said "what?". Then looked around at everyone; flashed his perma-grin and then put his face down and swam the last 8ft to the wall the correct way. The pool deck roared with laughter.

So he got third-- out of 3 swimmers. And when he got his ribbon he said "Oh, yay! I really like white!"

Cannot knock this kid down, I tell you.


I should also share that when I gave his team jammers he put them on and then asked me; "Mommy, do these make me look fat?"
Before I could answer I saw he had that wicked little smile. Such a joker.

I swear I feel like he is always mocking me.

Because it occurred to me Wednesday, while out for a 10 mile run and I was completely sucking tail that I am rope hanger. But worse, I am a whiner and complainer. Sure I can laugh at myself when it is all said and done and over but I HATE that I can't have that perma-grin; that positive, laugh at myself in the moment attitude. I am, the worst kind of rope hanger.

I really, really appreciate all the comments on my Twisted Ankle post and I am so glad I was able to make people laugh but I absolutely hate myself for my little melt down and not remaining positive. I hate that I didn't suck it up. I HATE that I was a rope hanger.

So Wednesday, when I found myself walking in the final mile of my 10 mile run I yelled at myself to "get off the rope and suck it up!" I did finish running and then further punished myself in the afternoon with a 3,500 yd swim--no stopping and no rope hanging I am happy to report. (Just a lot of boredom.)

I also went that afternoon and signed up for the Possum Trot 10k.

I am absolutely in no sort of shape to race a 10k but I am forcing myself to get off the rope and push through it. The way I see it: I have no residual pain from the marathon--aside from a little right ankle stiffness but I've had way worse. And my feet are pretty much healed up from walking all over the French Quarter in inappropriate shoes and my liver, well, it is what it is. It has been through worse. I am tired but I've been tired before. . . So I am racing tomorrow! At least in spirit. I may not be fast but I'll be out there putting one foot in front of the other as quickly as I can manage.

However, I should mention--that little Beau, I think he is mocking me again. All day today he kept saying,"Look Mommy! A dead possum!" Pointing out recent road kill. Then he reminisced, when we drove by the patch of sidewalk that we walked down a few weeks ago that had a dead rotting possum on it for awhile saying: "Oh, it is gone. I think all the maggots finally got it Mommy, " he told me.

I am trying really hard to NOT read metaphors into things my 5 year old says but as a one time lit major it is hard. I have tendency to seek out metaphor in the smallest of moments and most insignificant of conversations. Not only am I a rope hanger; I'm a metaphor reacher.

One last thing. I would be remiss if I did not mention this on my blog--plus it is yet another example how my kids are a way better human beings than I can ever hope to be:

Carmella has a kicky new do:

She chopped 12 inches off her hair to donate to locks of love.

I'm still working on me being a better person everyday but hey, at least my kids seem to be a on solid track (even if there is the occasional rope hanging).

Mantra for tomorrow: Get off the rope and run happy!

Silver Skate Legend Lives!

I am kidding. It definitely does not.

He does look a little bit Dutch with that haircut but Hans Brinker he is not.

This week is spring break. Most of my children's friends are out of town. This isn't a big deal because my kids play really well together and we have plenty of toys, activities and things for them to do at home. However, yesterday Carmella had a play date/sleepover with her friend Reina and it was just me and Beau. This is never good because Beau does not like to be alone and requires constant entertaining. Carmella is usually that entertainment. When she is gone I become his entertainment director and companion.

Normally we go do something like run on the trail or ride bikes or, his favorite, go to the dog park (usually with the dog but sometimes not). But yesterday it was very un-spring like and was snowing and windy and just too cold to go outside and play. At least for us delicate Southern stock. Maybe if we really were Dutch we could hack it but then again we might skate better too.

Oh well.

It was too late in the day to drive into Atlanta to go to the High Museum or the Aquarium or Fernbank Science Center and I just can't do the bounce house places. So I asked him if maybe he wanted to go roller skating.

He said, "you mean like Sparkles?"

I was shocked because I didn't think Sparkles was around any more. Sparkles was where I use to skate when I was a kid.

So I Googled Sparkles and sure enough they not only are still around there was a location less than 20 minutes from our house.

I was again surprised to arrive at Sparkles and find that in 30 years not much had changed. They still have the exact same carpet and-- though this was a different Sparkles than the one I went to as a kid-- the layout is still the same. Different was instead of a disco/dance room there is now a Laser tag room. And while there was still video games galore there was also an indoor play ground. Different also was that in addition to the old school skates they now also offered inline skates.

Beau wanted the old school and I decided to go with the inline skates. I am a fairly proficient skater but it has been awhile since I wore the old school. Last time was in my mid 20's and I went with a group of friends to some nightclub in Atlanta (can not recall the name) that featured roller skating. It was a very short lived club as far as I know. I remember it being an absolute blast but I think the whole serving alcohol and roller skating on concrete was just a lawsuit waiting to happen. Sure, you did have to sign a waiver to get into the club but I am not sure how legally binding a document is that you neither remember signing or when the illegible signature does not at all resembles yours because you are so intoxicated you can barely hold the pen to sign it. But whatever, like I said, it was a fun club while it lasted. . .

I have to say that for not one second did it really occur to me that Beau might not be able to skate. Okay, well it did once the lady in line behind me with her two kids when we were getting our skate rentals asked me if Beau had skated before. I told her this was his first time and she made this knowing face that while I didn't really know what it meant felt that it probably didn't bode well for me.

Still, I thought, Beau is my kid and I have always been able to skate well. Surely he inherited my innate skating ability. Those things are totally genetic, right? No doubt, I saw those other kids out there hugging the wall, falling all over themselves and clinging for dear life to any out stretched adult hand but I figured those kids just weren't blessed with good genes. I mean, from my perspective, half the parents weren't doing that great either.

And you know, if you have read this blog, I have long cautioned you as a parent against ever having a smug moment or passing superior judgement as it ALWAYS comes back to bite you in the ass.

Too bad I didn't remember that yesterday as I watched the uncoordinated lot of parents and kids make their way slowly and painfully around the rink.

Always with the humility Nat. Always.

I'll keep saying it until it sticks. So very tired of all these lessons. . .

Nevertheless my confidence never wavered in that Beau was going to be an excellent skater. I mean, we are talking about a kid that was climbing the furniture at 5 months old --before he could ever crawl. Then he was climbing in and out of his crib at 14 months old. He learned to swim at 2 and could ride his bike without training wheels at 4. At 5 he is doing front flips (which he is not suppose to do at all because mommy said no flips, just jumping) on the trampoline. Agility, strength are his forte.

So needless to say I was shocked that putting roller skates on him turned him instantly into a muscle-less wet noodle.

I first tried holding his hand and skating next to him and he nearly brought me down with him. Next I tried me skating backwards and holding both his hands. My shoulders and arms--already tired from my hour swim that morning--couldn't take it for long. Then I tried being behind him and holding him up under his arms. How is it possible that a 47lb kid can feel like 147 lbs when he has roller skates on?

We made it around the rink twice and I relented to let him take the skates off because I was dying from holding him up. I think I burned 5000 calories the two times we went around--which I should add took about 30 minutes. The lady who made the knowing face to me probably burned 10,000 because when I saw her she was holding up both of her kids. I bet she doesn't even have to workout. She just thinks: I need to get in some cardio and strength training today. Hey kids! You guys wanna go roller skating?

So thank goodness for the indoor playground.

Oddly though,Beau just this second asked me if we could please go to Sparkles today with Carmella.

He loves roller skating, he says.

Even though it was yesterday I just don't think he is remembering the experience correctly. But, you know, maybe it is like the marathon in that you don't really remember how it is until you are running it again and at mile 23 you realize, oh yeah, this kinda sucks a little.

Gift Bags

You know what?

I LOVE that Beau, when asked what he wants to be when he grows up says a vet. Some days he will say a bird doctor but most days he declares his deep passion to someday be a vet and take care of all the animals. I also much prefer his passion to be a vet to his 3 year old aspiration of being a lifeguard and surfer dude.

Carmella also wants to be a vet but her desire to be an artist is stronger.She doesn't think she can have both. Mostly I think she just wants to play with dogs--the other animals she doesn't care so much about.

Beau on the other hand is passionate about all animals. And even though I do get tired of reading encyclopedias on sharks or Arctic animals, or birds instead of real bedtimes stories with a plot and characters, I am proud of his curiosity and eagerness to learn.

I secretly love that Beau and Carmella prefer to watch the Westminster Dog show over cartoons. I'll even admit to finding the conversations such as this completely adorable:


Carmella: Beau, who are you going to marry?
Beau: I don't want to get married.
Carmella: You have to get married if you want to have a pet. How bout Livi-- or Riley?
Beau: Riley, she likes dogs and she has a Boxer. Boxers are my favorite dog, after Huskies.

And even though I don't love to go to the dog park, I'll admit that I think it is incredibly cute and funny that they want to go even if we don't have Lola with us. They actually beg me to take them to the dog park more than they do a place like Monkey Joes or Chuck E. Cheese.

And I love it when they encounter a breed of dog that they have only seen in books and will exclaim excitedly: "My first Yorkie! That is the first real life Yorkie I have seen!"

I wouldn't be surprised if Carmella, somewhere, has a journal listing all the types of dogs they have seen.

But what I do not love is that their passion to be vets has left me with no scotch tape and always searching for a pad of post it notes.

What does scotch tape and post it notes have to do with wanting to be a vet?

Let me give you exhibit A: The Animal Hospital (aka, Beau's top bunk)

(note all the scotch tape on the wall)

In case it isn't clear here is a close up of shark and panda with their scotch tape and post it note bandages.


So you see, this is why if you ever recieve a gift from us it will be in a gift bag (recycled no less). It isn't that I don't have wrapping paper. I don't have tape.

Poodles Eating Noodles

That's the password.

To the Pokey Puppy Club.

But before you rush out and sign up for Carmella's latest club you might want to know what all is involved. Not that I know everything but I have been privy to a few of the secret club on-goings since they meet in my backyard.

The Pokey Puppy Club is completely separate from the Super Club (previously The Cuddle Club). Best I can figure is that the Pokey Puppy Club arose because- back in the fall when we use to walk to school and all the neighborhood kids would join us- I would yell at them they were a bunch of pokey puppies because they walked so freaking slow.

Carmella is the leader of this club. Before every meeting she makes them do a "daily warm-up". This involves some stretching, some jumping jacks, and 20 pumps on the swings and a little running. I am thinking in another year or so she will be running her own kid's boot camp after school in the back yard.

I think the idea behind the daily warm up is to get the Pokey Puppies in shape so they won't be so pokey anymore.

Beau hates the daily warm up and pretty much gets kicked out of the club for not completing all his assignments. Carmella then tells him he can't be in the club. Beau then dissolves into tears for being ousted from the Pokey Puppy Club and comes crying to me. Having none of the squabbles I am forced to intervene and get off Face Book and yell out the back door that EVERYONE IS ALLOWED IN THE POKEY PUPPY CLUB!

There is also restitution for getting in trouble at school or with your parents or on the playdate. You have to go to the Principal's Office--which is the tower part of the kids' playset-- and have a 10-15 minute time out from the other club activities. Most times whoever has been sent to the Principal's Office comes crying to me and I will have to yet again get off Face Book and yell out the back door that EVERYONE IS ALLOWED IN THE POKEY PUPPY CLUB!

Most of these activities--at least from what I have observed when taking a Face Book break-- is running a muck throughout the yard and house, taunting Lola, playing hide and seek and jumping on the trampoline.


But there is one secret ritual that I have heard spoken about but don't really know all the ends and outs and exactly what happens during it.

It is called the Wishing Deer Circle.

I know.

It totally sounds very paganesque and Stonehenge-like.

The Wishing Deer I have figured out is Ryan's bow target (I know! Could we be anymore redneck? Trampoline? Fake deer target?).

And I think they all stand around the deer and say their wishes.

But I'm not sure.

There is to be a meeting of the Pokey Puppy Club this afternoon so I will try to spy and find out exactly what goes down and report back with any interesting findings.

Which you know this means that this is probably the only post regarding the Pokey Puppy Club.

Can't Wait for Christmas

I know I've been lame (okay, lame-er) on the blogging lately. My apologies. Christmas is a busy time. Normally during December I have an off month but this year I am making a genuine effort to be ready for a marathon in mid January.

Last week I got my mileage back up to over 50 mpw and I got in a 21 miler for the long run. Everything felt good (it has been 3 weeks since my marathon) but by the end of the week my legs were dead. I took yesterday off and cleaned out my house. My plan was to do my long run today (either 21 miles again or 23.5 miles) but the high today is barely in the 30's and currently it isn't even 19 degrees. Seeing how my lungs react to the sub freezing temps-- and I'd like to not be sick this Christmas (was last year)-- I think I will do my long run tomorrow when the low/high is 45/57.

Call me whatever you want but I don't see the point in torturing myself if I don't have to.
Right, right, right.
It could be really cold race day. . .

The way I see it is that it won't make a difference if I get sick and can't train and run on race day. Better to get to the start line healthy. I'll worry about how cold it is when I absolutely have to.

So, like I said. I've been busy; shopping, wrapping up gifts, decorating, cleaning etc. As the kids get older Christmas is becoming more and more fun and we've been busy with family activities, shenanigans and parties. This year we had some visitors from the North Pole: Walt and Rosie.

These are two very mischievous elves that Santa sent to the kids. Oh boy have these two made quite a ruckus at our house: tp'ing, leaving gifts and little notes, rearranging the furniture, making forts with all the cushions, un-decorating the Christmas tree and just this morning I woke up to q-tips and cotton balls over the house. Walt and Rosie had even gotten into those furry red handcuffs that Pop gave me and Ryan. I KNOW!!!! Don't you just want to know why my Dad gave me such a thing? Yeah, I'll get to that. . .

So, yes, I have been greatly entertained by the kids this year. Particularly Beau and his inability to wait for Christmas. Apparently he either doesn't like surprises or doesn't understand at all what is meant by "surprise."

It is funny but my sister Pookie is the exact same way. When we were little she use to not only unwrap all her presents under the tree (and then wrap them back up) she would also unwrap everyone else's. It killed her to not only NOT know what she was getting for Christmas but to also NOT know what everyone else was getting.

Me?

I'm okay with surprises. I even like them. In fact, I've been DYING for about all my life for someone to throw me a surprise party already.

Okay, in case they are reading, I did have some friends in high school who threw me a surprise party once but they ended up telling me about it beforehand because-- as they said-- they were worried I would "make other plans and not come to the party." But these days my social calendar is a lot emptier so feel free to throw me a party and rest assured I will be there because I will have nothing else to do.

But my sister? She must hate surprises. She would say stuff like "Do you want to know what Aunt Harriet got you?"

And I would say, "No. I can wait until Christmas."

And she would say,"It is perfume. And Mom got you a leather skirt--a black one, and Kathy got you a gift medallion from Turtles-- 10 dollars worth. What tape are you going to buy with it?"

It got so bad that Lala just let Pookie help pick out all the gifts she bought and then paid her fifty cents a gift to wrap and I guess, bribe her to keep the gifts a secret. And it wasn't just Christmas--birthdays too-- and she was this way ever since she could talk. We couldn't tell her any secrets. She can't keep them. And for that matter, Lala, can't keep a secret either.

Oops, starting to digress. Let's bring this back around.

So I have discovered that Beau is like Pookie. I can't help but wonder if is genetic or just a youngest child thing. Can anyone else weigh in? Youngest child versus not being able to wait for Christmas without peeking. . .

My first indication of Beau's inability to contain a surprise was about a week and a half ago. He told me that he had made me a present at school and couldn't tell me what it was and I would have to wait until Christmas. And in the same breath he said: "It is an ornament. For the Christmas tree."

And I said: "Beau, you aren't suppose to tell me what it is. You are suppose to keep it a secret so it will be a surprise Christmas morning."

And Beau rolled his eyes at me and said: "I didn't tell you what kind of ornament it is." And with that off to school he went.

Fast forward to that afternoon when he comes home with said present:

"Open it," he demanded, thrusting the present in my hand.

I start to protest, saying I should wait until Christmas morning. . .

"It is an ornament, " he tells me yet again as he helps me pull paper off and before the unwrapping is done he says excitedly, "It is a snow man!!! With a sled!!!!"

The next day Beau comes home with another gift. This one he gives to Carmella and thrusts it in her hand and says "Open it now. It is a star. I sewed it."

Carmella was quite gracious and complimented him and told him she made the same star when she was in kindergarten too but that his is much nicer.

Another day goes by and the kids decide they need to buy some gifts. They clean out their piggy banks for what little is left. I think I have mentioned this before but if not, you should know my kids keep the school store in business.

The school, in addition to the school store, puts on a "Holiday Store" so the kids can go and buy little gifts for friends and family. Total racket, but a trip to the school store motivates the heck out of my kids and gets them ready for school way ahead of schedule.

When I picked the kids up from school that day they are waiting in the carpool line with their arms laden with gifts. We drive home and their excited chatter was indecipherable. We arrive home and I help them pile out of the car. Carmella tells me she has gifts for me, Daddy, Lola, Beau and her friend Ashton. Beau tells me he has gifts for Daddy and for himself.

I instruct them to go put their gifts under the tree. Carmella complies and goes off to do her homework. Beau puts his gifts under the tree too. But then, after a moment, he comes back and gets the one he bought for himself. I feel compelled to add that my sister also shops for herself at the holiday. In fact I think she spends more on herself than she spends total on everyone else. Seriously, is this a "baby of the family" trait or what?

"I'm just going to open this one right now," Beau tells me. "I already know what it is," he further explains.

I try to dissuade him but he already has it opened. Then he abandons "the gift"--a pad of paper and fancy pencil--on the couch and goes outside to play. He returns a few minutes later and asks if he can open the present Carmella got him.

"No," I tell him.

What about the one he got for Daddy, he wants to know.

Confused I ask, "but don't you already know what you got him?"

"Yes," he says, but he wants to open it anyway. Then he starts asking me where the gifts are that I got for him.

I tell him, "I'm not putting them under the tree until Christmas Eve."

"Why," he wants to know.

"Because you will unwrap them," I tell him.

"No . . . " he says smiling, knowing that I know he is lying.

He even tried to unwrap a gift for him at Lala's. She caught him and he told her that he was "just removing the bow" so he could "get it open faster on Christmas."

Yeah, right.

So everyday Beau asks me where his gifts are, what they are and can he have it right now? The suspense of Christmas is killing him slowly from the inside out. He can't stand it. He even told Ryan what I got for him--as if that would give him some sort of fix. And he only knows what I got Ryan because the UPS man gave Beau the package when he playing outside the other day and he opened it before I could get it away from him.

And Ryan upon learning of said gift-- I guess because he is the baby of his family-- asked if he could have his boots before Christmas too.

I tried to play dumb: "What boots?"

"Beau," he said, "told me you bought me boots. Let me have them for my hunting trip with Dusty."
Sigh. Darn UPS man for giving Beau the package. Note to UPS: Do not let children accept packages!

"There are no boots," I tell him. "They were the wrong kind. I returned them. You, like Beau, are getting potatoes and switches and coal for Christmas. Maybe Dusty will keep your feet warm on y'all's broke back rendezvous."

So Saturday, Ryan and I dropped the kids at Pop and Lala's to attend the annual Loser Christmas Party. My Dad, barely able to look me in the eye and at the time I think it is because I am wearing my Vixen costume, thrusts a gift in my hand.

He tells me that it is for me and Ryan and to not open it until I get to Dee Dee's. He says, "If you don't like it give it to Pookie."

Ryan is in disbelief that I ride in the car, not tearing into the gift, not even peeking. I repeat to him that Pop said not to open it until I get to Dee Dee's.

See, it is a youngest in the family thing and while we are in the midst of discussing my theory my sister happens to call. Of course I can't resist telling her that Dad got me a present but that I am to give it to her if I don't want it. And of course she is pissed that I got a present and she didn't.

"What is it?" She wants to know.

And I tell her she'll just have to wait until she gets to Dee Dee's.

Changing the subject I ask her if she is wearing a costume. She says she is but that I'll just have to wait until I get to Dee Dee's to find out what it is.

Whatever I can wait.

So we get Dee Dee's and finally my sister gets there and we open it.

That's right. My Dad got me The Naughty, Naughty Christmas Kit.

I know! I'm a little scared of my red lipstick too. Scary clown face! I never wear red lipstick. Clearly with good reason but I did giggle at myself everytime I looked in the mirror.

So then we called my Dad for an explanation about the gift.

He said he figured anyone who wore such naughty costumes for Christmas must need a naughty present. And he added that it was the only present I was getting since certainly I was on Santa's naughty list.

What!? You mean I'm not getting a frying pan or ham? Darn!

Hey Pop! Beau would like you to know that he loves ham. In fact, he hugged a ham today at Trader's Joes and begged me to buy it for him. You should give him a ham. He'll appreciate it. Really. He nearly a 1/2 lb of ham today by himself.

Okay. Just to summarize:

Beau? Doesn't understand surprises.
Ryan? Loves me so much he'll wear a goofy ass costume.
My dad? He gives the gift of ham. It is his thing.
Me? I wear costumes and am clearly my parent's favorite.
My sister? She unwraps her presents before Christmas.

And yes, of course. Like any good big sister would do I took those red fuzzy hand cuffs and hand cuffed myself to Pookie.

I hope everyone has a fun and happy holiday this year and doesn't take themselves too seriously.

I know, I know Jesus is the reason for the season. . .

But I know that if it was my birthday that I would hope everyone would celebrate by having some fun and enjoying themselves.

21st Annual Jingle Jog 5K

So this was my first 5k.

Time: 22:19
2nd in my Age Group
13th woman overall (at least this is what the card said that I was given at the finished to fill out with my time)
3000+ people do this race (at least that is what the announcer said).

I am a little disappointed.
I was not able to run on the vomit line as I had planned.

Oh, believe me, it was still just as terrible as I knew it would be but not because I was running as fast as I think I can--or rather have. On the treadmill I regularly run under 22 for a 5k but because I ran the freezing- choking-on-your-phlegm-and-tasting-blood-while-you-run-all-uphill-for-the-second-mile 5k I was slower. And that is okay. On a warmer day I am sure I will be faster. Soft Pr's are the way to go, I think.

I still had a great time. Besides, since it was my first any time would have been a PR. Really, my main goal for this race was to nab the Santa award. So it was misson accomplished this morning. Further good news is that my right hip that has been bothering me and my perennial calf issues were absent during the race. Of course, I think that it is because I couldn't feel any part of my body I was so cold but whatever no pain is a good thing.

Okay, race report:

My plan all along was to wear my Santa's helper costume for the race. I do love a costume. But yesterday I found out it was going to be in the 20's. Which I should add that I typically don't run outside when the temps get below freezing because it makes my asthma flare up. I feel like I can't breathe or get enough oxygen when it dips into the 20's. This normally isn't an issue since it doesn't often get that cold in Atlanta.

And for that reason I really didn't believe that is was really going to be in the 20's. But just in case it was I did go and buy a long sleeve white technical shirt to wear under my costume (which is sleeveless). This was very smart on my part since it did end up being 26 degrees for the start. Some man--outfitted for Antarctica--walked past me and commented "God Bless you". Not sure if I was being blessed for my festive spirit, much too short skirt or just plain lack of clothing in below freezing temps.

Oh and let me say this, before the fashion police come and arrest me, that in general I do not abide by white spandex. Please do not do this. White spandex is never a good idea unless, like me, you are planning on only having your sleeves show. Then it is okay. White + spandex = not flattering. White shouldn't be tight. That is the rule.

Whew, I feel better about getting that off my chest.

Wait, no, one more thing-- this one for the men who swim: Please, please I beg you, refrain from wearing white or light colored swim trunks to swim laps (unless you are Micheal Phelps or have the same delicious physique). And thus ends my public service announcement of what is in good taste for working out.

You do know my tongue is in my cheek, right?


Beau also wanted to do the elf run. I wasn't sure if he was going to be able to since Ryan is out of town and I figured it might be a problem if I tied Beau to a tree while I did my race--5k was at 8 am, Elf run at 9am. Luckily my parents agreed to bring the kids later. I am really glad he got to do it and I appreciate my parents braving the cold to bring them. Beau has been so excited and kept me in stitches all week with his "training". Before tennis on Tuesday he ran for 15 minutes straight stopping only to call out to everyone that he was "training to run a marathon." And by marathon he meant 100 yard dash. Oh, and Beau, like me, was also en costume.

I could not convince Carmella to do the race but she did agree to wear a festive Santa hat. She doesn't like costumes as much as Beau and I do. Okay, really what I mean is that she is not an attention whore like me and Beau.

Getting myself and the kids ready and out the door by 6:40 was no easy task. But I did it and got the kids to my parents a by 6:55. I hightailed it down 400 and was thrilled to get off the Abernathy exit at 7:15. Immediately my elation was dashed by having to sit in traffic and inch along Ashford Dunwoody to the race start. I mention this so that if people want to do this race next year they can adequately prepare. I did manage to park and get over to the start area by 7:40.

You might be wondering if I felt at all self conscious about wearing a costume but I didn't and luckily I wasn't the only one who thought to wear one.
I am pretty sure I am the only woman--at least that I saw--wearing a Santa's helper costume but there were lots of men dressed up and everyone was pretty festive with some Christmas socks and Santa hats and reindeer antlers. I bet if it hadn't been so cold more people would have dressed up.

I jogged over to the Johnny on the spots and then ran over to the start line. I knew the crowd was huge and with baby joggers and dogs being allowed I wanted to make sure I was as close to the front as possible. Strangely with about 10 minutes til start there was hardly anyone in the start area. Since it was so cold I couldn't stand around so I ran up and down the hill.

Under my Santa dress I had on my 3" Nike compression shorts. I do love these shorts but they have no pockets. I wanted to have my camera so I could take pictures of Beau in his race. I didn't know if I would have time to go to my car and get it so I used my amphipod. I hate this thing because it pulls my shorts down and with the camera and phone it was pretty bulky. But I figured I could deal with it for 3 miles and desire for pictures of the festive occasion won out. I am glad I brought it but in my next 5k I will be more serious, well, I might still wear a costume but no ipod or camera.

Yes, (hangs head in embarrassment) I used my ipod. I wasn't planning on it but when I realized how cold it was I knew my asthma was going to be a problem and the worst part about it for me--I mean besides all the phlegm and not breathing-- is hearing myself wheeze and gurgle. I am glad I had it even though I can't tell you a single song that played during the race. Between songs when I could hear my breathing it was bad, lots of wheeze. In fact, I am still wheezing and coughing 3 hours later-- even after hitting the inhaler. I am sure I will be fine as this isn't unusual for me in cold weather. I am just glad I don't live some where that is always cold otherwise it would be a major problem.

Finally they called everyone to the start and I was lucky to be in the front row. Normally I would not place myself there since I know I can't run under a 6 minute mile but since there were people standing next to me who I was pretty certain wouldn't maintain a 9 minute mile I was okay with it.

Santa shot the gun and we were off. First mile was mostly downhill and flat. So.Very.Cold. My nose ran like a faucet down the front of my face and the back of my throat. I didn't even know I was congested but I'm certainly not now.

I couldn't even feel my body impacting with the pavement I was so cold and I tried wiping my nose but I couldn't feel it and decided it is better to just have snot on my face than touch my nose that felt like rubber.

Other than how cold I felt-- and the phlegm problem-- I was doing pretty good and heard the split of 6:29 called for the first mile. I was happy about that. I am still felt good, phelgmy but that I could maintain. I was having a good time.

About 10 seconds later I am running up a long hill and I am no longer having such a great time. Don't look at the hill I think and I keep my eyes on the ground. I start choking on the phlegm that is in my throat and I can taste blood. I pretty much feel like I am dying. I have no idea if the blood taste is from my sinuses or from my lungs but I figure it isn't a good sign. I think whatever, less than 2 miles, you'll be okay. The good angel on my right shoulder reminds me this is how it is suppose to be in a 5k. The bad one on my left though chimes in with: yeah, but you're not suppose to be this slow.

So I am still going up a hill, and I know I am slowing down but trying my hardest. It was extra hard though because I had so much mucus in my mouth and throat that there were moments when I literally couldn't breathe--I was holding my breath because breathing in would have sucked it all in my lungs. So to clear my throat and mouth I would have to hold my breathe for a second while I spit and that made running up the hill all that much harder. Legs felt good though and I knew it was just the cold making my airways react.

We flattened out and had a tiny dip and then another hill. Two mile split was called at 14:51. Ugh. Serious slow down. Again, I've done 2 miles on the treadmill under 14 and expected to hear that today. More evidence that just doing long runs on hills is not enough. I need to be doing those darn hill repeats that I have long avoided.

Finally we flatten out for a bit with some tiny false hills and I push as hard as I can. I know I need to hustle. There wasn't really enough time for me to do the math in my head but I knew 21 minutes wasn't going to happen and figured I'd come in somewhere between 22 and 23 minutes. I was worried it wouldn't be enough for a Santa statue. There is big downhill and me and my phlegmy self went for it. Passed a few people. Then I was almost at the finish line--men went left, women right. As I am crossing I look at the clock--22:19.

I got a little annoyed when one girl shot past me right as I crossed over the line at the last second and got in front of me. Another girl tried but I edged her out. I know it is a race but the chute had narrowed and in the past when I've done races like this you come in single file and most people respect the placement. But whatever, they both looked a lot younger than me. Like I said, I just wanted a Santa statue and they weren't my competition.

I was handed a card--said number 13--I assume this meant I was 13th woman. On the card you had to fill out your time, name, bib, age etc. I turned in my card and was really excited that mine was the first one in my age group box. I cheered for myself and looked around. I didn't see anyone else hand in their card so I thought I had first place age group. But when they did the awards turns out I was second. The girl that beat me was either 1 or 2 minutes faster. Oh well. Guess she had held her card. I am a fast test taker so maybe I was just quick in filling mine out. 1st, 2nd, 3rd--goal was a Santa Statue and I got one; so I am happy.

After finishing and turning in my card I took a few pictures of the finish line and watched a few people come in. Santa was there shaking all the ladies' hands and congratulating them. I saw some young guys come in dressed as reindeer pulling Santa in a wagon and tried to get a picture but there were too many people in the way for me to get a clear shot of them.

I headed off to collect my shirt. I called my parents and they had just gotten there so I went to find them.

We had to wait around for awhile before Beau's race started. He practiced on the course for a bit and then warmed up a bit more by riding a pony.

And taking a few turns on the bouncy slide

Hugged a fox

And a reindeer and got a balloon sword--and "one for his sister".

They did the kids by age and gender.
The five and six year old boy division was chaos. Beau was doing great and right after he did the turn some kid cut through the cones-- or something--and was heading straight into him. I expected a collision but Beau shoved the kid out of his way. I don't think the kid fell but Beau did push him off the course. Oops. I hope the kid wasn't hurt but I saw the whole thing and it really wasn't Beau's fault --he wasn't being mean or aggressive just trying not to crash. It happens. But if by chance the parents of that boy are reading this I am sorry. I would have made Beau apologize but I wasn't certain which boy it was.

So after Beau's race it still hadn't warmed up as I had hoped it would so we left (after collecting my award of course).

This was a really fun race (well except that part where I felt terrible for 22 minutes and couldn't breathe). I loved wearing a costume and making it like a party. Because Lord knows, there is nothing better than a costume party.


And now me and my little elves have a Brownie outing to attend and sing Christmas carols to a local nursing home.

By golly! We are just spreading all sorts of love and cheer and festivity this year.

Probably won't last.