Bee Bike Break Through

Beau has had this bike since he was one and half. He has long wanted to ride the bike but gave up figuring out how pretty soon after he got it. Periodically we would revisit bike riding but he couldn't figure out the pedaling and steering. He was very frustrated by this so I haven't pushed it since I figured it had something to do with motor planning. His speech problem is a motor planning issue so it made sense that being able to pedal a bike wouldn't come easy for him since it--like speech--requires bilateral thinking--or something along those lines. Of course him knowing how to swim and swim well kinda throws a wrench in that theory.


But Beau has a history of not being able to do something at all and then in the span of an hour being able to do it and do it well. He went from not crawling at 7 months to crawling and crawling up the stairs in an afternoon. Same with walking. He waited until he could run to even bother with walking. And it was the same with swimming at the age of 2. He jumped in the pool and just started swimming. What I am saying is that there is never really a process that you see. It is like something clicks and he can do it. And yesterday the bike clicked for him. He and Parker spent the afternoon having races with the bike and the big wheels. And Beau was pissed that Parker beat him. Every time. He actually started crying and told me to tell Parker to let him win. I told him that wasn't how you win and that he needed to practice until he could win. So he practiced riding all day yesterday. Ryan was blown away when he came home from work and saw Beau flying down the sidewalk on his bike. This morning Beau woke up demanding to ride.

Pop and Lala took both kids to the Greenway and he rode a little over 4 miles. I finished up my bike ride and set out on a short brick. I caught up to them and ran back with them. Beau could totally keep up with me. I am so excited that I finally have 2 kids that can ride bikes. This means that they can ride their bikes and I can run along side them. This has long been my dream.
Now to get rid of both their training wheels. I am going to work on Beau first because he is the natural daredevil and Carmella will get rid of hers if her little brother rides without.

And, yes, they do both have helmets. We left them in Pop's truck. So they are resigned to riding in the driveway til I get them back.

And yes, I know they need new bikes. Santa's elves are working on that as I write this.

But enough about the kids. Let's talk about my workouts this week. I think, I had a great week. Maybe could have run a little more but I think the runs I got in were very good quality:

Sunday: 6 miles moderate pace. Rolling hills course.

Monday: Suppose to be a run bike swim day but the bike didn't workout. So I did my speed workout: 10k on the treadmill in 45 minutes flat--no incline. Then I swam a little over a mile.--35 minutes total. I typically turn out a mile in 26-30 minutes in the pool. I sprinted out the last 100. It felt fabulous. I love how efficient I feel in the water. The problem with the swim is convincing myself to get in the pool. The whole getting wet part bothers me. But once I get in the pool it is all good.

Tuesday: 10 miles--I don't know the pace. Rolling hills course. It was easy.

Wednesday: Sick kid day.

Thursday: 24 mile at 8:48 pace. Rolling hills course. Then I took Lola for a mile easy jog/walk cool down. And then Beau and walked to the school to get Carmella from Brownies. There and back it is a mile. It was very tired and kinda done with being on my feet but I think walking after a long run is important. It seems to help speed my recovery. I had also done an ice bath.

Friday: Little stiff in the leg and had a lot of work to do. Walked Carmella to school. Beau wanted to race. I couldn't run. At all. Decided a bike ride would be best. But as it worked out I only had time for a quick run before getting the kids from school. So I put in 3 miles in 26 minutes--flat out and back with 2 little hills course. Not enough of a workout. So later I went to the gym and turned out a 5k--no incline. I started out walking and then gradually increased. I hit the 1 mile at 9:13. Kept increasing and hit 2 miles at 15:58. Kept pressing I finished up at 22:28. A true negative split. Then I hit the weights for some upper body toning. Got in shoulders, triceps, biceps, upper and lower back. Finished up with stretching out the hips and legs.

Saturday: 24 miles on the bike at the Greenway. I don't know my time but it was pretty crowded so I couldn't really kick it up. I finished up with a 2 mile run--flat out and back.

Totals:
Swim: mile+
Bike: 24 miles
Run: 54 miles

Good, strong week.

Trophy Husband? or What goes bad on a Hoof?

Boy toy, definitely!
And to answer the second seemingly unrelated question: NOTHING! Com'on! Who doesn't love bacon?
So that's Ryan.
My trophy husband.
He is 55 days younger than me.
And bacon? He loves it. Almost as much as Parker eats turkey.
Scandalous, huh?

Today he turns 36 and now we are the same age. Even still, I get carded way more than he does--no doubt these are people who feel sorry for me and think my self-esteem needs a boost but nonetheless . . . This means, clearly, that I am the younger looking one. And THAT is what really counts. Right? (And yes, Lala, everything is a competition.)

We celebrated with little fanfare. Pizza, beers and cake. And no, I am NOT the one who drinks the PBR (gag). Hence why I am the younger looking one. Very low key since Carmella was not feeling too good.

I did get him a really great card.
I'm such the romantic.
I can't show it to you because it might fall under "questionable material" and I might get flagged.
But I'll describe it. (Or you could just go to Publix and see it for yourself)
It is a picture of pig's butt. You open it and it says:
I'm sorry, I thought you said you like PIG butts and you could not lie.

I still can't stop laughing about it.
The check-out lady at Publix didn't find it nearly as funny either but Ryan liked it.
And see, that is why we're a couple.

Counting down 17 days to ING: Mid week Training Update

I am actually feeling pretty good about my training. Not 3:30 marathon great but sub 3:40 good. If nothing else I know for me the biggest factor will be the weather as to how well I do. I don't run well in really cold, really hot, really windy or really wet weather. It pretty much is going to have to be perfect for me to PR this time.

Last week I forgot to do a final weekly update but I did get a run in Friday--it was 7 miles. So MPW were 45. I rested Saturday for the race on Sunday.

And by rested I mean I went to a baby shower attended by-- except for the pregnant mama and recent post-partum women--ridiculously thin women. I say ridiculously thin because they made me feel fat and I wear a size 2. That is why I had to have the wine. It is their fault. And then I ate everything on my plate, even the dessert--decadent strawberry shortcake-- and I never eat dessert. I had to be extra gluttonous in the face of such thinness. I mean, maybe if I don't eat or drink wine or have a chocolate chip cookie as my mid morning snack then I too can be a double zero but then again where will I get the energy to run 26.2 miles? Whatever, I like cookies for breakfast and food in general and wine way too much to give it up just to wear tiny clothes. Bitches.(and I say bitches because I am jealous I can never be so lithe. Too sturdy.)

Anyway, here is my breakdown for the week:
Sunday--half marathon at a 7:46 pace
Monday: rest
Tuesday: 10 miles an 8:24 pace
Wednesday: 6 miles at a 8:30 pace and then a one mile cool down walk. Then in the afternoon I took Lola, Carmella and Beau and wait for it, Parker--that's right, Parker of Parker eats turkey fame, to the park. I include this as workout because when you take a puppy, 2 3 year old boys and a 6 year old girl to the park for 2 hours your heart rate is up, way up.
Thursday: 16 miles at an 8:33 pace

My plan for Friday is rest but Beau might talk me into going to the gym for cross training. In the afternoon we are to meet the Grandmas for a walk. Saturday is the 10K.
So MPW should come in around: 51

Keen Observationist

Beau is usually so busy being Beau that you just don't think he notices much. But really, little gets by him.

On Friday when he was sick he had to go to the bathroom. Usually when Beau and I go to the restroom together we take separate stalls. But at the Dr's there is only one loo-- so we had to share. He went first and then me. This was when he noticed something that greatly upset and alarmed him.

And in a very loud and very excited voice he asked "Mommy where is your penis?" As if I might have lost it or was the victim of some unfortunate accident.

I quietly told him that girls don't have penises--just boys.

No! Uh-uh Mommy. Everyone has a penis! My sister has a penis.

No she doesn't. Girls don't have penises. I promise.

Uh-huh! My sister told me.

No she didn't.

Yes. She. Did! DARDELLA HAS A PENIS!

We exit the bathroom and I am trying to ignore him yet he is persistent to carry on the conversation and to let everyone know that I am the freak of nature that does not have a penis. As we walk down the hall to the waiting room, he lists all the girls he knows with penises while I vainly try to shh him: Dardella has a penis, Livi has a penis, Abbie has a penis, Lala has a penis, Bubbles has a penis, Meme has a penis. . .

Just to recap: Beau thinks I drink beer for breakfast, girls have penises and oh, yeah, Parker eats turkey. Any questions?

Copays and on why Lola will not be getting her operation on Monday

So I had to cancel Lola's operation.
And finally, after $300 in copays and a prescription I have a likely diagnosis.

I spent yesterday from 10 am til 1:30 pm with Beau at the doctor's ($30 copay) and then from 2-7:30 pm in the ER at Children's Healthcare of Atlanta ($150).

They think he has bacterial pneumonia.

There is a spot on his chest x-ray that is suspect.
Pnuemonia seems the most likely culprit.


Nonetheless there are cultures that are growing and IV antibiotics that have made a world of difference.


This weekend and yesterday I had tons of stuff going on: Friday at 8 am I was teaching an art lesson on Gustav Klimt to Carmella's class, then Beau and I were to have lunch with her class at 11 and then have cupcakes to celebrate her birthday.
Then I needed to get my house and preparty prep together. Saturday was my 10K race and then in the afternoon Carmella's gymnastic party with 20 of her friends and then at 7:30 a family party at my house to celebrate Carmella's 6th and my sister's 30th birthdays. Max and Livi were going to spend the night as a special treat for Carmella and Beau and as a favor for Dee Dee and Steph. Sunday, blissfully, nothing. Still holding out hope for Sunday coming through for me--everything else, but that art lesson, had to be canceled--Lala did bring Carmella the cupcakes and have lunch with her class in my place. Carmella seemed okay about that but I feel guilty.

Kudos to Carmella for being so understanding. How awesome is she?

I had to cancel everything. I totally feel terrible about it for Carmella. We did have a little party--cake, pizza and movies here at home for her tonight. We are going to have her big 6 shebang next weekend--assuming everyone stays healthy.

Yesterday morning we had to get up extra early to leave the house by 7am. Beau was fine--his usual, crazy self: Ate all his breakfast, fought with Lola, tied her leash in knots around the kitchen table and then threaded another leash between her crate and his pirate ship in the playroom. He refused to a wear coat because he was wearing his very cool batman shirt. I am done having the coat fight with my kids and if their dumb asses want to be cold then fine.

But from walking from my car to my mom's front door in his t-shirt he got really chilled. His little teeth were even chattering. It really wasn't that cold--34 degrees or so.Cold but not enough to be chilled from a short run inside. But nonetheless we bundled him up and Lala made him a fire. I left. Went and did the art lesson and came back to get him right before 10 am.

Lala answered the door cradling Beau in her arms. She said she thought he had fever but he wouldn't let her take his temperature (my kids are weird about this. They are rarely sick and even though we do it under the arm they lose their marbles over it. So dumb--if they only knew the other way I could do it.) He let me take his temperature and it was 103. He and Carmella have both had higher temperatures than that but Beau was not acting how he has acted in the past when he has been sick. I mean this is a kid who had the flu at 15 months old and was running around the house and body slamming me or Carmella. I was shocked when his test came back positive for type A flu. And then there was the times he had rotavirus or a stomach bug and would eat, then vomit, then eat and then vomit but otherwise was totally fine. Little vomiting, watery diarrhea ain't gonna slow my crazy man down.

Yesterday though he was pale and was just laying there moaning. I have never seen him do that. But even as I put him in the car he kept arguing that he felt better and that he was fine. I bribed him with a promise of McDonald's french fries and he readily agreed to go to the doctor (not that he a choice--it is just that a willing participant makes these visits slightly easier) I called them on the way and let them know we were coming. They said they would work us in. Beau by then was somewhat lethargic and I have to say I was pretty freaked out. What usually takes 25 minutes to drive took me about 15. We rode with the windows down (heat on though.) My hope was to bring his temperature down. It helped a little.

When we got there I asked them to take his temperature right away. It was 102.3. He wouldn't let me put him down. Anyone who knows Beau knows that since he was about 7 months old he doesn't like to be held.

I bought some Motrin--which he compliantly took. We waited for about an hour to be seen. By that point he was moaning, his breathing was rapid and he was very weak. I still got him to drink 2 small cups of water. He really is a very good patient.

We finally got in to see the dr who then sent us for a chest x-ray and blood work--I didn't even have to ask. I think having waited to give him the Motrin was a wise decision on my part since the dr got to see for himself how ill Beau looked. While we were doing the x-rays I think the Motrin finally kicked in as he became perkier and would actually walk on his own.

Beau really is the best patient ever. He was so cooperative about getting the x-rays and was quite the trooper about getting his blood drawn--well at least the first time.

After the labs and x-rays we had to wait to be seen again. Finally we were called back and the dr looked at Beau again and sent us straight on over to Children's. Beau's white count was over 27,000. It is considered high at 16,000.

So on to the Er where we waited and waited. Beau was doing better but where he is usually an 11 on a scale of 1 to 10, as far as activity goes, he was about a 4. He still had a fever of 101--even with the Motrin. It was weird but kinda cool to see what a laid back chill Beau was like. As difficult as he is sometimes I definitely prefer the healthy hyper one. He scared some bejesus out of me yesterday.

After what seemed to me hours and hey, it was, we got a room. And the ER dr looked at the x rays and the lab work and decided, eventually, on an IV antibiotic drip. I have to say I was relieved. I think I have mentioned before about when Carmella was a baby and ended up having septicemia. I spent a week of dr visits and 3 ER visits until I was taken seriously. And, of course, after what happened with Evan I just wasn't willing to go through that or what I had with Carmella. So even though it is absolutely horrible to pin your 3 yr old down and watch while they dig through his veins as he screams bloody murder-- I am telling you now: don't let it faze you. It is nothing. Nothing. Compared to what might happen if you don't.

So I kept that in my mind as Beau was traumatized by 2 ER nurses. And I have to say that compared to Carmella he pales in his antics but is still a champion screamer. 3 other nurses popped in to ask if they needed help. Between Beau's screams of "GET ME OUTTA HERE!!!"--and yes, he really said that-- I tried to distract him. I asked him to tell us a secret. He managed to get out"Parker eats turkey." I am so pleased that he can maintain his humor in the face of such torture. He is going to make it through middle and high school just fine. No worries.

The torture was worth it. After the course of antibiotics his fever was gone and his color better. Even Beau himself commented that his bones were feeling better. He had gotten it in his head--I guess because of the x-rays --that his bones were sick.

He hasn't had any fever since but we still had to spend 4 hours today in the After hours care for a follow-up visit ($60 copay) to get a prescription for antibiotics ($60 dollars because we haven't met the deductible. We never meet the deductible)

I am beat. The 10k and kid's party would have been less exhausting.

And last week was a total waste as far as my ING training goes. Only 3 days of running and 31 miles--no long run. But I have to admit that my legs feel great. Today I woke up for the first time in forever and wasn't sore. I could even walk down the stairs on the very first time the regular way--not side ways on that first time down like I usually have to do.

I took the night train to Epiphany and missed the stop

I feel like there are two of me lately.
There is the me who is out there doing the usual things; running, being wife and mom. She is out there doing wife and mom stuff: volunteering, kissing boo boos, work for husband, hanging with friends, cleaning the house, doing the laundry, shuttling kids around and doing errands.

But there is this other me that is wondering where all the time I use to have went. I feel like everything is taking me so much longer to accomplish and I am just not getting stuff done at the speed and efficiency I use to. I am thinking that the me who gets shit done is distracted by this new me that zones out on thinking about time, wondering where her missing hours went.
She is a wasteful thinker; she is a putzer.
I hate putzing.

I couldn't sleep last night.
I sometimes have this problem. It is nothing new. Eventually I get so tired-- because I can't take naps-- that I will inevitably get a good night's sleep by default just from being so damn tired. Then I fall back into my regular getting eight hours of shut eye and will be blissfully well-rested for months at a time. But the not sleeping--when it is happening-- really sucks.
I will lie awake for hours worrying and thinking about random things. I will try to think up things that do not cause me panic but inevitably all thoughts will fall to anxious things. And I will worry and my heart will race and sleep will edge further off into the distance. I will get up, give up and come downstairs and jump from hyperlinks to hyperlinks--a stream of consciousness for the technological age, I guess. James Joyce would have a field day.

So that is what I did last night-- along with designing and ordering my Christmas cards from Shutterfly. But even with that being crossed off my list I couldn't fall back asleep.

I tried though:

I lie there in the quiet; listening to the house sounds and passing cars and watching shadows change on the wall.
My thoughts inevitably fall to Evan.
I think about how awful it was when he was in the hospital and my mind relives those sad days and I have to see everyone crying and experience it all again in my head.
This makes me realize how fragile life is.
How precious Carmella and Beau are and I am overwhelmed that it is up to me to keep them safe.
I am reminded of those races we use to have in elementary school.
I make the metaphorical leap that the egg race was to prepare me for raising children.
I am carrying two spoons, balancing an egg in each one. My arms are outstretched to keep my balance. I want to hold the eggs--the spoons-- close to my body, cradle them but this is impossible with two eggs and two spoons.
I manage what I can.
I find that I can run with outstretched arms balancing eggs on spoons.
But I see that I am not only in the egg race but the three-legged race and the potato sack race.
It is ridiculous but I find that I am also trying to pin the tail on the donkey and all the while I am blindfolded.
I race out of the school yard and I am remembering James Dickey's poem The Eye-Beaters.
It is about blind children who beat at their eyes.
Dickey thinks it is because they are seeing cave images in their heads.
While I was in graduate school I spent a good bit of time in the Emory library in the special papers room looking at the Dickey papers. I found some notes on The Eye-Beaters and I wrote a paper about Jungian archetypes , cave art and The Eye-beaters based on my research and my own ideas. It was a pretty good paper and I got a good mark for it and was even invited to present it a literary panel.
I declined.
I don't really like James Dickey.
I think he is a great artist, writer, poet, whatever but I also think he was a failure at being a human being. I never knew that an artist could do great art but be terrible at empathy, kindness, humanity. That still seems so antithetical to me. So sad and just wrong. He didn't get it.
But at times it seemed he did.
So, yeah, it was neat to delve into another writer's notes and see how they work but even then I thought: this isn't important.
I knew then that neither James Dickey-- nor I studying James Dickey-- was going to change or impact the world in any important way.
And that brought me back to thinking about Evan.
And really, here is what I think about a lot:
At Evan's funeral the minister, Davis Chappel, said something along these lines: Three years is not long enough.
But it is enough to change the world.
Jesus, was in Galilee for less than 3 years preaching his ministry and he did change the world.
The world was changed by one man
and what he said
and what he did.
In less than three years.

So, yeah, maybe three years is enough.

And I have been thinking about that ever since.
The complexity of it boggles me:
How can three years be enough?
It riddles me like it does for Beau that Parker eats turkey.
Beau tells me everyday that Parker eats turkey.
He is amazed, baffled by it.
In awe of it.
That Parker eats turkey is some sort of fantastic, brilliant mystery for him.
Me too; because Beau tells me so often that Parker eats turkey that I am wondering if it is a code.
I have begun to think that if I can crack it I will solve not only why my little boy doesn't speak well but maybe even how three years is enough and how to change the world.
I know, that is a huge, ridiculous leap.
But still I circle around the thought daily-- not Parker and his turkey--but about Evan and how much he has changed my world and how I want to do more to honor that, respect that.
Show that.
It is maddening and I just can't quite get to the answer, the how, the Tao.
It needles me.
I know there is something I am missing, not doing, not seeing.
And I wonder, endlessly, what. I. Can. Do.
No. No, I'm not looking to save the world or really even change it but maybe be a little Ghetto fabulous and change my little corner, you know make it better, brighter, nicer. Find a way to reconcile the senseless loss and that three is enough.
This idea though--it is big-- and the feeling that I am getting is that not only am I missing the point but worse, that I might be being wasteful of this here gift.
And that is what is keeping me up at night.