If you've been keeping up with my recent posts you know this week has been a little tough on me. If not here is the breakdown:
Sunday: sick
Monday: still sick
Tuesday: 10 miles
Wednesday: 6 miles
Thursday: 14 miles, very slow: 10 minute pace.
Friday: 6 miles; this was a good run: 7:55 pace. My first run in what felt like fall weather. Loved it.
Saturday: Long run. Oh my God it was so tough but I think I did pretty good considering I still have a cold and really had to pile on the miles at the end of the week.
My plan was a 21 mile route. I figured it was a little over 21 but like maybe a 1/4 of a mile over. I clocked it in the car Wednesday morning and maybe I forgot the route because it ended up being much longer. I really felt pretty good until the end and then was just tired and hot. My hips and back started to hurt too.
I did 20 miles in 3 hours, I think Garmin said a 9:05 pace. I was pretty happy with that. It was around this point that I realized that the run was going to be longer than 21 miles so at 20 and a half miles I reset Garmin and walked home. I'd be lying if I said I felt great at that point but I made it. Had I ran the entire course it would have been 23 miles. Considering my longest run prior was 16 miles I think that definitely was too far for me at this point. It is a nice and challenging course--a lot of hills but in this area I can't avoid that. I'll do the whole thing in a few weeks. At any rate I am only going to count the miles I actually ran, so . . .
Total Weekly Mileage: 56 miles!!!! Not too bad for only 5 days of running.
Items found: Road kill, lots of it. Apparently in the Atlanta burbs last night there was raccoon massacre. I must have passed at least 10 dead ones on the side of the road today on my run. And you know, I was actually a little thankful that I have a cold since I can't smell very well and road kill is not the most pleasant thing to smell when on a long run.
Saturday, September 16, 2006
Friday, September 15, 2006
I Am Runner Therefore I Am Mother
I am having trouble starting this post.
I know what I want to say.
But every time I start writing it sounds like I am writing a paper for a feminist theory class.
And that tone bugs me.
Not that I am not a feminist.
I am.
I am a woman, so of course I am a feminist-- if not just by default.
But having taken my share of gender issue and feminism classes I am pretty turned off by the hardcore feminist writing where man and motherhood are the enemy and that we exist in this misogynist world where we must "fight the power". I don't buy it and I find all the finger pointing and bellyaching tiresome. If you've got a complaint, fucking state it and either come up with a solution or move the F on. 'Nuff already!
However, I do often think that there still exists a tendency for women to feel that when they become mothers they must simply hand their life over to their children. Surely, in this day and age, we are well past where women hand over their lives for their husbands. I mean, I suppose that may still happen too-- I just know a lot of kick ass women, so I don't know any woman personally who when they got married just became wife with a capital W: you know, The WIFE. That's all they wrote about her, wife. Really, at this point, I think we put to bed the 1950's housewife a few decades ago. If they still exist they should be in a museum, something to marvel at, not mock-- for their homespun American antiquity. I think they are that rare.
And while The WIFE may be almost extinct, I do think that there still exists among mothers this mascochistic need to sacrifice your life for your children. If you don't do it then it is telling to all that you are not a very good mother. A failure on the most basic animal level. And worst of all, you run the risk of-- that's right girls-- being judged.
This pressure is put on women not by men or society at large but rather by women themselves. We are, as a gender, just too damn hard on ourselves and often live these martyr like existences in the name of childrearing. Enough! Mothers of the world you deserve to have life and will better serve your children if you do. No more guilt. It is your life too.
I know I am being boring so I'll get to my point:
The very best piece of advice my mother ever gave me on mothering was this: Do something, find something for yourself and do it. Otherwise you will lose your mind.
Anyone who has spent that first month at home caring for a newborn lump of sugar knows this to be true. While preggers you thought: Okay, so I'll have the baby and lose all this weight and wear my jeans and I'll have this cute little accessory that I can take every where: a mini me or mini hubby, whichever. You have all these imaginings of what you will do and exactly how it will be but then you have the baby and are too fucking scared to even leave the house. So you do nothing and try really hard to remember who it was you were just a mere few months before. I am going to tell you right now that you will never see that girl again.
Get over it.
It will be okay.
I promise.
So when my mother warned me while I was still pregnant to "do something" I think she was specifically encouraging me to keep up my writing and devote daily time to that. A wonderful ideal but after my master's program I was pretty burnt out on writing. The flame had plain gone out. And even if I had wanted to write I think it would have been a frustrating endeavor because me as a writer needs HUGE blocks of time to create, compose, delete and salvage one workable page. Writing for me--right now, just isn't terribly conducive to being a SAHM.
However, I did find that running was conducive to being a mother. And it IS the only thing I do for myself. It is my sanity. So if I seem selfish about getting my runs in-- that is why. They are as sacred as self. And being able to know myself, remember myself, makes me makes me a better mother. Plain and simple.
Here is an example of my day:
6am
Wake and make bed
Start a load of laundry. Put dry clothes upstairs to fold for later in the afternoon(often this step doesn't actually happen and clothes sit in basket for awhile. I really hate the folding and putting away step of laundry duty)
Make kid lunches and my after run lunch
Make kid's breakfast
Make self tea
Unload dishwasher
Check calendars and make sure everything is in their bags for school.
Ryan leaves for work.
6:30am
Put breakfast on table and go wake kids.
Kids sit and eat.
I go make their beds and straighten their rooms.
I bring their outfits picked out the night before downstairs.
I put toothpaste on their tooth brushes.
Clean kitchen
Put laundry in the dryer.
7am
Kids finish breakfast and they are sent upstairs to brush teeth and hair.
I sit down to drink now cold hot tea and eat Uncle Sam's cereal.
They get to go downstairs and watch cartoons while they get dressed-- provided they ate their breakfast and didn't cause me any difficulties. If they did they have to dress in their rooms and clean and/or look at books until it is time to leave for school.
7:30:
I put on running clothes and we are out the door by 7:40.
On Tuesdays and Thursdays Beau has speech from 8-8:45 so I volunteer in Carmella's classroom during that time. The other days we either go to the grocery store or we come home and Beau watches TV and has snack while I vacuum, mop, clean a bathroom, do work for Ryan--like payroll, tax crap, get deposits together,emails, memos etc., or fold laundry (almost never).
9am:
On Monday thru Thursday I drive Beau to school. (Fridays we either go to the gym or Lala's after we drop Carmella off and I go run. Soon Beau will start his sports class so he'll do that and I'll run then, or do errands.)
We get to his school about 9:15 and we play until 9:30 when he is allowed into the classroom.
9:30
Then I go run. This is my time. Some days I run for the entire 3 1/2 hours, some days less, but I always try to run an hour at least. Then I eat lunch in the car and do errands until it is time to get Beau.
1pm
I pick up Beau.
Sometimes Beau and I run an errand or visit friends/family or read books at home or play games. If Ryan happens to be home I let Beau nap beacuse I won't have to wake him to get Carmella. This is a hard time of the day for Beau because he is tired but it is better if he doesn't sleep since I'd only have to wake him in less than an hour.
2:10
We leave to go get Carmella.
2:30
We are all home. If it is Mon, Tuesday or Thursday they play outside if it is nice while I clean the house/ fold laundry after they have a snack. Sometimes Beau naps and Carmella and I do a project. Sometimes on those days we all go for visits or to the park. If it isn't nice we will all do a project or read or do computer games to pass the time.
On Wednesdays and Fridays Carmella has dance so I drive her there and Beau and I do more errands or go for a walk.
5 pm
Whatever the day, the kids have a bath. We pick out the next day's outfits.
They play while I make them dinner.
6:30
They are done eating. If they ate their dinner they get to watch a movie. Sometimes Ryan is home but more often he doesn't get home til after 8, sometimes later. Just depends.
7:15
Kids brush teeth and I read them each one book in their rooms.
7:30
The kids are in bed. Carmella is usually right to sleep. Beau talks to himself for about 30 minutes and then dozes off. He doesn't get out of bed but he complains a lot.
I make Ryan and I's dinner if I haven't already done that.
8 pm
We sit down to eat and watch TV.
Then either Ryan or I clean the kitchen and dishes.
10pm
We are both in bed.
So that is my average day.
Typical housewife stuff.
Not real exciting or very enviable.
That is why running is so important to me. It is my time to be with me and do something for me and have thoughts that are mine.
--Not that I don't think of my family, Ryan while I run but it is a time when I can contemplate, compose, consider, just be and not have to answer to anyone but myself.
Running, for me, I suppose, is like Jesus Christ is to some people: Running is my savior and it keeps me on the straight and narrow.
I live for those days where I forget about breath.
I forget about the pain in my thigh, calf, foot.
I forget that I am running up a hill and it is hard.
I forget that I am sad that my son doesn't speak as well as other boys his age.
I don't worry if I am good enough mother to my daughter, a good enough wife to my husband, a good housekeeper, a kind friend.
I care about nothing and care about everything and I forget my thoughts and I am just gone.
And THAT is the best feeling in the world.
When I finish, it is like how you feel after great sex: spent, sweaty and exhilarated--ready to face the world and all that it has to throw at me.
Bring it on.
Bring. It. On.
And that is why running makes me a better mother. That is why it is so important to me. That is why I make sure to get my fix everyday. I am getting my fix of myself. Running lets me remember who I am so that I don't completely lose myself to all this mothering and wifing stuff. It lets me sweat out all that frustration so that I can be a kind and caring person, a loving mother and wife and patient friend, daughter, sister.
Without it, without running: I'd have a nervous breakdown, everyday.
Every.
Single.
Day.
I know what I want to say.
But every time I start writing it sounds like I am writing a paper for a feminist theory class.
And that tone bugs me.
Not that I am not a feminist.
I am.
I am a woman, so of course I am a feminist-- if not just by default.
But having taken my share of gender issue and feminism classes I am pretty turned off by the hardcore feminist writing where man and motherhood are the enemy and that we exist in this misogynist world where we must "fight the power". I don't buy it and I find all the finger pointing and bellyaching tiresome. If you've got a complaint, fucking state it and either come up with a solution or move the F on. 'Nuff already!
However, I do often think that there still exists a tendency for women to feel that when they become mothers they must simply hand their life over to their children. Surely, in this day and age, we are well past where women hand over their lives for their husbands. I mean, I suppose that may still happen too-- I just know a lot of kick ass women, so I don't know any woman personally who when they got married just became wife with a capital W: you know, The WIFE. That's all they wrote about her, wife. Really, at this point, I think we put to bed the 1950's housewife a few decades ago. If they still exist they should be in a museum, something to marvel at, not mock-- for their homespun American antiquity. I think they are that rare.
And while The WIFE may be almost extinct, I do think that there still exists among mothers this mascochistic need to sacrifice your life for your children. If you don't do it then it is telling to all that you are not a very good mother. A failure on the most basic animal level. And worst of all, you run the risk of-- that's right girls-- being judged.
This pressure is put on women not by men or society at large but rather by women themselves. We are, as a gender, just too damn hard on ourselves and often live these martyr like existences in the name of childrearing. Enough! Mothers of the world you deserve to have life and will better serve your children if you do. No more guilt. It is your life too.
I know I am being boring so I'll get to my point:
The very best piece of advice my mother ever gave me on mothering was this: Do something, find something for yourself and do it. Otherwise you will lose your mind.
Anyone who has spent that first month at home caring for a newborn lump of sugar knows this to be true. While preggers you thought: Okay, so I'll have the baby and lose all this weight and wear my jeans and I'll have this cute little accessory that I can take every where: a mini me or mini hubby, whichever. You have all these imaginings of what you will do and exactly how it will be but then you have the baby and are too fucking scared to even leave the house. So you do nothing and try really hard to remember who it was you were just a mere few months before. I am going to tell you right now that you will never see that girl again.
Get over it.
It will be okay.
I promise.
So when my mother warned me while I was still pregnant to "do something" I think she was specifically encouraging me to keep up my writing and devote daily time to that. A wonderful ideal but after my master's program I was pretty burnt out on writing. The flame had plain gone out. And even if I had wanted to write I think it would have been a frustrating endeavor because me as a writer needs HUGE blocks of time to create, compose, delete and salvage one workable page. Writing for me--right now, just isn't terribly conducive to being a SAHM.
However, I did find that running was conducive to being a mother. And it IS the only thing I do for myself. It is my sanity. So if I seem selfish about getting my runs in-- that is why. They are as sacred as self. And being able to know myself, remember myself, makes me makes me a better mother. Plain and simple.
Here is an example of my day:
6am
Wake and make bed
Start a load of laundry. Put dry clothes upstairs to fold for later in the afternoon(often this step doesn't actually happen and clothes sit in basket for awhile. I really hate the folding and putting away step of laundry duty)
Make kid lunches and my after run lunch
Make kid's breakfast
Make self tea
Unload dishwasher
Check calendars and make sure everything is in their bags for school.
Ryan leaves for work.
6:30am
Put breakfast on table and go wake kids.
Kids sit and eat.
I go make their beds and straighten their rooms.
I bring their outfits picked out the night before downstairs.
I put toothpaste on their tooth brushes.
Clean kitchen
Put laundry in the dryer.
7am
Kids finish breakfast and they are sent upstairs to brush teeth and hair.
I sit down to drink now cold hot tea and eat Uncle Sam's cereal.
They get to go downstairs and watch cartoons while they get dressed-- provided they ate their breakfast and didn't cause me any difficulties. If they did they have to dress in their rooms and clean and/or look at books until it is time to leave for school.
7:30:
I put on running clothes and we are out the door by 7:40.
On Tuesdays and Thursdays Beau has speech from 8-8:45 so I volunteer in Carmella's classroom during that time. The other days we either go to the grocery store or we come home and Beau watches TV and has snack while I vacuum, mop, clean a bathroom, do work for Ryan--like payroll, tax crap, get deposits together,emails, memos etc., or fold laundry (almost never).
9am:
On Monday thru Thursday I drive Beau to school. (Fridays we either go to the gym or Lala's after we drop Carmella off and I go run. Soon Beau will start his sports class so he'll do that and I'll run then, or do errands.)
We get to his school about 9:15 and we play until 9:30 when he is allowed into the classroom.
9:30
Then I go run. This is my time. Some days I run for the entire 3 1/2 hours, some days less, but I always try to run an hour at least. Then I eat lunch in the car and do errands until it is time to get Beau.
1pm
I pick up Beau.
Sometimes Beau and I run an errand or visit friends/family or read books at home or play games. If Ryan happens to be home I let Beau nap beacuse I won't have to wake him to get Carmella. This is a hard time of the day for Beau because he is tired but it is better if he doesn't sleep since I'd only have to wake him in less than an hour.
2:10
We leave to go get Carmella.
2:30
We are all home. If it is Mon, Tuesday or Thursday they play outside if it is nice while I clean the house/ fold laundry after they have a snack. Sometimes Beau naps and Carmella and I do a project. Sometimes on those days we all go for visits or to the park. If it isn't nice we will all do a project or read or do computer games to pass the time.
On Wednesdays and Fridays Carmella has dance so I drive her there and Beau and I do more errands or go for a walk.
5 pm
Whatever the day, the kids have a bath. We pick out the next day's outfits.
They play while I make them dinner.
6:30
They are done eating. If they ate their dinner they get to watch a movie. Sometimes Ryan is home but more often he doesn't get home til after 8, sometimes later. Just depends.
7:15
Kids brush teeth and I read them each one book in their rooms.
7:30
The kids are in bed. Carmella is usually right to sleep. Beau talks to himself for about 30 minutes and then dozes off. He doesn't get out of bed but he complains a lot.
I make Ryan and I's dinner if I haven't already done that.
8 pm
We sit down to eat and watch TV.
Then either Ryan or I clean the kitchen and dishes.
10pm
We are both in bed.
So that is my average day.
Typical housewife stuff.
Not real exciting or very enviable.
That is why running is so important to me. It is my time to be with me and do something for me and have thoughts that are mine.
--Not that I don't think of my family, Ryan while I run but it is a time when I can contemplate, compose, consider, just be and not have to answer to anyone but myself.
Running, for me, I suppose, is like Jesus Christ is to some people: Running is my savior and it keeps me on the straight and narrow.
I live for those days where I forget about breath.
I forget about the pain in my thigh, calf, foot.
I forget that I am running up a hill and it is hard.
I forget that I am sad that my son doesn't speak as well as other boys his age.
I don't worry if I am good enough mother to my daughter, a good enough wife to my husband, a good housekeeper, a kind friend.
I care about nothing and care about everything and I forget my thoughts and I am just gone.
And THAT is the best feeling in the world.
When I finish, it is like how you feel after great sex: spent, sweaty and exhilarated--ready to face the world and all that it has to throw at me.
Bring it on.
Bring. It. On.
And that is why running makes me a better mother. That is why it is so important to me. That is why I make sure to get my fix everyday. I am getting my fix of myself. Running lets me remember who I am so that I don't completely lose myself to all this mothering and wifing stuff. It lets me sweat out all that frustration so that I can be a kind and caring person, a loving mother and wife and patient friend, daughter, sister.
Without it, without running: I'd have a nervous breakdown, everyday.
Every.
Single.
Day.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
The World is Conspiring Against Me
Sunday I am sick, no running.
Monday I am still sick, no running.
Tuesday I feel better so I run 10 miles.
Wednesday I arrange for Ryan to pick up Beau and Carmella so that I can do 20 miles and catch up.
Wednesday morning I wake up and it is pouring. Buckets. Oh well, I'll just have to run in the rain. Then Beau throws up, so no school for him and no run for me. I manage 6 in the afternoon when Ryan gets home from work.
And today? All is fine. The plan is 12 miles, 14 if I'm feeling good. Beau has a check-up in the afternoon right after school so I pack a bag and plan on showering at the gym. And what happens? I get a call from Beau's school 10 minutes before we are to walk out the door. The water is cut-off at the school so they have to cancel. Are you kidding me? Seriously, what the fuck?
Okay, so I must amend:
It is 5pm and things are sort of starting to look up.
Bubbles came through for me this morning and Beau got to go hang out at Camp Grandma for a few hours.
I got a 14 mile run in--albeit a slow one, but I'll take what I can get.
What can I say, this just isn't my week.
I neglected to charge my ipod so it went dead on me 2 miles in. I preservered though; however, it was at almost 10 minutes a mile. It is just ridiculous how much slower I run without my tunes. I absolutely hate hearing myself breathe. Not to mention when you have a head cold it isn't exactly the healthiest sounding breathing: breathe, sniffle, wheeze, breathe, sniffle, wheeze. Ugh, I totally can't get into the zone when I have to hear myself breathe.
Oh well, at least I got to run. I think it did my head good. My nose is running like a leaky faucet so maybe that means this congestion that has kept me a fog will finally resolve itself.
Trying to stay positive. Tomorrow will be better.
Monday I am still sick, no running.
Tuesday I feel better so I run 10 miles.
Wednesday I arrange for Ryan to pick up Beau and Carmella so that I can do 20 miles and catch up.
Wednesday morning I wake up and it is pouring. Buckets. Oh well, I'll just have to run in the rain. Then Beau throws up, so no school for him and no run for me. I manage 6 in the afternoon when Ryan gets home from work.
And today? All is fine. The plan is 12 miles, 14 if I'm feeling good. Beau has a check-up in the afternoon right after school so I pack a bag and plan on showering at the gym. And what happens? I get a call from Beau's school 10 minutes before we are to walk out the door. The water is cut-off at the school so they have to cancel. Are you kidding me? Seriously, what the fuck?
Okay, so I must amend:
It is 5pm and things are sort of starting to look up.
Bubbles came through for me this morning and Beau got to go hang out at Camp Grandma for a few hours.
I got a 14 mile run in--albeit a slow one, but I'll take what I can get.
What can I say, this just isn't my week.
I neglected to charge my ipod so it went dead on me 2 miles in. I preservered though; however, it was at almost 10 minutes a mile. It is just ridiculous how much slower I run without my tunes. I absolutely hate hearing myself breathe. Not to mention when you have a head cold it isn't exactly the healthiest sounding breathing: breathe, sniffle, wheeze, breathe, sniffle, wheeze. Ugh, I totally can't get into the zone when I have to hear myself breathe.
Oh well, at least I got to run. I think it did my head good. My nose is running like a leaky faucet so maybe that means this congestion that has kept me a fog will finally resolve itself.
Trying to stay positive. Tomorrow will be better.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
This Thing with Feathers--keep it close
This
Is the hour of unbounded loneliness. This
Is the hour of the self's uncertainty
Of self. This is the hour when
Prayer might be a possibility, if
It was. This
Is the hour when what is remembered is
Forgotten. When
What is forgotten is remembered, and
You are not certain which is which.
But tell me this:
How had you ever forgotten that spot
Where once wild azalea bloomed? And what there passed?
--from "The Place" by Robert Penn Warren
This is my 9/11 post. A few days late and a dollar short, heck probably 20 bucks short but whatz the difference fizzle?
And here is my excuse: I've been ill, terribly ill. I took to my bed for 2 days. I didn't run for 2 days-- is how sick I was. Yes, I came down with the very cold I predicted last week that I was getting on Sunday. Those chills, headache and bodyaches weren't PMS, in my head or overtraining-- well maybe they were a little. But I was really sick this time, I swear. If you don't believe me I can hock something pretty up from the back of my throat or I can show you the tissues I saved with all the gross bloody brown and yellow snot that came out of my head just to prove it. But today I am better. My wellness barometer( a.k.a running) is back on track. I ran an easy ten today. And by easy I mean it was easy, not slow. Don't know how fast because I purposely left the watch behind and didn't check the time but it felt pretty damn good, considering the sin of sloth I was yesterday. Gluttony too, I was that also.
But now that I am well I wanted to do my own 9/11 post. My good friend Dogwood Girl did one. She inspired me.
September 11, 5 years ago, became a day of infamy. It will forever be one of those days where people will ask people from my generation: "Where were you the day the planes hit the towers? The pentagon? And thousands of Americans died and a war was waged and terror rang in the heart of every American?" It is the century defining question just like for previous generations the question was where were you when: Kennedy died? Or Elvis? Or The Challenger exploded?
See I should be able to have an answer for that one, I am that generation but I don't. I don't remember. I can gander a guess that I was maybe watching it with the rest of my 8th grade class and that there was probably some talk about the tragedy but I just don't know for sure because I don't remember any of it. I can't conjure that moment up in my mind. I have to say, I guess, that particular tragedy didn't really ring home for me. Callous as it may sound, I felt a thousand times removed from that situation and not to mention I was thirteen and had boys on the brain, not much else.
But ask me where I was I when Jerry Garcia died and that is a question I can answer. Not that Garcia's death is anywhere on the level with any of those other century defining moments but it was one that did impact my immediate life at the time. I was working in Yellowstone National Park with a bunch of deadheads. It was a very happy and liberating time in my life and I remember it vividly. I remember loving and living each and every day. I savored that time and really lived in the moment. Granted, I probably wouldn't remember or have given much thought to Garcia's death except at the time I was surrounded by so many stoned and distraught yellowstoners. The rally cry that day was "We should get stoned and take acid! Or something man!" Not that I did any of that. Mom. Dad.
I digress, the point here is, in the past I haven't really related much to world events. I never really felt the impact or saw the whole of the big picture. I was the sun in my universe and everything else seemed galaxies far, far away. This, I am sure, made me a shallow, small, and selfish person. It is the truth though. I could try to pretend that I was deeply affected or cared but I didn't, so I won't pretend.
This is not to say I am a changed and profound person today but I am now a parent and in my mind that makes me a card carrying adult and therefore it is my job to care what happens in this world. To know what happens. To be aware. The moment I stopped being the sun in my universe was on February 10th, 2001 when Carmella was born. But on September 11th I realized that this new world view wouldn't hold up either. When that plane hit the north tower I was forced to put my telescope down and had to quit pretending that this other world was so far away and that I was untouched by it.
September 11th is a day I remember, experienced with the world and it profoundly changed my perspective on the world and how I consider it. Part of why I remember it so clearly is that I had my own small own home spun tragedy going on. Of course the events that played out on the morning of September 11th blow my tragedy off the map but I would remember this day regardless, only probably with more laughter, had those planes never left the ground. You see my baby was sick on September 11th and I had been up all night with her, panicked and caring for her. Carmella as a baby was only sick twice. The first time she had to be hospitalized for a blood infection at 4 months old. So every time she so much as sneezed after that I would rush her petrified to the pediatrician's office certain that she had another rare and serious infection or disease and that death was only right around the corner.
The night of September 10th was a sleepless night for me. It was the worst night I have had with either Carmella or Beau. I was up all night walking her, trying to nurse her, comfort her, whatever. I was on and off the phone with the all night pediatric help line. Her only symptom was a fever and a not terribly high one. The nurse talked me down from the ceiling many times that night and kept me from foolishly rushing to the ER. Carmella was refusing to nurse and I was her only food source so not only was I worried, I was also in a lot of pain from engorgement. There is really is nothing worse than trying to force your engorged, leaking breasts on a screaming baby who doesn't want them. They bite you because they are pissed. I couldn't even get her to drink water and she cried all night like a colicky infant. Make no mistake this was not the little newborn howl that merely scrambles your brain but the 7 month old baby I-can-crawl-and-talk-and-scream-as-loud-as-shit cry when I am pissed off --a burst your eardrums cry. I wanted to toss her ass out the window. It was a bad, bad night.
After I managed to get some Tyelnol in her, made an appointment with the pediatrician for the following afternoon and finally--Tylenol having taken effect-- she nursed and went to sleep around 6 am. I drifted off myself a bit later only to be awakened by phone ringing a little before 9 am. It was my mother. I remember being very irritated that she was calling and was about to rail into her but before I could speak she said "Turn on your TV. The worst thing has happened. We are probably going to war." And then click, she hung up. Typical, I thought, wondering at what exactly it was she was being overly dramatic about now.
Obediently, I turn on the TV and see Katie Couric and a picture of the Twin Towers. One them has smoke billowing out from the top of it. I focus on this image, not knowing what I am seeing, what has happened and I am trying very hard to hear what Katie is saying while I rub the sleep out of my eyes. It is at this moment I see a plane hit the second tower. Huh? Is my thought as I draw back and then lean in closer to the TV. What the fuck am I seeing? I am so confused and just fall on my ass from where I am standing, remote still in my hand.
The breath is knocked out of me and I can't react. I am watching and watching and hearing and trying to listen to what Katie and Matt are saying. And so I sit all morning and watch the whole thing unfold. Moving only to get Carmella when she cries. I dress us in the living room. I dress and I feed my child and I listen to the early theories. I watch in horror as people wave flags from the upper windows. I watch, tearfully, as they jump to their certain deaths. Hand over mouth. I answer the phone and talk to my mother and we watch silent on the phone til another call comes on her line or on my line. The horror just continues and I just sit and watch in disbelief as the towers crumble one after the other.
As I watched that day and the days that followed I don't think I could really understand the devastation, really quite grasp the horror--even though I saw it as it happened, it seemed so unreal to me. Even when I went to "ground zero" 9 months later I still couldn't grasp the realness of it. And even now, my mind still can't quite register those images. No matter how many times I see them. They are too unbelievable. Never in my life, and I am a person who worries and can imagine some pretty ugly and scary things, but never once did it occur to me that an airplane could be a weapon against humanity. That an airplane could do so much damage and cause so much fear and kill so many people. Never did I imagine something so terrible could happen in America. Terribleness, such as that, is something that happens in far off places like Africa, India, the Middle East-- places I have never been and for that reason they too never seemed real either.
But this is real and it is so real because it isn't like 6 degrees of Kevin Bacon. 9/11 is 2 degrees: everyone knows someone who was either directly hurt by the tragedy or they know someone who knows someone who was. It is impossible to live in a bubble from the insane tragedy of that day.
And so I am moved, forever changed by it. My world is not so small. But I want to keep it close and keep it safe and try to fill it for my children with whatever love and beauty I can muster. I wrote this to Carmella in her journal that I kept for her the first year of her life the evening of September 11th:
Know that my knowing you has been the greatest joy in my life. Before you I could not fathom that I would love as I love you. Perhaps I am "over the top" with my sentimentality but when tragedy falls in this world, as it so often does, I am reminded that life is a gift and that I have been abundantly blessed. I am always thankful for my family and that I have never known such tragedies personally. It is simply so terrible to witness them that I cannot imagine the pain I would suffer to lose as so many have lost today. I will have to take this fear of tragedy and hold it healthily in my heart as a reminder to be grateful for the life I have.
I end this post with Emily Dickenson's poem "Hope" and a picture of Carmella one year later at a memorial for September 11th.
"Hope" is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without words,
And never stops--at all--
And sweetest--in the Gale--is heard:
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm.
I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest Sea:
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb --of Me.
Finally, in closing I add "make a little birdhouse in your soul"(They Might Be Giants.)
Sunday, September 10, 2006
Labor Day Weekend
Last weekend was our last trip to Hilton Head Island until next summer.
This time we rented a little house in Sea Pines with our friends Chris and Danielle and their kidlets Harrison and Jacqueline. We all had a very lovely time, especially the kids. Here are the pictures:
The older three had much fun in the ocean with a raft.
And with boogie boards.
These next few prove that Beau really does only have two MO's: running and sleeping:
Here's little Jackie:
The older Boys:
The catch:
The Sandcastle:
Me and Carmella:
The guys took the kids to the park while Danielle and I ran:
Carmella and Harrison getting along as well as any 6 year old boy and 5 year old girl do:
It seems like I didn't take enough pictures. Maybe the weekend was just too short to do and record all that needed to be done on the last weekend of summer. I'll just have to try harder next summer and on labor day work instead of play so much.
Saturday, September 09, 2006
Running Log: Ending Training week 10
This was not a great week. And I am, of course, still not following my training plan. Ultimately, I suppose it really doesn't matter so long as I am still running and working on increasing my endurance, which I am. It isn't as though the plan I made up-- or were I to follow another marathon training plan like Hal Hidgon's or Jeff Galloway's--is a sure fire recipe for success. I just need to keep plugging away at it.
I don't know what is up with this week. I haven't felt great. First off, I sunburned my lips on Sunday at the beach. I never get sunburned. I always wear sunscreen and I am not fair skinned. When it comes to protecting my lips with sunscreen, admittedly I am a bit more slack but that is because they have never been sunburned. And for the record, Sunday I did happen to apply some 30 SPF lip balm to my lips. I am thinking I either had a reaction or the lip balm had gone bad. On Monday my lips were swollen and red. This look in and of itself, while uncomfortable, was not so bad but since I had not sought lip plumplification treatment I knew it wasn't a sign of good things to come. Tuesday my lips were still puffy, still sore and were starting to peel. Wednesday they were totally peeling and a cold sore sprouted. A hideous one at that. Thursday the chapping was better but the cold sore bigger and then my bottom lip split from the dryness and peeling. Today is Saturday and the cold sore is better, my lips over all are healing but my bottom lip is still split and may or may not be a cold sore now. I can't tell but I am treating it as such. At any rate this has all been rather uncomfortable not to mention ugly.
Okay, I know you are rolling your eyes at me but I also haven't felt great. Don't know if it is allergies, as I do feel a bit of congestion in my head and chest and have had a vague headache, or if it is my body fighting a cold. Beau seems to be suffering too but he is more symptomatic, i.e. he is snotty, I am not. Really this could all just be PMS stuff. The week before I get my period I notice a definite decline in my overall physical stamina, strength and general health. It is very irritating but at least I know to expect it.
Finally, I have my first ever black toe. This actually happened after my 16 mile run 10 days ago. It was sore and was made worse because it seemed every kid in a ten mile radius found an opportunity to step on my toe. I'm not kidding (Ha!, not intended). Maybe my feet get stepped on all the time and I don't notice but for the past week every kid I have come in contact with has managed to mash my toe. It is the second toe on my left foot. I'm one of those people whose second toes are longer than their big toe. For the record my third toe is also longer than my big toe but not as long as the second toe. Couple this with my wide feet and you see why trying to get a good running shoe fit is next to impossible for me. But I'll get to that. Anyway, I didn't clip my toenails short enough and the nail got jammed into the nail bed. I won't forget to clip my toenails again, that is for certain.
So anyway, the soreness has abated and today I got brave and removed my nail polish just to get a look at the blackness. As if my feet weren't ugly hideous enough to begin with: it looks like I have gangrene under the nail. It isn't really black so much as it is grayish blue. I promptly repainted them a bright red because looking at it was making it hurt again.
To say that I don't feel my prettiest this week is quite the understatement. Since shopping always makes me feel better I set out Thursday to buy new running shoes--and yes, therefore I skipped my "planned" 10-12 miler. Like I said, I wasn't feeling too good.
I went to my favorite running store and consulted with the experts. For my last two pairs of running shoes I have been faithful to Brooks Adrenaline. I like them. They have been the best running shoe--so far-- that I have ever owned. But they are wearing out rather quickly. The current pair I am in I have only had since mid July. I don't think I have quite gotten 400 miles out of them. So after trying on just about every shoe in the store--even a few men's models--I settled on the Brooks Trance. The only problem was they don't come in wide. So I went up to a 9 1/2. If I may, I'd like to wax about my feet for another moment, black toe aside.
And here is where I go on a bit of a foot tangent:
I didn't always have wide feet. I use to have normal size feet. Then I ran while I was pregnant. My feet weren't so wide after Carmella because I only managed to run until about my 20th week. But with Beau I had a much better pregnancy and ran until my 34th week. I would have kept on running until I delivered in my 37th week but my bladder could no longer take the abuse. I don't regret running while pregnant-- as I still highly recommend for anyone newly pregnant to continue running for as long as you can-- the pros far out weigh the cons. And I'll tell you the main con will be wider duck like feet as the back of your foot does not spread, just the forefoot.(God forbid I get pregnant again, I'll be resigned to a life in Birkenstocks and Crocs. I shuddered as I wrote that--I think not only about the ugly shoes but the idea of being pregnant again.)
Okay, back to the running shoe saga:
My foot actually measures an 8 but I always take an 8 1/2. I am guessing this is because of my longer second toes. In running shoes I have always worn a 9. But because I so loved the Trances and they didn't come in wide I thought I might could compensate by going a 1/2 size up. As you may guess it didn't work out. I took my pretty new shoes to the gym and tried them out on the treadmill. I felt totally uncoordinated trying to manage the shoes. They just felt too big. I mean I am only 5'5 so a 9 1/2 shoe felt like I was trying to run with skis on. I didn't even get a 1/2 mile into it before I knew they were not for me. So sadly I replaced my worn Adrenalines and finished my run.
I returned the Trances the next day. I got yet another pair of the tried and true Adrenalines and ran in them today. They are my shoe--ugly as they are. And it is only in running that I will ever side on the side of comfort in the shoe argument of comfort over fashion. In all other instances I will suffer happily to have my ugly feet dressed up in a pretty shoe. And here is my plea to the shoe people at Brooks: Please, please make the Adrenaline's less ugly or start offering more wide shoes in prettier styles and in more attractive colors. Us girls with wide ugly feet want stylish running shoes too. If possible, I'd really like it if you made them in pink, heck I'd even settle for orange. Just no more black and blue. I am sick of black and blue.
Okay, so week 10 broke down as this:
Sunday: A miserably hot and muggy run in Sea Pines. I think it was about 7 miles. If so it was about a 10-11 minute pace.
Monday: Nothing, drove back from Hilton Head.
Tuesday: Long run. 16 miles at a 9:08 pace. I was tired but it definitely felt easier than the previous week. I think had I not felt bad I could have done a sub 9 minute pace.
Wednesday: 7 miles at a 8:30 pace.
Thursday: 10K on the treadmill: just under 48 minutes
Friday: Awesome run. The weather was amazing. Did 10 miles at a 8:24 pace. In the afternoon I cross trained for 30 minutes on the elliptical and then did full body weights for 40 minutes.
Saturday: My legs were beat today from the weights last night. I did a slow 4 mile run. I didn't take my watch with me so I have no idea about pace but probably a 9:30. Then I headed to the gym and did 30 minutes on the elliptical and 15 minutes of shoulder and upper back weights.
Total miles: 50
Items found: A cold sore, some PMS, new Adrenalines and a dead copperhead-- a reminder that I need to look out for snakes on my runs.
I don't know what is up with this week. I haven't felt great. First off, I sunburned my lips on Sunday at the beach. I never get sunburned. I always wear sunscreen and I am not fair skinned. When it comes to protecting my lips with sunscreen, admittedly I am a bit more slack but that is because they have never been sunburned. And for the record, Sunday I did happen to apply some 30 SPF lip balm to my lips. I am thinking I either had a reaction or the lip balm had gone bad. On Monday my lips were swollen and red. This look in and of itself, while uncomfortable, was not so bad but since I had not sought lip plumplification treatment I knew it wasn't a sign of good things to come. Tuesday my lips were still puffy, still sore and were starting to peel. Wednesday they were totally peeling and a cold sore sprouted. A hideous one at that. Thursday the chapping was better but the cold sore bigger and then my bottom lip split from the dryness and peeling. Today is Saturday and the cold sore is better, my lips over all are healing but my bottom lip is still split and may or may not be a cold sore now. I can't tell but I am treating it as such. At any rate this has all been rather uncomfortable not to mention ugly.
Okay, I know you are rolling your eyes at me but I also haven't felt great. Don't know if it is allergies, as I do feel a bit of congestion in my head and chest and have had a vague headache, or if it is my body fighting a cold. Beau seems to be suffering too but he is more symptomatic, i.e. he is snotty, I am not. Really this could all just be PMS stuff. The week before I get my period I notice a definite decline in my overall physical stamina, strength and general health. It is very irritating but at least I know to expect it.
Finally, I have my first ever black toe. This actually happened after my 16 mile run 10 days ago. It was sore and was made worse because it seemed every kid in a ten mile radius found an opportunity to step on my toe. I'm not kidding (Ha!, not intended). Maybe my feet get stepped on all the time and I don't notice but for the past week every kid I have come in contact with has managed to mash my toe. It is the second toe on my left foot. I'm one of those people whose second toes are longer than their big toe. For the record my third toe is also longer than my big toe but not as long as the second toe. Couple this with my wide feet and you see why trying to get a good running shoe fit is next to impossible for me. But I'll get to that. Anyway, I didn't clip my toenails short enough and the nail got jammed into the nail bed. I won't forget to clip my toenails again, that is for certain.
So anyway, the soreness has abated and today I got brave and removed my nail polish just to get a look at the blackness. As if my feet weren't ugly hideous enough to begin with: it looks like I have gangrene under the nail. It isn't really black so much as it is grayish blue. I promptly repainted them a bright red because looking at it was making it hurt again.
To say that I don't feel my prettiest this week is quite the understatement. Since shopping always makes me feel better I set out Thursday to buy new running shoes--and yes, therefore I skipped my "planned" 10-12 miler. Like I said, I wasn't feeling too good.
I went to my favorite running store and consulted with the experts. For my last two pairs of running shoes I have been faithful to Brooks Adrenaline. I like them. They have been the best running shoe--so far-- that I have ever owned. But they are wearing out rather quickly. The current pair I am in I have only had since mid July. I don't think I have quite gotten 400 miles out of them. So after trying on just about every shoe in the store--even a few men's models--I settled on the Brooks Trance. The only problem was they don't come in wide. So I went up to a 9 1/2. If I may, I'd like to wax about my feet for another moment, black toe aside.
And here is where I go on a bit of a foot tangent:
I didn't always have wide feet. I use to have normal size feet. Then I ran while I was pregnant. My feet weren't so wide after Carmella because I only managed to run until about my 20th week. But with Beau I had a much better pregnancy and ran until my 34th week. I would have kept on running until I delivered in my 37th week but my bladder could no longer take the abuse. I don't regret running while pregnant-- as I still highly recommend for anyone newly pregnant to continue running for as long as you can-- the pros far out weigh the cons. And I'll tell you the main con will be wider duck like feet as the back of your foot does not spread, just the forefoot.(God forbid I get pregnant again, I'll be resigned to a life in Birkenstocks and Crocs. I shuddered as I wrote that--I think not only about the ugly shoes but the idea of being pregnant again.)
Okay, back to the running shoe saga:
My foot actually measures an 8 but I always take an 8 1/2. I am guessing this is because of my longer second toes. In running shoes I have always worn a 9. But because I so loved the Trances and they didn't come in wide I thought I might could compensate by going a 1/2 size up. As you may guess it didn't work out. I took my pretty new shoes to the gym and tried them out on the treadmill. I felt totally uncoordinated trying to manage the shoes. They just felt too big. I mean I am only 5'5 so a 9 1/2 shoe felt like I was trying to run with skis on. I didn't even get a 1/2 mile into it before I knew they were not for me. So sadly I replaced my worn Adrenalines and finished my run.
I returned the Trances the next day. I got yet another pair of the tried and true Adrenalines and ran in them today. They are my shoe--ugly as they are. And it is only in running that I will ever side on the side of comfort in the shoe argument of comfort over fashion. In all other instances I will suffer happily to have my ugly feet dressed up in a pretty shoe. And here is my plea to the shoe people at Brooks: Please, please make the Adrenaline's less ugly or start offering more wide shoes in prettier styles and in more attractive colors. Us girls with wide ugly feet want stylish running shoes too. If possible, I'd really like it if you made them in pink, heck I'd even settle for orange. Just no more black and blue. I am sick of black and blue.
Okay, so week 10 broke down as this:
Sunday: A miserably hot and muggy run in Sea Pines. I think it was about 7 miles. If so it was about a 10-11 minute pace.
Monday: Nothing, drove back from Hilton Head.
Tuesday: Long run. 16 miles at a 9:08 pace. I was tired but it definitely felt easier than the previous week. I think had I not felt bad I could have done a sub 9 minute pace.
Wednesday: 7 miles at a 8:30 pace.
Thursday: 10K on the treadmill: just under 48 minutes
Friday: Awesome run. The weather was amazing. Did 10 miles at a 8:24 pace. In the afternoon I cross trained for 30 minutes on the elliptical and then did full body weights for 40 minutes.
Saturday: My legs were beat today from the weights last night. I did a slow 4 mile run. I didn't take my watch with me so I have no idea about pace but probably a 9:30. Then I headed to the gym and did 30 minutes on the elliptical and 15 minutes of shoulder and upper back weights.
Total miles: 50
Items found: A cold sore, some PMS, new Adrenalines and a dead copperhead-- a reminder that I need to look out for snakes on my runs.
Monday, September 04, 2006
Running Log: End Training week 11
As of yesterday there are 10 weeks left until the OBX marathon. Last week marked my first official week of training and it went quite well. I am ahead of schedule. Here is the breakdown:
Sunday: 6 miles--pace slower than target pace.
Monday: 5 miles and upper body weight session--about 30 minutes
Tuesday: Long run; 16 miles at a 9:08 pace--right on target for long run; 38 seconds slower than planned 8:30 pace for the marathon.
Wednesday: Recovery run. 5 miles-- pace was excellent for a recovery run: 8:40. 30 minutes upper body weights
Thursday: 10 miles: 9:35 pace, very uncomfortable. Any soreness I have always shows up several days later than when I think it would. So I really struggled. But I think I would rather struggle during training and be triumphant in the race. And yes, it is all relative.
Friday: Rest day, drove to Hilton Head for a weekend beach trip. Pictures coming soon.
Saturday: Approx 8 miles. Garmin cut out a lot but my pace, when it would register, was between 5:47 and 8:05. I ran hard, got lost and felt great. Saturdays seem to be good days for speedwork for me so I might just stick with doing longish runs with fartleks interspersed and make Sunday an easy run day rather than a target pace day.
Speed work is pretty much falling to the way side it would seem. And I think that is okay. I've done speed work all summer; hopefully that will be enough. I guess we'll see if it was enough come race day. Maybe when the weather cools a bit I will be able to run harder, faster, longer. But I think I can only ask for so much when it is this hot. So out of the three I'll settle for distance. Maybe, hopefully, training in this heat will give me an extra edge in November. If nothing else, I think I can be certain that I won't be dealing with a marathon in 85 degree heat. God willing.
Total miles for the week: 50
Items found: A ton of mosquito bites.
Sunday: 6 miles--pace slower than target pace.
Monday: 5 miles and upper body weight session--about 30 minutes
Tuesday: Long run; 16 miles at a 9:08 pace--right on target for long run; 38 seconds slower than planned 8:30 pace for the marathon.
Wednesday: Recovery run. 5 miles-- pace was excellent for a recovery run: 8:40. 30 minutes upper body weights
Thursday: 10 miles: 9:35 pace, very uncomfortable. Any soreness I have always shows up several days later than when I think it would. So I really struggled. But I think I would rather struggle during training and be triumphant in the race. And yes, it is all relative.
Friday: Rest day, drove to Hilton Head for a weekend beach trip. Pictures coming soon.
Saturday: Approx 8 miles. Garmin cut out a lot but my pace, when it would register, was between 5:47 and 8:05. I ran hard, got lost and felt great. Saturdays seem to be good days for speedwork for me so I might just stick with doing longish runs with fartleks interspersed and make Sunday an easy run day rather than a target pace day.
Speed work is pretty much falling to the way side it would seem. And I think that is okay. I've done speed work all summer; hopefully that will be enough. I guess we'll see if it was enough come race day. Maybe when the weather cools a bit I will be able to run harder, faster, longer. But I think I can only ask for so much when it is this hot. So out of the three I'll settle for distance. Maybe, hopefully, training in this heat will give me an extra edge in November. If nothing else, I think I can be certain that I won't be dealing with a marathon in 85 degree heat. God willing.
Total miles for the week: 50
Items found: A ton of mosquito bites.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
The Long Run: Training Week 11
So today is Tuesday, my scheduled long run day. According to my training plan I was to run 13 miles today. I am never good at following any sort of plan, even a plan I make. How gay is it that I rebel against myself?
I completely miscalculated the distance and ended up running just shy of 16 miles--and yep, I am rounding up and calling it 16 miles. I am 3 miles ahead of schedule for the long run and a total of 5 miles ahead so far for the week, which is fine. But I'd be lying if I said it was an awesome run and that I felt great. It was horrible and I felt like I was running through Dante's rings of hell instead of the peaceful Atlanta suburbs. I knew it was going to be rough today regardless of heat and the distance but I totally underestimated just how rough.
I probably would have had a great run if it hadn't been so damn hot. I didn't start running until almost 10 am and by then it was 80 degrees. When I finished it was around 88 degrees but felt like 100 in the sun. I only carried 20 oz of water with me and had to stop and fill up. I welcomed the air conditioned reprieve and it was very tough going back out there. It involved a little pep talk in the doorway of the CVS.
The cool air break helped. I picked up the pace for a bit and if anything hurt I was totally unaware of it because my head was just swimming from the heat and that was all I could think about. At about 13 miles I started to get the chills and felt a little ill but with only 2 more miles to go I knew I could make it, and I did.
My pace suffered from the heat as I know I could have run much harder if it had been just a bit cooler and a little less humid but even still, I stayed within my "assigned" range of 9-9:30 minute miles. I averaged a 9:08 pace with a best pace of 6:47. Not sure when that happened but probably early on and on the downhill. At the 13 mile point I was averaging a 9:03 pace which is really only about 35 seconds off my PR half-marathon time. So I think that tells me I will be faster this year--assuming all goes well with my training.
I think this all bodes very well indeed--especially considering that I managed in the heat to stay close to a 9 minute pace on my first official long run of my truncated training program. Surely in November I won't be dealing with 80 degree heat and my training, hopefully, will not only carry me over those 26.2 miles but I will do it at a 8:30 pace (or faster.)
I met another OBX marathoner yesterday. She said she is a marathon coach but she herself isn't "fast"--as she commented that she would be lucky to break 5 hours. I asked her what she thought about the wind factor and she said we should have a tail wind at our backs-- you know, unless there is a hurricane.
I think next week I'll shoot for doing the same run again and try to do it faster before stepping up mileage again.
I completely miscalculated the distance and ended up running just shy of 16 miles--and yep, I am rounding up and calling it 16 miles. I am 3 miles ahead of schedule for the long run and a total of 5 miles ahead so far for the week, which is fine. But I'd be lying if I said it was an awesome run and that I felt great. It was horrible and I felt like I was running through Dante's rings of hell instead of the peaceful Atlanta suburbs. I knew it was going to be rough today regardless of heat and the distance but I totally underestimated just how rough.
I probably would have had a great run if it hadn't been so damn hot. I didn't start running until almost 10 am and by then it was 80 degrees. When I finished it was around 88 degrees but felt like 100 in the sun. I only carried 20 oz of water with me and had to stop and fill up. I welcomed the air conditioned reprieve and it was very tough going back out there. It involved a little pep talk in the doorway of the CVS.
The cool air break helped. I picked up the pace for a bit and if anything hurt I was totally unaware of it because my head was just swimming from the heat and that was all I could think about. At about 13 miles I started to get the chills and felt a little ill but with only 2 more miles to go I knew I could make it, and I did.
My pace suffered from the heat as I know I could have run much harder if it had been just a bit cooler and a little less humid but even still, I stayed within my "assigned" range of 9-9:30 minute miles. I averaged a 9:08 pace with a best pace of 6:47. Not sure when that happened but probably early on and on the downhill. At the 13 mile point I was averaging a 9:03 pace which is really only about 35 seconds off my PR half-marathon time. So I think that tells me I will be faster this year--assuming all goes well with my training.
I think this all bodes very well indeed--especially considering that I managed in the heat to stay close to a 9 minute pace on my first official long run of my truncated training program. Surely in November I won't be dealing with 80 degree heat and my training, hopefully, will not only carry me over those 26.2 miles but I will do it at a 8:30 pace (or faster.)
I met another OBX marathoner yesterday. She said she is a marathon coach but she herself isn't "fast"--as she commented that she would be lucky to break 5 hours. I asked her what she thought about the wind factor and she said we should have a tail wind at our backs-- you know, unless there is a hurricane.
I think next week I'll shoot for doing the same run again and try to do it faster before stepping up mileage again.
Monday, August 28, 2006
Beau goes to preschool
As a recent graduate of Mommy's school of (go on the God damned potty or you are going to be punished BIG time buddy )potty training Beau is now eligible to attend 3 year old preschool. Sure it was a crash course but that is how we do things over here. Admittedly, his chances of graduating in time really weren't looking all that promising a few weeks ago. I thought for sure he was going to have to repeat the 2 yr old MMO program but in the end he pulled it out of his you know what and got it done and is now a card carrying member of team potty. Gooooo Beau! 
And when I say team potty, I ain't kidding. I am not just referring to this post but to every time Beau goes potty-- whether it is pee pee or poopy-- we all hear about it, have a celebration and discuss it ad nauseam and jump around and cheer. I think if Bubbles and Poppy were here they'd break out the champagne and we'd all be drunk 24/7. Certainly, I am trying to phase this aspect out and have been reverting to just some thumbs up, way to go buddy and high fives. Carmella though, is still the potty cheerleader: Give me a P! Give me a O and another O and a P and a Y and A Go Go Poopy Beau! herky and spirit fingers
In all seriousness, what this means-- other than saving me tons of money in diapers--is he can officially go to three year preschool. Some of you may be shocked and wonder what other rigorous standards are expected of 3 year olds? And at the same time, I know you are secretly internalizing; Oh my God! Will my child ever get into college? Well, you may rest easy: the only requisite for 3 year old preschool is to be potty trained. So yay us! We have that down. No remedial preschool for my boy! Okay, so yes he is still in speech but you see, speaking well is not a requirement for preschool, just being potty trained. And that Beau can do. Too bad swimming isn't also required because he can do that too. Hmmm, maybe I should see if that is enough to get him to AP preschool. No need waste any time getting my little genius on the fast track to college!
If you are wondering about the panda bear in all the pictures, well, that is for the Teddy Bear tea party, of course. I have to admit I am starting to get a bit annoyed about all this teddy bear nonsense. Every year since Carmella has been 2 she has had to take a teddy bear to the first day of school, even for kindergarten. Does this madness never end? My kids do not play with teddy bears. Thankfully, we have quite a few and can pull them out for the first day of school so that we may participate in this precious new school year ritual. I understand that the teddy bear is to serve as a comfort item to help the child transition into the scary new classroom but my kids are not scared and what Carmella really wants to bring to school is a Barbie and what Beau really wants to bring is Batman. And they don't want to bring them for comfort but to show them off and impress their friends with their way cool toys. They do not want some freaking teddy bear they have no attachment to.
I totally try to play it up and get them excited about the tea party and bringing a bear to school but I can read it in their eyes and they both are thinking: this is so lame but I'll do it for you Mommy. Carmella even told me she "sure hoped she didn't have to bring the teddy bear the 2nd day of kindergarten." So after parading the teddy bear out that first day Bear was once again resigned to the shelf in Carmella's room.
So this morning I told Beau to go grab a teddy bear off his bed or Carmella's (we really do have a lot teddy bears) and he came down with a panda bear. So on a whim I asked him the panda's name just in case, you know, he was asked at school. He seemed thoughtful for a second and said "Bad Bear." I laughed and questioned him, "Bad Bear?" And he responded with a "Uh, yeah. Bad Bear." See, I told you they are not down with the teddy bear tea party.
However, in retrospect and taking into account his penchant for leaving the first sound off of all words he says he may have actually said "panda bear" but just agreed with my "Bad Bear" interpretation because that sounded better and really, made more sense. If nothing else, at least one of our teddy bears has a name now.
Beau is very excited about this year and I am too for that matter. Have I mentioned yet that I now, for the first time in 5 1/2 years, will have 4 days with 3 consecutive hours when I will be kid and fancy free wheeling-- I mean running my ass off? Really, I don't know who is more excited about this school year: Carmella, Beau or me. Okay, I think it is me.
I have probably lost more sleep over worrying about Beau going to 3 year old preschool than I have about Carmella going to kindergarten. This is because last year, Beau--being the strong willed child that he is-- was a bit of a problem for his teachers. I won't say that Beau was a problem because really he was just being a boy and well, was just being a 2 year old. Both of those things, especially when combined together, were apparently greatly frowned upon and quite taxing on his teachers. What they wanted was a classroom full of compliant sweet little girls and boys who sat crissed-crossed applesauce with neatly folded hands. And for the most part they had that, except for Beau. I dreaded picking him up because I knew I would have to hear, yet again, another lecture about how Beau wouldn't listen to them and how I needed to fight the battles with him. As if.
For the record Beau's worst offense, the one that got him sent to the director's office twice and sent home once, was for refusing to wear his coat on the playground. Seriously, this is Georgia and they only go outside for 20 minutes. I told them just to let him freeze but the problem wasn't a question of him being cold but one of if they let him not wear his coat then the other 2 year olds would see it and then they too would rebel against wearing their coats and then there would be anarchy in the classroom. See how they are making them all little socialists? Beau is a political force, a revolutionary and he is not cool with that commie crap.
Well, thankfully, this year my little anarchist has company because Parker is in his class. Parker's mommy and I commiserated last year on how much "trouble" our boys were in school and consoled each other every time once of us got called to collect our little hellions and comforted each other in that they were just "boys being boys."
And yes, I dressed Beau in that pale pink shirt so his new teachers would think he is a little pansy angel criss-cross applesause boy rather than the devilish, screw you and your rules little boy he can be. Doubt that will work for long.
He said he had a great day and I had to drag him kicking and screaming out of the classroom and away from his buddy Parker. I thought for sure this would be the year Beau and I could walk calmly in and out of that school but so far he is still causing a scene and jogged everyone's memory of exactly who he is today. If nothing else at least it wore his little tail out. He refused a nap and then fell promptly asleep watching Scooby Doo before I could even get him his snack.
On the running front I have already fallen off my schedule, but not necessarily in a bad way. Yesterday I did my "assigned" 6 mile run but sadly the champagne from the night before had me dragging and my pace was 8:58 rather than the outlined 8-8:30. Not to mention I was sore from my 7 miles the previous day at a 7:45 pace. I did an ice bath after the 6 and felt better for it today.
This morning after I dropped Beau off I was supposed to do a 5k sprint at 7-7:30 pace and call it a day and rest up for tomorrow's long run. Instead, excited at my freedom, I ran 4 miles to the gym at an 8:15 pace and then did 30 minutes of upper body work and then ran the mile back to the school at a 7:50 pace. So slower, but longer than I had planned. I hope the extra miles and weights didn't ruin me for the long run tomorrow.
Lastly, rain rain go away and bring me some cool dry air.
Saturday, August 26, 2006
Running Log: 11 weeks and counting down
Tomorrow I've got 11 weeks until the OBX marathon.
Beau, finally, starts school next week and I get serious about my training. I've always been a procrastinator, shrug, what can I say? At least I am a prepared procrastinator. I really started my training last week and this is how it went:
Sunday: 6 miles at an 8:30 pace
Monday: 7 miles at a 9 minute pace in the am. 5k at a 7:15 pace on the treadmill in the afternoon. 20 minutes weight training.
Tuesday: One hour on the elliptical and 30 minutes weight training
Wednesday: 10 miles at an 8:20 pace in the am and then 4 miles at a 7:28 pace on the treadmill in the afternoon. 20 minutes weight training.
Thursday: 4 miles at a 7:20 pace on the treadmill. 30 minutes weight training
Friday: 5k at a 7:20 pace on the treadmill, 1 mile cool down at 9 minute pace.
Saturday: 7 miles at a 7:45 pace.
Total miles: 45 miles
Items found: My marathon schedule for the next 11 weeks:
Sundays: 6 miles at a 7:30-8:30 pace
Mondays: 3-4 mile "speed" run (7-7:30 pace) or intervals and some upper body weights or plyometrics
Tuesdays: The long run at a 9-10 minute pace. I am currently planning the build-up as this: 13 miles, 15 miles, 17 miles, 15 miles, 21 miles, 17 miles, 26 miles, 21 miles, 17 miles, 13 miles, 6 miles.
I know that looks like huge jumps and that I am not obeying the 10% rule but I never have and didn't last year and have managed just fine. Again, as a life long procrastinator I am use to cramming.
Wednesdays: 5k recovery or cross train/weights or rest
Thursdays: 8-12 miles at an 8:30 pace. I may find that some weeks I have to make this my long run and Tuesday my mid-length run. I put the long run earlier in the week so that if I can't do it Tuesday I still have Wednesday and Thursday to make it up.
Fridays: 5k recovery or cross train/weights or rest.
**I've built in Friday and Wednesdays as "rest days" if I feel the need but also tried to limit myself to shorter runs or cross training if I can't make myself do the "rest". I probably won't utilize the rest days until my long runs get, well, longer and I will need to rest.
Saturdays: 6-10 miles at an 8:30 pace
The Plan:
I'd like my weekly mileage to peak at around 60 miles a week and not go below 40 for the week until the taper. Last year I peaked around 55 miles, averaging about 45 miles per week. I only ran 3 or 4 days a week during training last year. This year I plan on running 5 or 6 days a week. I have since April been running or exercising everyday of the week so I think my body is prepared. Just to be on the safe side I have begun taking Glucosamine Sulfate for protective measures. Regardless, I foresee many an ice bath in my future.
Objective:
To break a 4 hour marathon but my biggest goal, the one that keeps me going, is to qualify for Boston with a sub 3 hour 45 minute finish time. I am not as optimistic about a BQ as I am about breaking 4 hours but still, I remain hopeful and positive.
Beau, finally, starts school next week and I get serious about my training. I've always been a procrastinator, shrug, what can I say? At least I am a prepared procrastinator. I really started my training last week and this is how it went:
Sunday: 6 miles at an 8:30 pace
Monday: 7 miles at a 9 minute pace in the am. 5k at a 7:15 pace on the treadmill in the afternoon. 20 minutes weight training.
Tuesday: One hour on the elliptical and 30 minutes weight training
Wednesday: 10 miles at an 8:20 pace in the am and then 4 miles at a 7:28 pace on the treadmill in the afternoon. 20 minutes weight training.
Thursday: 4 miles at a 7:20 pace on the treadmill. 30 minutes weight training
Friday: 5k at a 7:20 pace on the treadmill, 1 mile cool down at 9 minute pace.
Saturday: 7 miles at a 7:45 pace.
Total miles: 45 miles
Items found: My marathon schedule for the next 11 weeks:
Sundays: 6 miles at a 7:30-8:30 pace
Mondays: 3-4 mile "speed" run (7-7:30 pace) or intervals and some upper body weights or plyometrics
Tuesdays: The long run at a 9-10 minute pace. I am currently planning the build-up as this: 13 miles, 15 miles, 17 miles, 15 miles, 21 miles, 17 miles, 26 miles, 21 miles, 17 miles, 13 miles, 6 miles.
I know that looks like huge jumps and that I am not obeying the 10% rule but I never have and didn't last year and have managed just fine. Again, as a life long procrastinator I am use to cramming.
Wednesdays: 5k recovery or cross train/weights or rest
Thursdays: 8-12 miles at an 8:30 pace. I may find that some weeks I have to make this my long run and Tuesday my mid-length run. I put the long run earlier in the week so that if I can't do it Tuesday I still have Wednesday and Thursday to make it up.
Fridays: 5k recovery or cross train/weights or rest.
**I've built in Friday and Wednesdays as "rest days" if I feel the need but also tried to limit myself to shorter runs or cross training if I can't make myself do the "rest". I probably won't utilize the rest days until my long runs get, well, longer and I will need to rest.
Saturdays: 6-10 miles at an 8:30 pace
The Plan:
I'd like my weekly mileage to peak at around 60 miles a week and not go below 40 for the week until the taper. Last year I peaked around 55 miles, averaging about 45 miles per week. I only ran 3 or 4 days a week during training last year. This year I plan on running 5 or 6 days a week. I have since April been running or exercising everyday of the week so I think my body is prepared. Just to be on the safe side I have begun taking Glucosamine Sulfate for protective measures. Regardless, I foresee many an ice bath in my future.
Objective:
To break a 4 hour marathon but my biggest goal, the one that keeps me going, is to qualify for Boston with a sub 3 hour 45 minute finish time. I am not as optimistic about a BQ as I am about breaking 4 hours but still, I remain hopeful and positive.
Monday, August 21, 2006
35 Weeks and counting down. . .
5 weeks (or hopefully sooner) until Tara's baby girl gets here and I get to found out if she is an Ellie or an Ava or another name I don't yet know about since she won't make up her mind or tell me. How am I to get cute things monogrammed for her if I don't know the name? On Saturday her sisters and I threw her a shower. Really I just provided the house and some china and some wine-- they did everything else. Her youngest sister, Melissa, made almost all of the food. It was freaking amazing.
Check out the cake, the confection de resistance: a lemon poppyseed pound cake with white chocolate and cream cheese icing. I am sure I got it wrong but that is what I think it is, I mean was. She made it from scratch. It looked good and tasted like heaven. I never eat cake but I have had a piece everyday since Saturday. Here is me and Tara's sister Melissa in front of the spread. I came downstairs after getting dressed and she had taken over. She had on that adorable apron and I, of course, asked if she brought one for me. I was joking,but still hopeful. And she did! I was so damn excited. She is 20 years old and is cross between Marilyn Monroe and Julia Child.
Here is the full spread. I don't think you can see it all but there is champagne cocktails, wine, chocolate covered strawberries, yummy tea sandwiches, Brie, deviled eggs and a bunch of other yummy nibbles.
Some of the guests:(left to right) Meme, Anne, Tara, Kim and Dee Dee
Tara and our friend Melissa who just moved back!
Tara and her sisters Katherine and Liz
Some of the loot
Okay Tara, you are all set! Hurry up and finish baking that baby so we can finally meet her!
Sunday, August 20, 2006
Running Log
Total miles: 37 miles and it was by no means easy to get there.
Breakdown:
Sunday: 6 miles, great run
Monday: 7 miles
Tuesday: one hour cross train and 30 minutes upper body weights
Wednesday: 7 miles in the am and 5k sprint on the treadmill and 20 minutes weights
Thursday: one hour cross train on the treadmill and 30 minute weights
Friday: 2 miles in the morning and my ipod died so I did some quick leg weights and went home cleaned house. Went back to the gym in the afternoon and did 5 miles in just under 39 minutes.
Saturday: 7 miles
No items found.
Goals for next week: Keep mileage above 35 miles and look towards that last week in August when Beau also starts school and I officially begin training! I still need to get my schedule mapped out.
Breakdown:
Sunday: 6 miles, great run
Monday: 7 miles
Tuesday: one hour cross train and 30 minutes upper body weights
Wednesday: 7 miles in the am and 5k sprint on the treadmill and 20 minutes weights
Thursday: one hour cross train on the treadmill and 30 minute weights
Friday: 2 miles in the morning and my ipod died so I did some quick leg weights and went home cleaned house. Went back to the gym in the afternoon and did 5 miles in just under 39 minutes.
Saturday: 7 miles
No items found.
Goals for next week: Keep mileage above 35 miles and look towards that last week in August when Beau also starts school and I officially begin training! I still need to get my schedule mapped out.
Saturday, August 19, 2006
It Damn Near Took a Village but
We have poopy on the potty! For those not fascinated in scatology you might want to skip this post. It is a too much information one.
As I think I have mentioned, I have been potty training Beau. All is/was going fairly well. He is completely pee trained and about 50% poopy trained. Didn't know there was a difference did you?
I didn't either because Carmella, when I trained her, just did both all the time. However, I have discovered that going poopy on the potty is infinitely more difficult than I ever could have imagined. I guess Carmella was just some sort potty genius because lots of kids, apparently, have this problem.
As of last week Beau was doing okay with the poopy on the potty. We have only been training for about a month now so I didn't expect him to have it perfected, though that would have been nice. The point here is that he was going poopy on the potty not in his underwear-- however, I should add that he would go in his pull-up if he had to go and had one on. For the most part I avoid pull-ups until bedtime.
All was progressing as it should until last Sunday. It was then that Beau had the monster of all poops and it hurt and I guess he decided that "I am never going to do that again."
And he didn't, at least not intentionally. He did go poopy in his pull-up while he was asleep Monday night. We had a discussion about where poppy goes--in the potty-- and that was that. Then on Tuesday afternoon I took the kids to the pool and Beau pooped in his swim diaper. Now that he does get in trouble for--especially if I had just asked him to sit on the potty and he refused. Punishment was leaving the pool and going home. This was way more devastating for Carmella who also had to leave but had done nothing wrong. It just seems way too early to have the Hey, Life's Not Fair; Them's the Brakes talk with her.
Once home, Beau and I had the discussion about where poppy goes--in the potty-- and he had some time to think about it in his room. Then he watched an informational video and we read the companion book about where poopy goes--in the potty. He seemed to understand and we moved on to an enjoyable evening with no more potty discussion.
I think this is when Beau decided he was never going poopy again. Ever. Because he didn't go again for 3 days. After one day I didn't really worry. It will happen, I thought. When it didn't happen on the second day, even in his pull-up or at the pool or when he "tried", I started to worry. At the same time though, I admired his ability to hold it. On the end of day 2, as an extra measure to ensure pooping success, I fed him a dinner of black beans and rice, steamed broccoli and carrots and baked chicken. Nothing. Not even in his sleep when surely that little sphincter muscle could have relaxed a little.
So on the morning of day three I called the pediatrician, who told me maybe I should stop potty training. I was stressing him out. Uhm, no way. We've come too far and this has nothing to do with the actually potty; just with pooping in general since he would not go on the potty or in a pull-up. He didn't matter where or how to him he was flat refusing to poop. Really, they were not very helpful as they seemed unable to fully understand Beau's situation but they did recommend to use a glycerin suppository at the end of the day should he not go. Well, I promise you neither me nor Beau wanted it to come to that.
After sitting Beau with his blue (blanket) and his baby (pacifier--only used at naps normally) on the potty and reading him a gazillion books and trying to talk the poop out of him I gave up and called the village.
I got tons of great ideas from my mommy friends: wheat germ sprinkled on everything, prune juice, oatmeal raisin cookies, mineral oil, Karo syrup in milk and so on. Stephanie advised maybe some vasoline around the butthole might help make for an easier exit. So armed with all this new knowledge Beau and I headed to the store.
We came home with vasoline, prune juice, mango juice and Craisions-- which were eaten in the car. I gave him a cup of prune/mango juice and then some milk with a teaspoon of fish oil--gross, I know, but he drinks it. I "lubed" him up and put him down for a nap. Two hours later I woke him and we tried the potty. Nothing. He wanted lunch so that was PBJ and oranges and lots of water.
We picked up Carmella from school and hung out at home for a few more hours. Nothing. He "tried" several times. He even admitted that he needed to go but was scared it was going to hurt his butt. I tried to explain the longer he held out the worse it would be. I gave him more prune/mango juice. He really likes it.
So around 5 we headed to the gym. I explained to Heidi and Noni, the nursery ladies, about our little problem and instructed them to come get me off the treadmill when he decided to go. I was just finishing my 5th mile when I saw Heidi come out and give me the thumbs up sign. So I hopped off and went straight to the nursery.
The nursery was all a buzz with the news of Beau's victory. Beau was so proud and he of course told everyone and anyone about it and even showed a few of the kids his masterpiece. I asked him if it hurt and he told me, quite excitedly, if not a bit surprised, no.
He then went poopy on the potty three more times at home. Apparently prune juice is the magic pooping elixir.
We celebrated by going out to Mexican and letting him eat lots of cheese dip and tortillas.
As I think I have mentioned, I have been potty training Beau. All is/was going fairly well. He is completely pee trained and about 50% poopy trained. Didn't know there was a difference did you?
I didn't either because Carmella, when I trained her, just did both all the time. However, I have discovered that going poopy on the potty is infinitely more difficult than I ever could have imagined. I guess Carmella was just some sort potty genius because lots of kids, apparently, have this problem.
As of last week Beau was doing okay with the poopy on the potty. We have only been training for about a month now so I didn't expect him to have it perfected, though that would have been nice. The point here is that he was going poopy on the potty not in his underwear-- however, I should add that he would go in his pull-up if he had to go and had one on. For the most part I avoid pull-ups until bedtime.
All was progressing as it should until last Sunday. It was then that Beau had the monster of all poops and it hurt and I guess he decided that "I am never going to do that again."
And he didn't, at least not intentionally. He did go poopy in his pull-up while he was asleep Monday night. We had a discussion about where poppy goes--in the potty-- and that was that. Then on Tuesday afternoon I took the kids to the pool and Beau pooped in his swim diaper. Now that he does get in trouble for--especially if I had just asked him to sit on the potty and he refused. Punishment was leaving the pool and going home. This was way more devastating for Carmella who also had to leave but had done nothing wrong. It just seems way too early to have the Hey, Life's Not Fair; Them's the Brakes talk with her.
Once home, Beau and I had the discussion about where poppy goes--in the potty-- and he had some time to think about it in his room. Then he watched an informational video and we read the companion book about where poopy goes--in the potty. He seemed to understand and we moved on to an enjoyable evening with no more potty discussion.
I think this is when Beau decided he was never going poopy again. Ever. Because he didn't go again for 3 days. After one day I didn't really worry. It will happen, I thought. When it didn't happen on the second day, even in his pull-up or at the pool or when he "tried", I started to worry. At the same time though, I admired his ability to hold it. On the end of day 2, as an extra measure to ensure pooping success, I fed him a dinner of black beans and rice, steamed broccoli and carrots and baked chicken. Nothing. Not even in his sleep when surely that little sphincter muscle could have relaxed a little.
So on the morning of day three I called the pediatrician, who told me maybe I should stop potty training. I was stressing him out. Uhm, no way. We've come too far and this has nothing to do with the actually potty; just with pooping in general since he would not go on the potty or in a pull-up. He didn't matter where or how to him he was flat refusing to poop. Really, they were not very helpful as they seemed unable to fully understand Beau's situation but they did recommend to use a glycerin suppository at the end of the day should he not go. Well, I promise you neither me nor Beau wanted it to come to that.
After sitting Beau with his blue (blanket) and his baby (pacifier--only used at naps normally) on the potty and reading him a gazillion books and trying to talk the poop out of him I gave up and called the village.
I got tons of great ideas from my mommy friends: wheat germ sprinkled on everything, prune juice, oatmeal raisin cookies, mineral oil, Karo syrup in milk and so on. Stephanie advised maybe some vasoline around the butthole might help make for an easier exit. So armed with all this new knowledge Beau and I headed to the store.
We came home with vasoline, prune juice, mango juice and Craisions-- which were eaten in the car. I gave him a cup of prune/mango juice and then some milk with a teaspoon of fish oil--gross, I know, but he drinks it. I "lubed" him up and put him down for a nap. Two hours later I woke him and we tried the potty. Nothing. He wanted lunch so that was PBJ and oranges and lots of water.
We picked up Carmella from school and hung out at home for a few more hours. Nothing. He "tried" several times. He even admitted that he needed to go but was scared it was going to hurt his butt. I tried to explain the longer he held out the worse it would be. I gave him more prune/mango juice. He really likes it.
So around 5 we headed to the gym. I explained to Heidi and Noni, the nursery ladies, about our little problem and instructed them to come get me off the treadmill when he decided to go. I was just finishing my 5th mile when I saw Heidi come out and give me the thumbs up sign. So I hopped off and went straight to the nursery.
The nursery was all a buzz with the news of Beau's victory. Beau was so proud and he of course told everyone and anyone about it and even showed a few of the kids his masterpiece. I asked him if it hurt and he told me, quite excitedly, if not a bit surprised, no.
He then went poopy on the potty three more times at home. Apparently prune juice is the magic pooping elixir.
We celebrated by going out to Mexican and letting him eat lots of cheese dip and tortillas.
Monday, August 14, 2006
Carmella goes to Kindergarten
Today was the first day of school, of KINDERGARTEN, for Carmella. It wasn't a tearful day for anyone--well except for Beau. He was pissed because he didn't get to go to kindergarten. I've already been and so I had no reason to be upset. I, like Carmella, was really excited for her. You get to learn so much cool stuff in kindergarten--like to read and write and add stuff up. It is awesome.I suppose, I might have been a tad tearful if I had to put her on a school bus but that is because I myself do not have the fondest bus memories. Actually, I have anxiety about all forms of transportation so for me to put my child in a moving vehicle without a carseat isn't something I plan on doing until that prescription for Xanax comes through.
Luckily, we live too close to the school for her to ride the bus so we either walk or drive. Today we walked but it wasn't an easy walk with Beau. I am thinking tomorrow we will drive.
The day started very early for us. I got up at 6am and made her lunch and packed her bag. We had already done the outfit negotiation the night before. I got Carmella up at 6:30 and Beau, begrudgingly so, a little bit later. We had none of the usual snafus of trying to get three people out of the house. Since we had time for video and photos, Carmella posed outside with her backpack for me before we walked up the hill to school.
There she is:
Kindergartener.
Future graduate.
Class of 2018--crossing the big road to school, to higher learning, social angst and oh my God whole bunch of stuff that I am not going to think about.
She is right to business when we walk in. She immediately sat on the floor and unpacked her backpack and put her things in her cubby and hung up her backpack. I think she has watched a lot of reality TV because she was able to completely ignore me with my camera and the video recorder and eight gazillion questions. She wouldn't talk to me so I chatted up the other kids.
I had been worried that Carmella was too shy but everyone of those kids looked terrified--all wide eyed and quiet. They all had the same look--you know when your baby goes under water for the first time and they come up shocked, sputtering and eyes as big as dinner plates--that look. Carmella though exuded calmness--as if she had been going to kindergarten all her life and this was no, big, deal. She is so much cooler than I ever was.
Carmella puts her lunch up. Later when I asked if she was scared when I left or relieved she admitted that she was relieved. I think her irritation with me comes across clearly in this picture.
Carmella sets right to task. No chatting with friends, just work work work.
Carmella's table mates. We only knew two other kids going to kindergarten at this school and they are both in her class and sit on either side of her.
End of the day! Carmella in line with the other walkers leaving school.
Kindergarten is great!
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