On Tuesday morning, we set out for an adventure in Brenham, TX, which is about an hour and a half from here. We visited Blue Bell Creamery, then went out to lunch and poked into some antique shops. On the way home, Isaac fell asleep in the car. When he woke up, he said his leg hurt. I thought it was asleep from sleeping in a weird position. When we got into the house, he seemed kind of cranky and a little warm. Maren had had a bit of a virus on Sunday, so I thought he was coming down with the same thing. I gave him some Tylenol, and he seemed to bounce back.
When he woke up on Wednesday, he was still running a fever and said his leg hurt too much to walk. We gave him more Tylenol, and gave him the option of staying home or going out shopping and going to lunch. He thought shopping and lunch sounded fun, and he sat in the stroller as we poked around Rice Village. This time, the tylenol didn't perk him up quite so much, and he was miserable by the time we got home. The other kids had flu shots that afternoon, so while we were at the pediatrician's office, I asked the nurse what she thought about his symptoms. She thought I should bring him in, so at 4pm on Wednesday afternoon, the pediatrician saw him and told us to go to the emergency room for blood tests and an x-ray.
By 10pm on Wednesday night, he had had lots of blood drawn, x-rays of his knee and hip, and a needle aspiration of his knee and the surrounding muscle. They admitted him with a tentative diagnosis of an infection of his left knee, his femur, and/or the quadricep. On Thursday morning he had an MRI, which confirmed that the has osteomyelitis, a bone infection. That afternoon he had surgery-- a hole drilled into his femur to relieve the pressure and drain the infection. We're waiting for final lab results to come back, but the doctors think the infection is MRSA (a particularly nasty staph infection). I guess he didn't realize that he was doing the trendy thing by getting MRSA the same week Newsweek did a big article on it.
We hope that he's now on the road to recovery, but it's going to be a very long road. He'll be in the hospital for about a week. He needs to start eating again (he's only had two chicken nuggets and three french fries since Tuesday), needs to get moving a little bit (he's swelled up like a balloon right now), and needs to stop spiking fevers. He may need to have more surgery to drain the bone again. On Monday he'll have a PICC line inserted, because the course of treatment is 6-8 weeks of IV antibiotics, administered 3 times a day. We're not sure how soon he'll be allowed to walk again. One of our doctors said he'd be in a wheelchair for three months, and the other one said he thought he could start to bear weight as soon as he felt up to it.
My mom and my godmother are staying with us for a little more than a week. Ed's mom is coming right before my mom leaves and will be with us for another week. So we've got family help until November 12th. We'll see how things are after that point. It's going to be a long fall for us, I think, and Isaac is pretty sad. He was supposed to be hosting his third birthday party right now in our backyard, complete with a bounce house, a bunch of friends from preschool, and a Diego birthday cake. Instead he's in the hospital, and it's so sad.
I probably won't be around all that much. The hospital doesn't have wi-fi and so far Isaac isn't feeling good enough to leave the room with me to go to the computer labs. I'm still shuttling back and forth from home at least four or five times a day because Maren nurses every three hours. The good news is that Isaac does seem to be getting better, albeit much more slowly than I'd like to see. I have a feeling that this might end up being my only marathon this season, and even though it's a much different marathon than I was training for, seeing him get better will be a much more satisfying result than crossing any finish line.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Saturday, October 20, 2007
seventeen
When I looked at my workout schedule at the beginning of this week, I was still hurting so much from my half-marathon last week that I didn't think I'd be up for a seventeen-miler by Saturday. Sunday was bad. Monday was bad. Tuesday was better. By Wednesday, I felt back to normal, so I didn't have a good excuse for putting off this first killer long run on the second half of my marathon training. Last night I scouted out a new route. I was too nervous to go to bed at a decent hour. I just didn't want to do it.
Lately I've been feeling like my focus on speed is taking all of the fun out of my workouts. When I was in high school I was on the swim team. I loved practice and loved my teammates, but I hated meets. I always conveniently got "bronchitis" when it was time for the big all-conference meet. I think the bronchitis was all in my head and I was just nervous for the race.
I felt the same familiar pit in my stomach last week at the half-marathon. I wanted to finish well. I wanted to run fast. I didn't want to embarrass myself. Until I crossed the finish line, the nervousness didn't subside. It was a great feeling to finish well, but I didn't enjoy the race as much as I had hoped.
On Tuesday, when I was feeling mobile enough to go back to the gym, I discovered that as part of the new gym renovations, they had installed odometers on the spin bikes. At first, I was excited for the challenge, but by the end of the workout, I was feeling like my innocence had been stripped away. For the last six months, spinning has been a break from running-- what I do where I don't keep track of times or measure how far I go. But now I can do those things, and I don't really think I like adding that dimension of competitiveness to that part of my life.
This morning, I kicked my booty out of bed and got running. After last weekend, when I felt like I was practically killing myself, I decided that I wasn't going to look at my watch, wasn't going to go all-out, and was just going to run at a comfortable pace until it was done. It was a cool, misty morning, my head was clear, and the run felt fantastic. I finished 17.1 miles in about 2:11 (I looked at the clock when I got home) which means that even though I wasn't in race mode, my time was only five seconds per mile slower than my all-out race pace last weekend. I'm finally starting to believe that I can do the marathon (I honestly think I could have done another nine miles today). I'm also contemplating leaving the watch behind. It might cost me five seconds per mile, but it would be worth it not to be stressing about my split times for nearly four hours.
My old (secret) mantra was, "Boston here I come." My new mantra? "Who cares about Boston-- just do it." I'm not a big fan of hills, anyway.
And in totally unrelated news, I'm heading to the airport in about ten minutes to pick up my mom. She'll be here (as I just informed Eddie) for nine days. She keeps an even more relentless pace than I do, so I doubt I'll have much time for blogging. I'm running the Great Pumpkin 5K on Saturday, so I'll definitely do a race report, but other than that, I may be scarce.
Lately I've been feeling like my focus on speed is taking all of the fun out of my workouts. When I was in high school I was on the swim team. I loved practice and loved my teammates, but I hated meets. I always conveniently got "bronchitis" when it was time for the big all-conference meet. I think the bronchitis was all in my head and I was just nervous for the race.
I felt the same familiar pit in my stomach last week at the half-marathon. I wanted to finish well. I wanted to run fast. I didn't want to embarrass myself. Until I crossed the finish line, the nervousness didn't subside. It was a great feeling to finish well, but I didn't enjoy the race as much as I had hoped.
On Tuesday, when I was feeling mobile enough to go back to the gym, I discovered that as part of the new gym renovations, they had installed odometers on the spin bikes. At first, I was excited for the challenge, but by the end of the workout, I was feeling like my innocence had been stripped away. For the last six months, spinning has been a break from running-- what I do where I don't keep track of times or measure how far I go. But now I can do those things, and I don't really think I like adding that dimension of competitiveness to that part of my life.
This morning, I kicked my booty out of bed and got running. After last weekend, when I felt like I was practically killing myself, I decided that I wasn't going to look at my watch, wasn't going to go all-out, and was just going to run at a comfortable pace until it was done. It was a cool, misty morning, my head was clear, and the run felt fantastic. I finished 17.1 miles in about 2:11 (I looked at the clock when I got home) which means that even though I wasn't in race mode, my time was only five seconds per mile slower than my all-out race pace last weekend. I'm finally starting to believe that I can do the marathon (I honestly think I could have done another nine miles today). I'm also contemplating leaving the watch behind. It might cost me five seconds per mile, but it would be worth it not to be stressing about my split times for nearly four hours.
My old (secret) mantra was, "Boston here I come." My new mantra? "Who cares about Boston-- just do it." I'm not a big fan of hills, anyway.
And in totally unrelated news, I'm heading to the airport in about ten minutes to pick up my mom. She'll be here (as I just informed Eddie) for nine days. She keeps an even more relentless pace than I do, so I doubt I'll have much time for blogging. I'm running the Great Pumpkin 5K on Saturday, so I'll definitely do a race report, but other than that, I may be scarce.
Friday, October 19, 2007
Running is taking over my life...
I have a nine-month-old. Like most nine-month-olds, when we're at home, Maren wants to be where she can see me. Most of the time, this isn't a problem. She follows me around the house like my mother-in-law's miniature schnauzer (she's about the same size, too), climbing in the dishwasher, emptying wastebaskets, and eating the scraps off the floor under the kitchen table. But this morning I had an eight-mile run to get in. I dropped Bryce and Annie off at school at 7:50, and I had to have Isaac at school at 9:00 and I was determine that I'd get those eight miles done in the hour I had in between.
It didn't happen. I got a little more than three miles done. Maren was crying after mile two, and it was pitiful to hear her whimpering and banging on the door over the sound of Matt and Meredith on the Today show. So I turned off the treadmill, picked up the baby, and cuddled with her for a while. She paid for it later when I stuck her in the stroller and did five more miles (and I learned that I need to tighten the buckle really tightly so Houdini doesn't wiggle her way out). While I was on my second run for the day, I was thinking about how I feel like I'm never quite on top of the house or on top of my to-do list anymore, and I was saying to myself, "If I just had a nanny for a few hours every day I could get these workouts done without a baby who thinks hurling herself on the pavement sounds like a fine way to start a Friday morning (she didn't, she just made me think she was going to). And if I had a trainer I could work on my form and made sure I stretched and really improve as a runner. And if I had a cleaning service I would have time to run eight miles without trying to figure out when I was going to clean the house before my mom shows up tomorrow night."
I started running so I could have something to divert my attention from the constant mommyhood. It works. I love it. But sometimes I worry that I'm identifying with myself more as a runner who has kids than as a mom who runs. I've been such a hands-on mom for the last seven and a half years, that it's weird to see myself as anything other than "just a mom." So it's both liberating and scary to give myself another label. Most of the time, though, I'm just a mom who runs. Except when I'm actually out hitting the road. I'll be on the road more often than ever over the next two months. Now that the half-marathon is behind me, my mileage is picking up dramatically. I have seventeen long miles ahead of me tomorrow morning. After that, I'll spend the afternoon cleaning the house and baking brownies with my kids. To them, my running doesn't matter, but my brownies do.
It didn't happen. I got a little more than three miles done. Maren was crying after mile two, and it was pitiful to hear her whimpering and banging on the door over the sound of Matt and Meredith on the Today show. So I turned off the treadmill, picked up the baby, and cuddled with her for a while. She paid for it later when I stuck her in the stroller and did five more miles (and I learned that I need to tighten the buckle really tightly so Houdini doesn't wiggle her way out). While I was on my second run for the day, I was thinking about how I feel like I'm never quite on top of the house or on top of my to-do list anymore, and I was saying to myself, "If I just had a nanny for a few hours every day I could get these workouts done without a baby who thinks hurling herself on the pavement sounds like a fine way to start a Friday morning (she didn't, she just made me think she was going to). And if I had a trainer I could work on my form and made sure I stretched and really improve as a runner. And if I had a cleaning service I would have time to run eight miles without trying to figure out when I was going to clean the house before my mom shows up tomorrow night."
I started running so I could have something to divert my attention from the constant mommyhood. It works. I love it. But sometimes I worry that I'm identifying with myself more as a runner who has kids than as a mom who runs. I've been such a hands-on mom for the last seven and a half years, that it's weird to see myself as anything other than "just a mom." So it's both liberating and scary to give myself another label. Most of the time, though, I'm just a mom who runs. Except when I'm actually out hitting the road. I'll be on the road more often than ever over the next two months. Now that the half-marathon is behind me, my mileage is picking up dramatically. I have seventeen long miles ahead of me tomorrow morning. After that, I'll spend the afternoon cleaning the house and baking brownies with my kids. To them, my running doesn't matter, but my brownies do.
Book #58: The Discomfort Zone
Title: The Discomfort Zone: A Personal History
Author: Jonathan Franzen
In The Discomfort Zone, Jonathan Franzen took away one of my excuses. I've always said that I could never be a "real" writer because I'm not tortured enough. I'm the opposite of tortured. My life is great. I have great kids. I have a great husband. I grew up with a stable, loving family. I keep a neat house, with no skeletons in my closet. How could I possibly have anything to say, especially anything that I've made up with my own brain, that people would find remotely interesting? One of the essays in Discomfort Zone is about Charles Schulz, creator of Peanuts. Like me (and like Franzen), Schulz had a fairly complicated childhood. He served in the military. Then he started writing comics and developed all sorts of neuroses. Franzen says that Schulz didn't become a great artist because he was weird, but rather that he became weird once he was an artist. So I guess I'd have to be weird to be a good writer, but I wouldn't have to start out weird to get that way. Do I really want to be weird?
Franzen seems a lot less weird in The Discomfort Zone than I would have expected based on reading The Corrections. I loved The Corrections. Franzen isn't weird. Maybe there still is hope for me...
Book #57: Thursday Next: First Among Sequels
Title: Thursday Next: First Among Sequels
Author: Jasper Fforde
If you've been reading my blog for a while, you know I have a thing for Jasper Fforde. It's been a while since I've read a Thursday Next novel. First Among Sequels, the fifth book in the series, is set 14 years after the conclusion of Something Rotten, and Thursday is now working on the down-low in Bookworld (by day she's a carpet layer for Acme Carpets). There's a major problem on the horizon-- reading rates are falling (we find out later it's due to a shortening attention span, which might explain why I could barely remember anything that happened in the first four novels until I was about 80 pages into this one). So Thursday has to go to bookworld, train two versions of herself (the print versions) as her cadets, stop time jumping, continue fighting the Goliath corporation, and find a recipe for unscrambled eggs. Sound a little crazy? It is, and if you haven't read the first four books, start with the Eyre Affair, allow yourself to laugh, don't think too hard about the plausibility of what Fforde writes, and have a good time.
Book #56: The Last Summer (of you and me)
Title: The Last Summer (of you and me)
Author: Ann Brashares
Ann Brashares, of The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants fame, attempts writing for an older audience in The Last Summer (of you and me). Her main characters are no longer teenagers, but young adults, sisters Alice and Riley, ages 21 and 24. For as long as they can remember, Riley and Paul have been best friends. They've spent every summer of their lives together on Fire Island, with Alice in their shadow. But now they're grown up. And Alice, who has loved Paul all her life, decides to make a move. Then something happens to screw it all up...
Can I just say that Alice, Paul and Riley are the most emotionally constipated young adults ever? Ok, I take that back, because when I went to amazon to look up their names for the review, the "If you liked this book, you might also like..." section showed Ian McEwan's On Chesil Beach as an option, and Alice, Paul and Riley seem like they're probably tied with Edward and Florence as "most emotionally constipated twentysomethings in modern fiction." I mean, seriously, Riley and Paul are best friends, but she can't tell him for nearly a year that she's dying. She forbids her sister from telling him either, and the poor girl is sleeping with Paul, so instead of telling him anyway, she breaks off their relationship without a word. I don't identify with these people. I wanted to reach into the book and grab them by the shirt collar and yell-- just talk to each other! Thankfully, because they're young and this is an Ann Brashares book, there's a happy ending (for 2 out of 3 of them, anyway).
Book #55: Eclipse
Title: Eclipse
Author: Stephenie Meyer
Will Bella graduate from high school as a mortal? Will she get ambushed by rival vampires? Will she choose Jacob or Edward? Will she embarrass herself by getting engaged before she graduates from high school? It's interesting, because our book club discussion of the Twilight books touched on all of these issues, but we must be a bunch of Mormon moms instead of a bunch of lovestruck teenagers, because the main source of controversy in our conversation was over whether Bella and Edward should have been hanging out in her bedroom together at night, and, furthermore, if it was crossing a line when an LDS author allowed her unmarried teenage girl character to lie (fully clothed) on top of an unmarried teenage male character (who, technically, is more like 110, but he's still hot).
Book #54: New Moon
Title: New Moon
Author: Stephenie Meyer
When I was a freshman in college, I met Eddie. And like when Bella met her Edward, my Edward and I had a strong instant connection. I wanted to be with him all the time. I couldn't get enough of him. I knew that I wanted to spend the rest of my existence with him. And like Bella's Edward, after a wonderful year together, he left me and went to a far away place where I couldn't see him or talk to him (in our case, it was Ukraine, where he was a missionary). I was devastated. I missed him. I felt like my heart had been ripped from my body (ok, not really, but I'm trying to extend the analogy). And when I got to school in the fall, I met Jacob (his real name was Mike). Mike was like my little puppy dog. He had been an English major. He spoke French. He loved International Cinema. He also really liked me, despite the fact that he knew I was broken (again, extending the analogy). I was lonely. Mike wasn't Eddie, but he was someone. Someone who was fun to be with. Someone who liked me. Someone who I liked (but didn't love) back. So we hung out. A lot. But I knew, like Bella knew, that the hanging out meant different things to me than it did to Mike.
Mike didn't turn into a werewolf (but he did have one particularly hairy roommate). Eventually, he got sick of my unwavering devotion to my vampire (missionary) and started dating my roommate. Things got weird. The school year ended. A year later, Eddie came home and the hole in my heart began to heal (again, while I was excited for him to come home, I did not feel like I was missing my heart). We got married. I did not require that he turn me into a vampire before he could take my virginity. And we're living happily ever after, as mortals. How boring.
My analysis of New Moon? Bella whines a lot. But I could really relate on many levels. Of the three books, I think it just might be my favorite. I guess I have so much happy requited love in my own life that I likes me some sad tales of frustrated, horny teenage vampires and werewolves.
Weeks in Training: October 18-20
Monday, 10/8: 4.25 miles
Tuesday: abs and spin
Wednesday: 4.25 miles
Thursday: abs and spin
Friday: OFF
Saturday: Huntsville Half Marathon
Monday, 8/15: R&R day, walked around the zoo with the kids
Tuesday: abs and spin
Wednesday: 5.25 miles
Thursday: abs and spin
Friday: 8.25 miles, 3.25 on the treadmill, 5 with the jogger
Saturday: 17.5 miles
Tuesday: abs and spin
Wednesday: 4.25 miles
Thursday: abs and spin
Friday: OFF
Saturday: Huntsville Half Marathon
Monday, 8/15: R&R day, walked around the zoo with the kids
Tuesday: abs and spin
Wednesday: 5.25 miles
Thursday: abs and spin
Friday: 8.25 miles, 3.25 on the treadmill, 5 with the jogger
Saturday: 17.5 miles
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Race Report-- Huntsville Half Marathon
So, I'm back. I'm tired. I'm sore. But I'm back.
The Hunstvillle Half is a double loop half-marathon. It's sponsored by the Seven Hills Running Club, because, well, the course has seven hills. It starts off with a big hill and ends with a big hill and there are five smaller hills in between. We run around the campus of Sam Houston State and around the prison in Huntsville (right outside the wall, lol, and my dh didn't believe me so I took him over there after the race to show him). Anyway, I ran the race with three guys from our ward and with my friend Celeste, who used to be in our ward but moved.
So I train at sea-level and on flats. I haven't run on hills for at least a month. I took off towards the front of the pack and felt good. I was the third girl for most of the race. For a few minutes around mile 9, I came ahead and was second, but that girl got ahead of me again. I felt really good until about mile 10, when my early quickness caught up with me. At that point, I started walking through water stations and walking towards the top of the hills. I was dying. Girl two passed me. Girl three passed me. Girl four passed me. I knew I had to maintain my pace after that if I wanted to finish in the top five. An experienced guy took pity on me and coached me through the last mile. It was a killer, but I finished in 1:39.40). I was the fifth place girl overall and came in first in my age group. The first place girl was about 3 1/2 minutes ahead of me and the other three came in close together, all about a minute ahead of me. I was second out of the five people in our running group (I beat the stake pres, lol).
It was a really exciitng race for me because Eddie and the kids were there at the finish line (for the first time!). We all went to Culver's afterwards for our greasy burger and ice cream fix and we just got home. I'm feeling pretty good about the whole thing, but sort of nervous about doing twice as much running for my marathon in a couple of months. At least the marathon is flat. I think I could have kept going if it hadn't been for all of the hills.
The Hunstvillle Half is a double loop half-marathon. It's sponsored by the Seven Hills Running Club, because, well, the course has seven hills. It starts off with a big hill and ends with a big hill and there are five smaller hills in between. We run around the campus of Sam Houston State and around the prison in Huntsville (right outside the wall, lol, and my dh didn't believe me so I took him over there after the race to show him). Anyway, I ran the race with three guys from our ward and with my friend Celeste, who used to be in our ward but moved.
So I train at sea-level and on flats. I haven't run on hills for at least a month. I took off towards the front of the pack and felt good. I was the third girl for most of the race. For a few minutes around mile 9, I came ahead and was second, but that girl got ahead of me again. I felt really good until about mile 10, when my early quickness caught up with me. At that point, I started walking through water stations and walking towards the top of the hills. I was dying. Girl two passed me. Girl three passed me. Girl four passed me. I knew I had to maintain my pace after that if I wanted to finish in the top five. An experienced guy took pity on me and coached me through the last mile. It was a killer, but I finished in 1:39.40). I was the fifth place girl overall and came in first in my age group. The first place girl was about 3 1/2 minutes ahead of me and the other three came in close together, all about a minute ahead of me. I was second out of the five people in our running group (I beat the stake pres, lol).
It was a really exciitng race for me because Eddie and the kids were there at the finish line (for the first time!). We all went to Culver's afterwards for our greasy burger and ice cream fix and we just got home. I'm feeling pretty good about the whole thing, but sort of nervous about doing twice as much running for my marathon in a couple of months. At least the marathon is flat. I think I could have kept going if it hadn't been for all of the hills.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
I guess I should be folding laundry right now
I'm almost too tired to post. It's 8:45 and I just got my last kid into bed. I've been going since 6:30 this morning. I dressed three kids, oversaw family scripture study and prayer, did a carpool run, went to the gym, did three loads of laundry, got ready for the day, took a kid to swimming lessons halfway across the city, baked and frosted a cake from scratch, filled out birthday party invitations, supervised homework, took the kids to the playground, gave four baths, made and cleaned up three meals and ran and unloaded the dishwasher twice, among other things. Just a normal day's work around here. But I'm wiped.
I want to sit down and watch tv. Smutty tv. It's Thursday night-- you know the show. But after watching Conference on Sunday, I'm feeling guilty about it (but not guilty enough not to do it, right?). Am I really being the best woman, homemaker and mother I can be if I put my feet up, eat a bowl of ice cream, and watch some smutty tv after a fourteen-hour day? There's still work to be done (laundry to fold, a sore hamstring to stretch, Christmas presents to sew, grocery lists to make, pictures from the last two years to scrapbook). But I'm tired.
I used to run every day. Rain, shine, fatigue, pregnancy? No matter what-- I'd be running. I got to the point where I didn't love running quite as much anymore. On the advice of some pretty smart people, I decided to stick in a few days of cross-training. Pretty soon, I wasn't feeling so weary anymore. And you know what else? I got faster! I feel the same way about motherhood. I bring a much better A-game to the table if I get the chance to do things like run and blog and go to book club and watch the occasional smutty tv show when the kids are in bed. Some people might say that I'd be a better homemaker if I were folding those three loads of laundry. But I think that for moms who do their best to be the best moms they can be all day, a little bit of slack and recharging is the best medicine. The laundry can wait (but that might result in my children not looking "perfectly pressed" come Sunday). The ice cream and the smutty tv? I need those now.
I want to sit down and watch tv. Smutty tv. It's Thursday night-- you know the show. But after watching Conference on Sunday, I'm feeling guilty about it (but not guilty enough not to do it, right?). Am I really being the best woman, homemaker and mother I can be if I put my feet up, eat a bowl of ice cream, and watch some smutty tv after a fourteen-hour day? There's still work to be done (laundry to fold, a sore hamstring to stretch, Christmas presents to sew, grocery lists to make, pictures from the last two years to scrapbook). But I'm tired.
I used to run every day. Rain, shine, fatigue, pregnancy? No matter what-- I'd be running. I got to the point where I didn't love running quite as much anymore. On the advice of some pretty smart people, I decided to stick in a few days of cross-training. Pretty soon, I wasn't feeling so weary anymore. And you know what else? I got faster! I feel the same way about motherhood. I bring a much better A-game to the table if I get the chance to do things like run and blog and go to book club and watch the occasional smutty tv show when the kids are in bed. Some people might say that I'd be a better homemaker if I were folding those three loads of laundry. But I think that for moms who do their best to be the best moms they can be all day, a little bit of slack and recharging is the best medicine. The laundry can wait (but that might result in my children not looking "perfectly pressed" come Sunday). The ice cream and the smutty tv? I need those now.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
split personality
On Friday mornings, idealistic Shelah takes over my body. She looks through cooking magazines. She gets out a whole slew of cookbooks. She writes menus for things like citrus pork chops over a bed of wilted spinach and homemade chicken potpie with leeks and scallions. She shops. She puts away the groceries. Then she brushes her hands together as if to say "my work here is finished" and she leaves the premises.
And leaves regular old Shelah behind. You know, the one who gets totally overwhelmed at 3:15 and the kids get home and want a snack and need to do homework. The one who never has a husband home when the witching hour hits. The one who loves to bake but hates to make dinner. The one who rolls her eyes at the whole chicken in the fridge and orders pizza while bouncing a fussy baby on her hip and trying to get Bryce to sit down and copy his spelling words.
These two Shelahs seriously need to meet. And the idealistic Shelah needs to leave her mom, the one who inspired the gourmet cooking and menu-making, at home. Then regular Shelah needs to teach her to ditch the fancy menus and replace them with pasta, grilled cheese, quesadillas and chicken nuggets. That's what we end up eating anyway. Everyone would be lots happier. And regular Shelah could then afford to take the kids to Chick-fil-a on the nights when she really can't cope with the chaos.
And leaves regular old Shelah behind. You know, the one who gets totally overwhelmed at 3:15 and the kids get home and want a snack and need to do homework. The one who never has a husband home when the witching hour hits. The one who loves to bake but hates to make dinner. The one who rolls her eyes at the whole chicken in the fridge and orders pizza while bouncing a fussy baby on her hip and trying to get Bryce to sit down and copy his spelling words.
These two Shelahs seriously need to meet. And the idealistic Shelah needs to leave her mom, the one who inspired the gourmet cooking and menu-making, at home. Then regular Shelah needs to teach her to ditch the fancy menus and replace them with pasta, grilled cheese, quesadillas and chicken nuggets. That's what we end up eating anyway. Everyone would be lots happier. And regular Shelah could then afford to take the kids to Chick-fil-a on the nights when she really can't cope with the chaos.
Sunday, October 7, 2007
Seasonal Lament
Six years ago, when Eddie and all of his classmates were finishing medical school and interviewing for residencies, people always seemed shocked when they found out that our first choice for residency was the Mayo Clinic in (gasp!) Rochester, Minnesota. Most of his classmates, who were either single or newly married and didn't have kids, were getting out of the middle of the country and trying to make a break for Boston or San Fransisco ASAP. We, on the other hand, had two babies and had spent four years living in a tiny apartment, so our decision about where to spend the next three years of our lives was highly influenced by where we could afford to buy a house and live fairly comfortably on one resident's salary. People kept saying, "It's so cold there" and "there's no city nearby" but I thought they were kind of silly themselves for choosing programs based on where the weather was good or where there were lots of cool restaurants and bars.
We moved to Minnesota. It was cold. We didn't see the sun from November until April, unless the weather was below zero. But Minnesotans bond over surviving the cold weather, and after three years of shoveling snow and driving on ice and not seeing the ground for months at a time, I felt intrepid.
Then we moved to Texas. I was excited to be getting away from the endless winters. I was excited to see the sun again. I was thrilled to be living so close to a big city again. We thought living in Minnesota was affordable, but houses in Texas were downright cheap-- we traded in our little raised ranch for an extra thousand square feet in a two-story house. We visited in April when the weather was beautiful and I reasoned that if I could handle three Minnesota winters, four Texas summers couldn't be all that bad.
But it's October, the "end" of our third Texas summer, and I feel like throwing in the (very soggy) towel. Isaac is turning three next week, and he knows his birthday is in the fall. Whenever we talk about how his birthday is coming soon, he says, "No Mom, my birfday is in the fall. It's still summer here." It is still summer here. The ten-day weather forecast still predicts partly cloudy days with highs around 90 and lows in the mid-70s. When I was watching General Conference on tv yesterday and saw people wearing long sleeves and sweaters, it almost made me cry. I'd love to wear a sweater. Heck, I'd love to wear a short-sleeved shirt and go outside without rivulets of sweat collecting in my bra. If you want an idea of what my run felt like yesterday, go put your treadmill in your bathroom. Turn on your shower. Then get on the treadmill and run twelve miles. By the end, I felt like I could be wrung out like a sponge.
When I complained about the weather in Minnesota, I felt bonded to a community of people who could conquer the cold. Only hardy souls could do it. When I complain about the weather here, I just feel like, well, a complainer. It's hot-- get over it. And most of the time, I can get over it. But when October rolls around and I think about my childhood autumns apple picking and driving through hilly New England to "catch the leaves" or General Conference weekends in Provo, driving the Alpine loop and looking at the yellow aspens quake and lose their leaves, I really feel like I'm missing out. I ate a Minnesota Honeycrisp apple the other day, and it practically made me cry because I had a flashback to apple picking with the kids a few falls ago.
One more Texas summer (after this one). I can get through it. I'll probably complain. A lot. But after that, we're outta here. By that time, after paying our dues with three winters on the tundra and four summers in hell, we'll be one of those "silly" people who has the luxury of choosing a place to live based on climate. And high on my list is a place with four seasons, of relatively equal length.
We moved to Minnesota. It was cold. We didn't see the sun from November until April, unless the weather was below zero. But Minnesotans bond over surviving the cold weather, and after three years of shoveling snow and driving on ice and not seeing the ground for months at a time, I felt intrepid.
Then we moved to Texas. I was excited to be getting away from the endless winters. I was excited to see the sun again. I was thrilled to be living so close to a big city again. We thought living in Minnesota was affordable, but houses in Texas were downright cheap-- we traded in our little raised ranch for an extra thousand square feet in a two-story house. We visited in April when the weather was beautiful and I reasoned that if I could handle three Minnesota winters, four Texas summers couldn't be all that bad.
But it's October, the "end" of our third Texas summer, and I feel like throwing in the (very soggy) towel. Isaac is turning three next week, and he knows his birthday is in the fall. Whenever we talk about how his birthday is coming soon, he says, "No Mom, my birfday is in the fall. It's still summer here." It is still summer here. The ten-day weather forecast still predicts partly cloudy days with highs around 90 and lows in the mid-70s. When I was watching General Conference on tv yesterday and saw people wearing long sleeves and sweaters, it almost made me cry. I'd love to wear a sweater. Heck, I'd love to wear a short-sleeved shirt and go outside without rivulets of sweat collecting in my bra. If you want an idea of what my run felt like yesterday, go put your treadmill in your bathroom. Turn on your shower. Then get on the treadmill and run twelve miles. By the end, I felt like I could be wrung out like a sponge.
When I complained about the weather in Minnesota, I felt bonded to a community of people who could conquer the cold. Only hardy souls could do it. When I complain about the weather here, I just feel like, well, a complainer. It's hot-- get over it. And most of the time, I can get over it. But when October rolls around and I think about my childhood autumns apple picking and driving through hilly New England to "catch the leaves" or General Conference weekends in Provo, driving the Alpine loop and looking at the yellow aspens quake and lose their leaves, I really feel like I'm missing out. I ate a Minnesota Honeycrisp apple the other day, and it practically made me cry because I had a flashback to apple picking with the kids a few falls ago.
One more Texas summer (after this one). I can get through it. I'll probably complain. A lot. But after that, we're outta here. By that time, after paying our dues with three winters on the tundra and four summers in hell, we'll be one of those "silly" people who has the luxury of choosing a place to live based on climate. And high on my list is a place with four seasons, of relatively equal length.
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
keeping up...
When I was a teacher, I always tried to stress with my students the importance of staying on top of their work. It seemed like every few semesters, I'd have a perfectly decent student who was thrown a curve ball and missed a few assignments, then got overwhelmed and ended up either lurching to the finish line or dropping out of the class entirely. I feel like I can relate to the overwhelmed student in a lot of areas of my life right now:
1) My house. Last week I spent the week getting ready to go to Disney World. This week I've spent the week getting unpacked and getting on with life. I am a rigid adherent to the weekly house cleaning. Except this week. I was going to try to squeeze it in, but life is just too crazy this week to have clean toilets.
2) Blogging about Disney World. I keep thinking I'm going to upload the 200 pictures that my mom took and write a fantastic post about how much fun we had at WDW, but the software that goes with the new camera is giving me fits and I just don't have time to sort it out right now. So I might get around to it. If not, the kids are cute, Disney was awesome, and yes, I'm glad the party is over. But I've been feeling like I can't blog at all if I don't blog about this first, and as of right now, I'm relieving myself of that guilt.
3) Sleep. Maren is still giving me the 5am wakeup call. I. am. so. tired. Enough said.
4) Exercise. As I was writing this post, a woman from the PTA called to see if I can fit in two days of working at the school book fair over the next two weeks. Um, sure. That just probably means two fewer workouts. I'm already stressing that I've been doing outdoor runs pushing the stroller instead of indoor runs on the treadmill and my pace will suffer in my half marathon next weekend. But you gotta do what you gotta do sometimes.
5) The important one. The fall lineup. I had been looking forward to having something to watch in the evening again. We read Entertainment Weekly, decided which shows we wanted to watch, set our DVR, and instead of actually watching the shows, read the Twilight series (me) and watched college football (guess who?), so now our DVR is quickly filling up with shows I want to watch, but still, I sit on my butt reading about vampires in the evenings, and I have a feeling the tv season is going to be a total wash for me because I'm just too overwhelmed to start watching. Eddie and I want to watch and mock the Bachelor together, for example, but we now have almost 3 hours of it, in all its uncomfortable glory, waiting for someone to press play. And it won't happen tonight since I have book club, but since I record Private Practice, I'll be even further behind schedule. Aaargh! I know, my life is hard.
And in other "keeping up" news, last month Eddie signed up to run a 5K with me on October 27th. So far he has not run at all. It's 3 1/2 weeks away. He said his goal is to get in enough practice time to beat me. He's still confident enough that he has enough lead time to get fit enough to smoke me. This is the same race that I smoked a bunch of guys last year when I was 31 weeks pregnant. I see a couple of potential outcomes to this-- either he runs really fast and kicks my butt (which means I'll be jealous and he'll be sore), or I show him who is boss and emerge victorious. I just wish he'd practice a little bit so he doesn't die of a heart attack when I take off like a jackrabbit.
1) My house. Last week I spent the week getting ready to go to Disney World. This week I've spent the week getting unpacked and getting on with life. I am a rigid adherent to the weekly house cleaning. Except this week. I was going to try to squeeze it in, but life is just too crazy this week to have clean toilets.
2) Blogging about Disney World. I keep thinking I'm going to upload the 200 pictures that my mom took and write a fantastic post about how much fun we had at WDW, but the software that goes with the new camera is giving me fits and I just don't have time to sort it out right now. So I might get around to it. If not, the kids are cute, Disney was awesome, and yes, I'm glad the party is over. But I've been feeling like I can't blog at all if I don't blog about this first, and as of right now, I'm relieving myself of that guilt.
3) Sleep. Maren is still giving me the 5am wakeup call. I. am. so. tired. Enough said.
4) Exercise. As I was writing this post, a woman from the PTA called to see if I can fit in two days of working at the school book fair over the next two weeks. Um, sure. That just probably means two fewer workouts. I'm already stressing that I've been doing outdoor runs pushing the stroller instead of indoor runs on the treadmill and my pace will suffer in my half marathon next weekend. But you gotta do what you gotta do sometimes.
5) The important one. The fall lineup. I had been looking forward to having something to watch in the evening again. We read Entertainment Weekly, decided which shows we wanted to watch, set our DVR, and instead of actually watching the shows, read the Twilight series (me) and watched college football (guess who?), so now our DVR is quickly filling up with shows I want to watch, but still, I sit on my butt reading about vampires in the evenings, and I have a feeling the tv season is going to be a total wash for me because I'm just too overwhelmed to start watching. Eddie and I want to watch and mock the Bachelor together, for example, but we now have almost 3 hours of it, in all its uncomfortable glory, waiting for someone to press play. And it won't happen tonight since I have book club, but since I record Private Practice, I'll be even further behind schedule. Aaargh! I know, my life is hard.
And in other "keeping up" news, last month Eddie signed up to run a 5K with me on October 27th. So far he has not run at all. It's 3 1/2 weeks away. He said his goal is to get in enough practice time to beat me. He's still confident enough that he has enough lead time to get fit enough to smoke me. This is the same race that I smoked a bunch of guys last year when I was 31 weeks pregnant. I see a couple of potential outcomes to this-- either he runs really fast and kicks my butt (which means I'll be jealous and he'll be sore), or I show him who is boss and emerge victorious. I just wish he'd practice a little bit so he doesn't die of a heart attack when I take off like a jackrabbit.
Monday, October 1, 2007
Weeks in Training: September 23-October 6
Monday: none (Maren had a dr appt and Isaac had swimming lessons)
Tuesday: 6mi with stroller
Wednesday: 6mi with stroller
Thursday: 6mi with stroller
Friday: none (walked around Magic Kingdom and MGM)
Saturday: none (walked around Animal Kingdom and Epcot and back and forth to the hotel lobby a zillion times)
Monday: abs and spin class
Tuesday: 4 miles, hoping for some speedwork on the treadmill
Wednesday: 4-6 miles, probably with the jogger
Thursday: abs and spin class
Friday: 7 miles, probably on the treadmill so Maren can go to babywatch at the YMCA
Saturday: just 10, theoretically tapering for the 1/2 marathon I'm running next Saturday!
Tuesday: 6mi with stroller
Wednesday: 6mi with stroller
Thursday: 6mi with stroller
Friday: none (walked around Magic Kingdom and MGM)
Saturday: none (walked around Animal Kingdom and Epcot and back and forth to the hotel lobby a zillion times)
Monday: abs and spin class
Tuesday: 4 miles, hoping for some speedwork on the treadmill
Wednesday: 4-6 miles, probably with the jogger
Thursday: abs and spin class
Friday: 7 miles, probably on the treadmill so Maren can go to babywatch at the YMCA
Saturday: just 10, theoretically tapering for the 1/2 marathon I'm running next Saturday!
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