Still not good here

We're still struggling with something here. I don't know what it is, but it's making David do things he normally doesn't.

Monday night he went to bed at 6:30 p.m. His dad came and picked him up at 2:00 p.m.; I was hoping he could get David to eat something, no such luck. I tried when he got home, but all he would take was a little water. He fell asleep on his bed trying to read a book. I pulled the covers over him and let him sleep.

I was up at 6:00 a.m. (I went to bed at 10:30 p.m.) Mackenzie at 7:30 a.m. (She went to bed at 9:30 p.m.) David at 9:00 a.m! 14 1/2 hours! In the summer! I know my son isn't feeling well.

Breakfast was a Carnation Instant Breakfast shake. Half of it anyways. He went back upstairs while I ran Mackenzie to preschool. I came back to sit down and do some work and didn't hear him. He said he was OK, but not feeling well. I asked him to come downstairs with his book and relax on the couch so I could keep an eye on him while he read. OK.

He was asleep again by 11:00 a.m. His physical was previously scheduled for Tuesday, the day before school started, and his doctor said the same thing, a virus, can't give him anything. Oh, and certain viruses can push a person into Type I Diabetes, so we better schedule a three hour glucose tolerance test, since it runs in the family. Later that night, I got the phone call from St. Luke's, the two day strep came back positive, we're calling in an antibiotic for him. Got two doses in him, otherwise he wouldn't have been able to go to school on the first day.

David dragged himself to school on the 23rd. I didn't want him to go, but he figured since it was a half day, he'd make it. I talked to his teachers later (it's middle school, he has seven or eight different teachers now), some remarked about his color and his lethargy, like he had 'tuned out'. He was ready to call me at 10:00 a.m. to come get him. He wound up not going the next two days. He was just someone we didn't know. Then he was at his dad's for late Thursday, Friday and Saturday.

He came home tonight looking like David again, still moving slow, appetite coming back slowly, but the color had come back to his face. Something's up here. My research is telling me that he's got a moderate case of West Nile, but the doctors don't seem to think so. I realize my Mother's Medical certificate won't hold up against theirs, but that's the feeling I've got.

White Spots

David came home last night after being at his dad's since last Tuesday. It's that whole divorced-parents-sharing-vacation-time thing.

Last week, while on vacation with his dad, they had friends in town and did the whole touristy thing, floating the Boise River, rafting the Payette, they were out in Twin Falls for a day. Apparently, he woke up on Saturday with a sore throat. David and his dad stayed home and the friends took off to do something. He had a fever and chills, his dad gave him Tylenol, etc. He slept too, and complained that the sore throat was getting worse. He came home Sunday night, 5:15 p.m., looking yellowish green to me. I took a flashlight to his throat and found white spots in the back of his throat, I had never seen anything like that before. Asked Keith to confirm what I was seeing and by 5:25 p.m., I was running him to St. Luke's (Dad apparently doesn't have a flashlight), where they checked for all sorts of things, West Nile, Hand, Foot, and Mouth Disease, Scarlet Fever, and he didn't have all of the things he needed to have one of the big viruses. They ran a rapid strep and it came back negative. So after the standard, "It's a virus, can't do anything but ease the pain" speech, we came home.

David has never been so sick in my life. He's sleeping fourteen hours, then wakes up and won't eat or drink a thing, no matter how hard I try, and two hours later he's asleep again.

What are those damn white spots and what are they doing to my kid?

Hindsight

I actually unpacked boxes today!! I unpacked about ten large and small boxes containing food, we had those here at home, and moved into the new pantry. And there is still plenty of room!

I've been planning this kitchen for six years. Dreaming about it for longer than that. Actually working with a hard copy of plans for two and a half years. Now that it's come to pass, I find myself unsure again. Where will I put this? Will that fit there? Is this the best use of this spot? No big deal, right?

I constantly second guess myself, from pantry locations to being a Mom. Is it no wonder I'm making myself crazy? I watch David like a hawk, and when something doesn't go the way it should (by the way, what is that exactly?), I wonder if it's my fault, did the divorce and the subsequent two parent shuffle somehow contribute? (I do that one a lot.) Mackenzie has no fear, always on the go, and when she gets into trouble, a daily occurrence, I worry even more, and then wonder, am I stifling her? And then there's the whole wife thing, Keith is my life. Do I do my best for him, he works so hard for all of us, is there more I could do for my husband?

And that's just the family -- will they eat this for dinner? Should I do laundry today or tomorrow? Do I pay extra on the mortgage or spend on a pair of shoes that will last longer than Payless? Should I volunteer to help with this class project or the school project? Run in the morning or after dinner? Three layers of clothes for the run or only two? Maybe an evergreen in the back corner to replace the hydrangea bush? Faster going down Fairview Ave. or taking the freeway to downtown? Which picture on the wall? What theme for Halloween? Which flight for Thanksgiving?

(Hear it now: cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo)

After the implosion, it gets better. That's when I evaluate my decisions and give myself a grade: choosing Fairview over the freeway, B+. Lasagna for dinner, A- (had I not forgotten the rolls, A+). Good wife, F. Good Mom, F.

Yep, that's usually the way it goes.

To be fair, I think if I thought I was always right, always doing good, I'd miss something basking in my impressiveness. There's always room for improvement, right?

So the baking items in my pantry got moved four times before I was happy with where they were. Canned fruit was good from the get go. Sauces and marinades got moved once, because I had to adjust the height of the shelf above them. And the alcohol? Right where I could get to it!

Updated kitchen blog

For those keeping track, the kitchen blog has been updated. The quartz countertop went in today, quartz backsplash in on Tuesday. Some electrical finished, a bit more has to be done. Faucets in; prep sink working, main sink in, but not working. A busy day!

Go see! Go see!

Saturday Morning, Day 12

You know, I actually got up this morning and thought to myself "Thank God, I only have a six mile run."

Coming from someone as unathletic as I, this is a huge thing for me.

I changed my intervals today. My walk interval is now 5:30, and my run interval is now 1:30. This morning I had a few times where I ignored the beep when it came time to run, and yet I still finished just under my 15:00 pace. It was already 76 degrees at 7:30 a.m. this morning, but only 81 degrees when I finished at 9:00 a.m. Not nearly as warm as last week, but strangely enough I was much better, or my body was more prepared. My calf didn't even bother me after the run. It's been bugging me for what, three weeks now, after each long run, and nothing today. This has got to be getting easier. I'm hoping that working it this hard in the heat, I'm something close to awesome when the weather starts turning cooler in the fall.

Mackenzie is still sick, better but still fighting the throat. She was grumpy and made herself throw up once, but she was trying her best to get to that birthday party today. We did wind up taking her, and she had a good time, but we could tell that she wasn't at 100% Hoping she has a solid night's sleep tonight.

The Half Marathon

Saturday, July 22, 2006. Notable for being THE HOTTEST DAY OF THE YEAR!

Oh my God, it was supposed to be 110 degrees today. It only wound up being 107 degrees, but yes, the hottest day of the year so far. I knew it was coming, the entire week had temperatures of over 100 degrees, lots of warning about water, shade, dehydration, etc., and I was supposed to run 13.1 miles.

Now you've got to understand that it wasn't 107 when I started at 7:00 a.m. It was about 73 degrees. By 9:00 a.m. it was just over 80 degrees. By comparison, when I've been running in the wee hours, it's around 50-60 degrees and I've had a couple of mornings that have been chillier. I don't do well in the heat anyways, it opens me up to things like migraines.

And it wasn't just me. David was signed up for the 5K. He would be starting after I was gone, and he had a different route, and the Mom in me was a bit nervous; add to that the heat and I was concerned. I made him start drinking water religiously early in the week, told him he had to eat lightly but sufficiently, and got him a pack to carry water or Gatorade for the run. Following my own advice, I did the same.

We were all up early this morning. Keith was coming to support us and "catch" David at the end of his run. I decided to carry my cell phone because I wanted at least a ring to let me know that David was OK. Along with the phone I carried a frozen bottle of water, which melted rather quickly, two Access Bars, one for the beginning and one for the middle of the race, some hard candies for instant sugar and some Fig Newtons (I have discovered work quite well for me for energy on the route).

At 15 minute miles, I was figuring approximately 3:30 to complete the race, give or take. All I wanted was to finish on my own two feet and injury free. I was nervous, never having run 13.1 miles. Would the ten I had done two weeks ago be enough?

A rousing speech, a crowd ready to go, some music and a big send off and the race was on. From the beginning I broke a rule. I got caught up in the excitement and instead of starting out walking at my pace, I ran with the crowd for the first mile and a half. Then I started my run/walk intervals. I was tired, the heat hadn't done anything great for me, and I wound up slowly falling behind my pace. By the time I got to the pseudo-halfway point (more on that in a minute), I was done, and not just slow, done. Of course, this was about five and a half miles from the finish, so I needed to get back on my own.

I called Keith, because I knew he was going to be looking for me and I wasn't going to be anywhere near my expected finish time. I didn't want him to worry.

It got hotter. I went slower. UGH!

Finally, I got close to the finish, where Keith and the kids were waiting for me. They walked me in, where I crossed the line at 4:07:34. I finished, on my own two feet and injury free.

Helping me along the way were coaches form Boise RunWalk. On bicycles, along the route, they were looking for anybody in distress and BRW runners to offer encouragement. Coach Steve and Coach Raul were the recipients of evil thoughts courtesy of moi, but they kept me going when it was getting ugly.

And then, come to find out the course was actually 13.6 miles long! I had figured out the miles had been mismarked back around mile five or so, but didn't know how much. Keith said they announced the true course at the award ceremony and where they had miscounted.

And then, to add insult to injury, young David came home sporting a first place trophy in his age division. The story is this: there were only three kids in his age division. David was firmly in second place, the kid ahead of him was ahead by five minutes. However, when this kid got close to the finish, he didn't cross the line. He actually jumped some small bushes about 30 feet from the line to get to his parents who were waiting for him on the grass. Well, leaving the course is an automatic DQ -- he couldn't jump back over, run the 30 feet, and be OK. So, David, five minutes later, ran across the line, got his chip turned in, and won.

Maybe it will inspire him to start walking with me. Maybe it will motivate me to not get run over by my unathletic son!

Same old, same old

My calf is better. There is no pain of any kind. Thank goodness!

David is hanging out with me today. We have started to take inventory of what we need for school. Due to Mom's stockpiling ability of things on sale, it isn't much.

The drywallers are downstairs, we hear them, but David and I are upstairs and haven't had a reason to go downstairs (like they need me looking over their shoulders). I need to go and pickup Mackenzie from preschool in just a bit anyways, I'll peek in then.

Other than that, it's a quiet day of cleaning and organizing. Well, as much as possible, considering we are undergoing major renovations.

Saturday Morning, Day 9

I can not believe I finished ten miles this morning. In decent shape even. I seem to have pulled a muscle in my left leg, however, specifically my calf. The after run stretches the group does didn't seem to get rid of it, so I'll have to watch it for a couple of days.

I often think about how normal people would be in bed at 6:00 a.m. on a Saturday morning. Here I am, in shorts and a T-Shirt, running, OK, run-walking, for ten miles at 6:00 a.m. There are many things I thought I'd never do, and that's one of them.

My brother is considering doing the L.A. Marathon with me. I have a bad knee and heel spurs; he has bad ankles. I told him he should join a group in OC like Boise RunWalk. His problem is that he works on Saturday mornings when most running groups get together. I found him two groups that meet Sunday mornings, one in Long Beach and one in Huntington Beach, both about 25 minutes from the house. He groaned, "But Sunday is the only day I get to sleep in! I need my eight hours!"

(Excuse me while I get sick...)

This is the same person who, when he has to be at work at 9:00 a.m., can stay up until 2:00 a.m. playing on the computer.

Well, I'm trying to get there. I feel good about my ten miles. But it's a big jump from ten to thirteen point one.

Saturday Morning, Day 7

Nine miles.

I have never even come close to anything resembling nine miles. But I finished nine miles today, in better shape than I thought I would, tired and sore to be sure, but still moving well at the end of it all. And definitely better than the girl who fell apart last week. Still slightly off my fifteen minute pace, but it's getting back to where I was before vacation.

On July 22, my schedule says I'm supposed to be doing 13.1 miles. That's a half marathon! It's the day of the Fit for Life Half Marathon here in Boise, and while an option for everyone in the group, there are many who are signing up to officially take part in the race. I've been on the fence about it, but I've decided to go ahead and do it. I have a bit before I need to sign up, but I'm thinking it will be good to get a race under my belt so I can see what the experience is like. Watch out for that old dog, she's learning!

Saturday Morning, Day 6

(Note: Since I've been gone for the last two Saturdays on vacation, this is my 6th Saturday BRW long run morning, but it should be my 8th. So, I'm just going to keep on counting my Saturdays in a row.)

I've already mentioned that our house in Cabo was on top of a hill. While on vacation, I didn't do any long runs. We did a lot of walking everywhere, and swimming. On three days, I got up early, ran/walked down the hill, ran/walked on the beach, and then walked back up the hill. I spent an hour each of those days attempting to keep some workout in my schedule. It wasn't a seven mile run, but I was still doing something. I hoped that I wouldn't be wrong.

Last night we went out to dinner, Fujiyama's, a favorite Japanese restaurant. Something didn't sit well and decided not to stay in my stomach. Concerned that I would be dehydrated for this morning's run, I drank 30 oz. of water before bedtime. I didn't eat anything though.

I was up this morning at 6:00 a.m., got dressed, and ran out the door with just my bottle of water. I realized that I wouldn't have a chance to stop by Starbucks for a coffee and a bagel. Oh well, no big deal, I did have a cup of yogurt for afterward.

I started out slow, not having had a long run in two weeks. Took a good mile to get back into the swing of things, but then I felt OK. I wasn't on my fifteen minute pace, but I expected that, too. Everything was going great. And then suddenly, and I mean suddenly, it got ugly. Two and a half miles to go, and my body crashed. I literally felt it downshift and it was an absolutely awful feeling.

I gave up the run in run/walk, and continued moving forward, pumping my arms when I could to help with the forward motion and some consistent pacing. Then it happened again. My body downshifted again, and I thought I was going to throw up, right there on the Greenbelt. At that point, I wasn't going to try for anything other than getting back to the group and my car, still just under two miles away. We had had to take a deviation on the way out, due to the high stage of the river, and since the coaches didn't want anyone to try and cross a five lane one way road, we were crossing at a signal light down a way from the where the path goes under the road. Screw that! I figured traffic wouldn't be so bad at 8:30 in the morning and I just crossed the road (thank goodness I was right!)) instead. But I still had a mile to go.

Slowly, painfully, I walked back to the starting point. Last one in. I didn't care, I was just glad to have made it back. It was awful, I have never felt anything like that before. I assumed that was the "Wall" I've heard about, that point where you begin to think you can't complete your marathon; I hear it often happens around mile 20.

I got my yogurt, did my stretches with the group, and sat down to slowly eat my yogurt and listen to the seminar. Today's topic -- Strategic Hydration and Nutrition. How appropriate!

Falling into chaos

We got back from vacation yesterday and had a fabulous time. I'll share the highlights in another post later this week.

This morning, the kitchen began its transformation into a larger usuable working kitchen. They gutted the whole thing. I am exhausted from the events of today, and I didn't pick up a sledgehammer. Why am I so tired?

I'll post more later this week.

And the F became...

...a B-. I know I owe an explanation for the teaser from April 29, I just never got around to writing it, until now.

I am blessed with two intelligent kids. This isn't motherly pride, both David and Mackenzie have been blessed with some amazing talents. However, maybe to offset those talents, there are some less than wonderful abilities that they also have.

David doesn't move at more than one mph. He expends no extra energy or effort, no more than necessary. A fifteen minute chore can easily become a two hour ordeal, complete with bathroom breaks and liquid refreshments to sustain him. Motivating him proves to be difficult because I haven't found the thing to get his butt in gear -- I've tried removing the video game systems, the computer, TV time, playing with friends in the neighborhood, grounding him altogether, cleaning his room when he's at his dad's and not giving him his stuff back (it goes up on eBay, so I can't give it back), and on and on. He's not malicious or sneaky, he just doesn't really care. And since he's only here half the time, I know I can cave although I try not to.

He reads at 9th grade level. He has great retention and understanding. He reads 45-60 minutes every night. Every night. But he chose not to write down what he's been reading in his reading log. So, in four weeks of the last quarter of the school year, he was sporting a 32% in reading.

Now while I don't expect straight A's, I do expect an effort. I laid down the law. After verifying that it was possible, I told him I expected nothing less than an A on his report card. Anything less would result in the loss of Y Summer Camp and the two sports day camps we had talked about for this summer. And I didn't want daily updates and I told him I wasn't going to check in with his teacher either. His responsibility, not mine.

I asked his dad to meet me when school was dismissed so we could both see the report card and resulting reading grade. That way, we could get it all out of the way at the same time. When David came around the corner, I could tell that he hadn't opened the report card.

He had brought just about everything home earlier in the week. He was carrying one folder, a pencil bag and his yearbook. Out of the folder, he produced his report card and handed it to me. The reading grade was toward the top of the page, neon lights couldn't have it made it jump out at me more than it already did: B-.

David seemed genuinely confused. He said he knew the grade wasn't an A, but he was expecting a B+.

My head went into Mom processing mode -- no summer camp, no basketball or lacrosse camp. Overall, it was a great report card, all A's and B's. And while I felt bad for him, I knew what I had said and I had to stick to it, otherwise, my words would have zero effect on him, even less than they do now.

And then, he stuck a wrench into it all.

David begins to hand me his yearbook, and as I reach for it, he hands it to his dad instead. Then he says, " Hey Mom, I've got something else to show you." It looked like a certificate, which had me confused since the awards ceremony was earlier in the week. He had received a couple of awards, for band and choir, and recognition for being on the 5th Grade basketball team. But academic achievements were only recognized in the middle school at the ceremony. Not in the 5th grade.

I read aloud, "Presented to David Ybarra, for overall academic achievement in the 2005-2006 school year, this recognition of his standing on the High Honor Roll, made this day, June 2, 2006."

Still in Mom processing mode, my head begins to ache -- not just Honor Roll, High Honor Roll, above a 3.5 GPA, he managed to achieve that with all the extracurricular stuff, band, choir, Cub Scouts, basketball, lacrosse, oh sure, he's only in fifth grade, it can't count that much, right?, after all, he's not trying to get into Harvard in two years, I need him to see that this is a big deal, that not just the school is recognizing him for his work, but I think it's a big deal, too, but how big do I go?, do I rule it enough to overrule my earlier edict? -- oh my head.

Larry pulled me aside and asked if I was going to make my original request stick. I told him I was going to have to think abou it. His scheduled summer camp is still over a month away; I told him I would think about it while we were on vacation and I would let him know when we get back.

David doesn't know I'm rethinking my original decision. I'll have a week to kick it around while I'm on the beach!

Cabo San Lucas, Here We Come!!

We leave tomorrow bright and early! I wasn't terribly excited about our trip, but now that it's here, I can't wait. It's going to be an early day tomorrow, so it's an early post tonight. I'll post again when we get back (June 11), but that will probably be brief as the kitchen gets gutted the day after we get back. Spent today packing for both the trip and the remodel, boarding pets, and getting things ready.

It's going to be a wonderful trip, I know. I'll share when I get back!

The End of May Leads Into a New Beginning

The school year is winding up fast. Today was pretty much the last day for David. He brought home his backpack filled with most of his school stuff. Tomorrow he has his class picnic. Friday he'll have Mass and then be done about 10:00 a.m.

So the end of May is the end of school. While I usually look forward to the end of school (so I can catch my breath), I'm a little sad right now thinking about it. The next time school starts, David will be a sixth grader. Middle school! A new uniform designating his new level. And Mackenzie will no longer be in preschool, she will start Kindergarten. She's had her uniform for a couple of months and plays dress up. And while she'll still be away only half the day, it will be every day from now on (she's only been going four days to preschool). My kids are getting older. And while I am at school almost every day, they are learning new things I can't teach them and meeting new people I don't know. It's the beginning of them moving on.

(Mom sitting in corner sobbing)

Packing boxes

We spent the better part of the weekend packing up the office and kitchen for the impending remodel. Two small rooms sure can accumulate a lot. I tossed out so much stuff and there was still so many boxes; thank goodness Keith decided to rent a storage unit to house most of our stuff for two months.

Ever see the episode of "I Love Lucy" where the Ricardos are getting ready to move out to their house in the country? They have a two or three day delay between the time they need to be out of their apartment and the day they can actually take posession of their house. The Mertzes let them move in to their apartment for three days, along with their boxes of stuff. Four adults and little Ricky, in small tenement apartment, with boxes piled floor to ceiling, save a small walkway from the kitchen to the front door and a small sitting area. And of course, they're all trying to use the walkway at the same time.

I have to admit I was feeling like the Mertzes. Between all the cabinets wrapped in heavy kraft paper out in the garage, and all the boxes we were moving out of the kitchen and office, it seemed like we had no room for any of us. Goodwill will definitely be hearing from us!

Give me a beach!

The next couple of weeks are going to be really busy for the family. Not only do we have the last two weeks of school (last day -- June 2) and the last school events of the year (of which I will need to be available for some of them, it's the whole HSA thing), Mackenzie has a spring concert at her school tomorrow, and she will still have gymnastics and swimming, David is trying to salvage that 32% or he can kiss summer camp goodbye (stay tuned to June 2nd) while keeping the rest of his grades up, we need to pack for our upcoming vacation and we have to completely empty out our kitchen and office due to the impending major kitchen remodel BEFORE we leave on vacation June 3rd because we get back June 11th and they will begin to gut the kitchen June 12th.

(Deep breathing begins now)

Check out the Cabo San Lucas BeachCam here http://www.allaboutcabo.com/

Saturday Morning, Day 4

Last night we had one heck of a thunderstorm. Things were flying in the patio, the rain was belting the house, the lightning lit up the entire city.

It rained most of the night. My run (OK, it's a walk, but it's easier to say run) was scheduled for 7:04 a.m., which meant I needed to be up at 6:00 a.m. Keith asked if I was going to run in the rain. I said if others were, then I would, too. But I wouldn't know until I got to the park.

Well, it was about the half the crowd I expected. But they were ready to run. And it had stopped raining, still cool, but no rain, so there was no reason not to go.

The Boise Greenbelt was a mess, especially the first stretch from Shoreline Park down to 9th Street. Lots of downed branches, some really big ones, and some minor flooding. I decided to walk the entire six miles today, not a casual stroll, but my goal was to keep a consistent pace. Walking the entire way gave me a 15:20 pace per mile. Not bad, considering that I didn't feel tired after it was over, and some of the pains weren't nearly as bad as when I was trying to run half.

After the run, the seminar was on Jeff Galloway's Run/Walk method of training and running marathons. The simplest way to describe this method is this: By incorporating a "walk break" into your run, you give your running muscles a chance to catch their breath, and in turn, the running muscles last longer, allowing you to complete the race. For me, I'd start with a "run break". But it has to be done over time, so that you can figure out what your personal optimal run/walk times are; for example, the coach who discussed this with us said her best time is a 7-1 pace, seven minutes of running and one of walking. She has a watch that has interval timing on it, she sets the alarm to go off in seven minutes, then again in another one minute, then again in another seven minutes, and then another one minute, and so on. No keeping track of miles in your head, just listen for the beep.

I will recommend Jeff Galloway's book Marathon, it explains the run/walk method in greater detail, and gives training schedules based on what you're trying to achieve.

Imminent Chaos

I have an organizer. I can't go anywhere or commit to anything without it. Because if I do, I schedule twenty three things for myself, all within the same thirty minute period.

Next week isn't such a bad week. Now, the last week before school gets out, which is the week after next, that's going to be a bad week. That is the last week we're here before vacation, the last week of school -- that means end of year picnics, exams, etc. -- the last week to pack up my kitchen and office before the impending demolition of said rooms the day after we return from vacation, plus a dentist and orthodontist appointment, I'm not committing to anything else that week, other than that which I have already committed myself to.

Next week was going to be OK. My scheduled haircut, next Wednesday, although I could use it now. Lunch next Monday, after reading at school, with the HSA Board, should be lots of fun. Then we added Mrs. Oliveri's retirement party, next Thursday from 2:30-5:00 p.m. This morning I added a meeting at 1:30 p.m. next Wednesday at school about Community Service, and this was after I added the HSA ice cream giveaway next Wednesday at lunch. Yikes! Oh, and today I told Mackenzie's swim teacher that we could do lessons at 11:30 a.m. next week on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. Now, I've just found out that my new kitchen cabinets will be here either next Wednesday or Thursday. And I have a meeting with our contractor and his subcontractors on Tuesday at 10:00 a.m. David will have his last lacrosse game Tuesday night and Mackenzie has gymnastics Wednesday night.

Have I mentioned that I have to pack two rooms in their entirety and I have about six boxes done? That I'm now scheduled to be in three places at the same time next Wednesday?

If only this running around resulted in easy weight loss!

Happy Mother's Day

A quick post to wish all Mothers everywhere a joyous day.

This came to me via an email from a friend. Even though my kids are still far away from the daughter in this story, the mother's thoughts describe me perfectly, and many of the other great Moms I know.

Being A Mom
We are sitting at lunch one day when my daughter casually mentions that she and her husband are thinking of "starting a family." "We're taking a survey," she says half-joking. "Do you think I should have a baby?"

"It will change your life," I say, carefully keeping my tone neutral. "I know," she says, "no more sleeping in on weekends, no more spontaneous vacations."

But that is not what I meant at all. I look at my daughter, trying to decide what to tell her.

I want her to know what she will never learn in childbirth classes. I want to tell her that the physical wounds of child bearing will heal, but becoming a mother will leave her with an emotional wound so raw that she will forever be vulnerable.

I consider warning her that she will never again read a newspaper without asking, "What if that had been MY child?" That every plane crash, every house fire will haunt her! That when she sees pictures of starving children, she will wonder if anything could be worse than watching your child die.

I look at her carefully manicured nails and stylish suit and think that no matter how sophisticated she is, becoming a mother will reduce her to the primitive level of a bear protecting her cub. That an urgent call of "Mom!" will cause her to drop a soufflé or her best crystal without a moment's hesitation.

I feel that I should warn her that no matter how many years she has invested in her career, she will be professionally derailed by motherhood. She might arrange for childcare, but one day she will be going into an important business meeting and she will think of her baby's sweet smell. She will have to use every ounce of discipline to keep from running home, just to make sure her baby is all right.

I want my daughter to know that every day decisions will no longer be routine. That a five year old boy's desire to go to the men's room rather than the women's at McDonald's will become a major dilemma. That right there, in the midst of clattering trays and screaming children, issues of independence and gender identity will be weighed against the prospect that a child molester may be lurking in that restroom. However decisive she may be at the office, she will second-guess herself constantly as a mother.

Looking at my attractive daughter, I want to assure her that eventually she will shed the pounds of pregnancy, but she will never feel the same about herself. That her life, now so important, will be of less value to her once she has a child. That she would give herself up in a moment to save her offspring, but will also begin to hope for more years, not to accomplish her own dreams, but to watch her child accomplish theirs.

I want her to know that a cesarean scar or shiny stretch marks will become badges of honor.

My daughter's relationship with her husband will change, but not in the way she thinks. I wish she could understand how much more you can love a man who is careful to powder the baby or who never hesitates to play with his child. I think she should know that she will fall in love with him again for reasons she would now find very unromantic.

I wish my daughter could sense the bond she will feel with women throughout history who have tried to stop war, prejudice and drunk driving.

I want to describe to my daughter the exhilaration of seeing your child learn to ride a bike.

I want to capture for her the belly laugh of a baby who is touching the soft fur of a dog or cat for the first time.

I want her to taste the joy that is so real it actually hurts.

My daughter's quizzical look makes me realize that tears have formed in my eyes. "You'll never regret it," I finally say. Then I reached across the table, squeezed my daughter's hand and offered a silent prayer for her, and for me, and for all the mere mortal women who stumble their way into this most wonderful of callings.

Saturday Morning, Day 3

David and I went to Shoreline Park this morning. We were there by 7:07 a.m. He was thrilled.

Not a big crowd. Today was the first day where we broke off into our color groups. We are the slow ones, so we start first, because the fast ones will catch up and pass us if we let them. The goal was to have all groups finish by 9:00 a.m, then that leads into seminars, coaching advice, etc, and we're out of there by 10:00 a.m.

So our start time was 7:22 a.m. Off we went, and this time, David didn't humor me. Within five minutes he was gone, and out ahead of me somewhere; with the bends in the Greenbelt's path, there were times I couldn't see him. Then the Mom mind goes into overdrive:
He wasn't with me last week, maybe he didn't understand the directions I gave him for the two forks in the road. What if he goes off the wrong way, and I'm so far behind I don't see him when he veers off, so I don't know that he's lost/missing/presumed dead until it's too late? What if starts talking to someone who he thinks is in the group, but really isn't in the group and just looking for someone to apprehend/maim/kill, but pretending to be in the group so they can accost 11 year olds who think they know everything, but like most 11 year olds know nothing? What if he decided to stop to get a good look at the so-close-to-flood-stage Boise River, and got so close he fell in and is now freezing in that river which is made up of rapidly melting snow? Oh wait, there he is.

He finished a full ten minutes ahead of me. So while I'm still at a solid 15:00 per mile, he's more around 13:00. THAT'S WHERE I NEED TO BE! He ran with a couple of the coaches for our time group for awhile, and then hooked up with a guy named Chip (who is in our run group). Both of them said that they were good for each other because they kept motivating the other to give it all they had. Well, that's just great.

Slow week

With Mother's Day coming, it seemed appropriate to talk about my "slow" week.

All Moms have "slow" weeks. Those are the weeks where you actually have time to eat lunch, albeit in your car. These can not be confused with what we call in my family, the Ain't-Got-Time weeks (obscure reference point, it comes from a Bugs Bunny cartoon with Little Red Riding Hood; the Wolf gets behind in his timetable and has to play catch up, he gets to Grandma's house and kicks her out instead of eating her. Whe she asks him, "Hey Wolf, aren't you going to eat me?", he answers her while packing her suitcase "Ain't got time, Grandma, ain't got time!" and then throws her out of her house with the suitcase behind her. I know, more information than you needed to know -- we're BIG Looney Tunes fans in this house! That reminds me of a Seinfeld episode...)

This week has been a slow week. No meetings of any kind, any where. One child extra-curricular event -- lacrosse -- and the one practice that went along with that on a different night. One school activity, reading with the 5th graders on Monday morning (I time them with specific readings at their level; they then answer questions to test retention and understanding, and that is followed by a retimed reading to see if they improve.) Now I had David all week because his dad is out of town, so there were more morning and afternoon school runs, but those were just drop offs and pick ups. Mackenzie caught a cold, which turned ugly Tuesday morning. So she had no school from Tuesday on, no swimming lessons, no gymnastics, and since she was feeling bad, especially the first two days, we didn't really go anywhere. It gave me a chance to start packing up some stuff for the impending kitchen major remodel, but sometimes I just hung with my baby and watched cartoons.

The phone didn't ring all that much. The emails have slowed down. The major HSA fundraisers are over, now it's just preparing things for the handoff. Oh, I have meetings next week and will continue to have them into June (the fiscal year is July 1-June 30, so I'm the President until June 30) and there are some chair positions for next year that still need to be filled, but life is some ways is starting to slow down.

My Mom hates it when I call her from the road, which I do quite often, and then have to end my conversations with 'Gotta go, I'm at school-the game-the dentist's office-here to pick Mackenzie up-the pharmacy-the orthodontist's office-the Scout meeting, I'll talk to you later'. This week, both of my long conversations were from home, and without interruptions. You know she called me out on that. "I'm glad to see you're not running around like crazy." I don't know how to do anything else, this works for me.

When I worked full time, I could schedule visits to the dentist, the optometrist, pick up prescriptions, plan birthday parties, get my nails done, have the laundry clean and folded (and put away 80% of the time), and it was just little David (he was 4/5) and me in my little townhouse, but he went to preschool, and had playdates, and made the family loop between me and his dad, and I was OK. The first six months here, I've written about how I was no longer working, David would be with his dad in California, and I couldn't get dinner on the table by five. It drove me crazy, but I couldn't figure out how I was more organized when I was busier. Now I know. The secret is simply this -- once the forward motion starts, it's easier to keep going than having to start from a dead stop. When I stop and sit, I'm done.

That's why I blog often at the end of my day. To sit here in the morning would mean I would get nothing accomplished.

Thank goodness the L.A. Marathon is in the early morning!

Committed

While some might think I have finally gone off the deep end given the title of today's entry, let me assure all that I am still here persuing the 2,879 different tasks I must accomplish before our vacation just under a month away.

The title refers to the fact that just a bit ago, I logged on to the L.A. Marathon webpage, found that I could register myself for next year's Marathon, and immediately did so. As of 11:34 a.m., I have financially committed myself (to the tune of $85) to run in the 2007 L.A. Marathon.

Why would I do so? Have I been so impressed with my stellar 15:00 per mile pace over the last two weeks that I know I'm giving the Kenyans and Russians a run for their money? Hardly. It's actually due to something I do almost each and every day.

Ask my kids what my two favorite words in the entire world are and they will answer Sale and Clearance. I know where all the clearance end caps are at Target. I get positively giddy if I can find an item at a ridiculous price and then match a high value coupon with it. I will leave an item if I feel the price is extreme. While our families' financial position is in good shape (something I am grateful for each and every day), I will not spend one penny more than I have to on anything; why should I? I'd rather take that money and put it in the kids' college funds, blow it on a supreme vacation we'll always remember, use it to have a dinner date with Keith, anything other than give it to manufacturers who are convinced we can't live without their stuff. But I digress.

Paying for the Marathon now feeds into the I-hate-to-waste-money syndrome I have. Imagine what I could do with $85! Not to mention the fess associated with BRW (a value at $120, in my opinion!), some appropriate running attire and proper shoes. I've blown a fortune into the psychotic idea that I can finish a marathon at 40. That alone is enough for me to keep going and something to remember on the days I don't want to go to the gym and don't want to get out of bed at 5:15 a.m. on a Saturday morning.

So I'll be there, March 4, 2007, somewhere on 5th and Figueroa around 8:00 a.m. I'm calling it the start of the largest 40th birthday party in the history of me -- 25,000+ people will be there with me.

Saturday Morning, Day 2

No David today, he's at his dad's this weekend. So I went to Shoreline Park by myself, hoping to do four miles today as per the schedule.

This week was pretty similar to last week. Introduction of coaches, talk about the path for today, some how-to, a lot of reminders about being injury free and not worrying about speed, and then we were off. Left exactly at 9:00 a.m. Did four miles, mostly walking but some running, and I was back at exactly 10:00 a.m. So after two weeks, I'm averaging a solid 15:00 minute mile pace. That's no good. The L.A. Marathon webpage says that streets along the route reopen at the 13:00 minute mile mark; if it takes you longer than that, you are to be prepared to use the sidewalks and follow the traffic laws (meaning you will have to stop at red lights) to finish the marathon. See link here: http://www.lamarathon.com/streetclosures.php

Now, I know it's only my second week, and the second orientation week at that. And while I'm not expecting to finish first, second, or 2,847th, I do want only to finish the marathon and finish it without having to stop at red lights the last ten miles. Thirteen minute miles or less, therefore are now my goal.

There are five color groups at BRW, each one a different pace group. I didn't expect to be in the slowest group (Purple 18:30 and greater per mile), but I'm bringing up the rear in the second to slowest group (Blue 13:00 to 15:45 per mile). I don't know why there is no 15:45 to 18:30 group, that will be a question I have to ask next week if I remember. I'm going to work toward getting in the next pace group (Red 10:30 to 13:00 per mile). We won't even mention the other two, I'm not looking to get into those groups this year. If I continue with this for an extended period of time, then of course, there would be goals of improving my time, but we're going to take baby steps for now.

Next week begins the individual pace group runs. The slowest group starts first with the fastest group last, trying to get everyone done by the same time. They are going to combine the Purple and Blue groups for the next couple of weeks to see where most of those runners are; most people in those color groups are new to BRW and they want to make sure they are where they are supposed to be. An early 7:22 start time for me next week, and we're supposed to be there fifteen minutes before the run. Won't David (with me next week) be excited when he hears we have to be at Shoreline Park at 7:07 a.m.?

Culture shock

Warning: There are no rants about immigration policies in the US and Mexico in the story below. I am saving myself for the day I can talk about it calmly.

Today is Cinco de Mayo, the American celebration of Mexico's Independence Day.

(That is what most people in the United States believe it is. I'll see you in September.)

I truly believe most people celebrate Cinco de Mayo because they can say it. Sin-ko de May-o. That's much easier than Dee-es-see-say-s de Se-pt-ee-yem-bray (16th of September, the actual Mexican Independence Day).

Now, as a United States citizen (easy Lorena, no rants) of full Mexican heritage and background, I know what Cinco de Mayo is and have partied with friends when that was an important thing to do. That is very easy to do when you live in Southern California. While not so hard to do in Idaho, my heritage isn't in my face here like it is in SoCal. I miss that. But most of all, I feel I'm doing a disservice to my kids.

I grew up knowing my great-grandmother well, her 14 kids, their assorted families and so on down the line. That was just one branch! My generation and my Mom's spoke both English and Spanish; past her, it was hit and miss, my grandfather spoke great English, my grandmother's was understandable to most but very heavily accented. Both languages were spoken freely, the food was common -- arroz, frijoles, tortillas, queso blanco, patas de puerco en chile -- the mariachi music was intermixed with English standards and Top 40, men wore t-shirts or guayaberas, the older women would talk of tejidos, and I lived both cultures at the same time.

David had my grandmother to watch him for the first three years of his life. He spoke Spanish, danced to banda music and asked for caldito or sopita, at lunch time.

In Idaho, away from the extended family and the frequent family gatherings, David has lost the heritage he had. Mackenzie has never known it. And it's not because I don't cook Mexican food, listen to music or watch TV in Spanish, have no Mexican items around the house, or don't speak Spanish at home. It's because I, as a mother and as a person of Mexican descent, have failed to instill in them that heritage.

Today, Mackenzie had a Cinco de Mayo party at school. She wore a dress my Mom had purchased for her and a red embroidered vest that had mine as a child. She proudly told everyone that she was half-Mexican, and I cringed every time I heard her say it. Not because she is half-Mexican (Keith has a few different heritages in his family, but none of them is Mexican) but because she seemed so gringa. There's absolutely no accent in the few Spanish words she knows, mostly food related, but some numbers and colors as well. (Thank you Dora the Explorer.) Her coloring, like mine, offers no hint at the Hispanic background she has. David likes some of my Mexican music and tries to learn the words; she has no desire to even listen to it (UGH!)

I'm hoping that our trip to Mexico this summer changes some of that for her. Both of them will be in Spanish camp for two weeks this summer, learning the language. I can add more music, more culture to our lives, but in between school, sports, friends, homework, pets, church, chores, and extremely few chances to practice what they've learned (David's dad doesn't speak Spanish either), I'm afraid it will all be for naught. I can't believe I'm having such a hard time passing on what is a big part of me to my kids. Have I lost something more than I thought?

Chickens, cowards, and being yellow

We recently had a fundraiser at school, the Spring Concert. It was our third year having it. Most people love the concert and the kids enjoy performing for their parents.

The first one was at the Idaho Shakespeare Festival Amphitheatre. It's a beautiful outdoor venue, people take picnic dinners when they go to see a show or you can purchase box dinners, as well as wine and beer, at the restaurant there. May can still be in the tricky weather department, and it was for us that year. Dress rehearsal the day of the event was done in the rain, we had tarps on the risers, but somehow, at 5:00 p.m., the skies parted and it was a lovely, lovely evening. We paid a modest fee for use of the facility (somewhere between 50 cents and a dollar) and made almost $10K that night.

The next year the modest fee was going up (way up!), so we moved the concert to the Bishop Kelly HS gym. Inside, there were no rain worries on the stage, and we took over the food concessions using the BKHS cafeteria, located conveniently next to the gym. Serving mostly desserts, with wine and beer for the adults, and some small foodstuffs, it was still a wonderful evening.

This year, I volunteered to help with the tables, seven premiere tables, best seats in the house type of thing, that we sell to the highest bidders (it is a fundraiser). It has been one of my favorite events since it started (I've been on the committee since the beginning), but I was feeling a bit strapped, so I decided to help on something I knew I wouldn't need to answer for until the day of the event. Until we discovered our chair, (insert long story here) had done nothing with two weeks to go before the event. YIKES! Another Mom and I split the duties and took over. We got everything in line, and then the first email arrived.

Signed by "Candace Bell" from a mystery yahoo.com address, it was an ugly email. Sent to the principal, with a long drawn out story about their concern for the serving of alcohol at a school event where children were going to be, she threatened both to bring the local chapter of MADD down to the school and also to write an editorial for the newspaper regarding our "fundraising tactics". She didn't want to threaten the principal, but felt strongly about this.

Now, unless you get the idea that I am less than a concerned parent where alcohol is involved, let me state a few things. Since the first concert at ISFA, the alcohol situation has been discussed and debated among the parents who were on the planning committee. Each year, every aspect of that concert has been discussed by a group of parents willing to commit a little time to the organization, planning and execution of the show. It was felt that the alcohol, with appropriate measures taken, would not be a deterrent to the show. Besides that fact, many parents felt that parents make these choices on a daily basis with their families. A concert, a sporting event, a dinner out, parents have to reconcile their choices with their family. Every parent I know at the school, and I know most of them, is a responsible adult capable of making good decisions. None of them are coming to a school function looking to get plastered.

Needless to say, I was upset, bordering on livid. Not because of the alcohol. I could care less. I seldom drink in front of my kids, that's my personal choice. However, the fact that someone who hadn't been to any of the advertised Spring Concert meetings thought they could circumvent the planning process, impose their own ideas or agenda on a group of parents who worked hard to have a successful event, and get away with it was too much for me. Let's face facts here. Someone who resorts to deception to get their way (more on that in a minute) isn't worth the time of day in my book. Caution, yes, for the sake of the school, but I don't tend to cower to threats and intimidation, just not in my nature.

Candace Bell. Name did not sound familiar to me, and as HSA President, I'm familiar with all of them. I went down my master list of families. No family with the last name of Bell. No mom with the first name of Candace. Odd. Double checked. Nothing. Weird. I went down to school (almost time for pick up anyways) and found the secretary going through the emergency card box and registration forms (where mother's maiden name is listed). OMG! Did she not have better things to do with her time than figure out mystery people sending threatening emails to school? A talk with those who knew what was going on, and among all of us, we decided to proceed as planned. Six days before the concert and we were still on track with all agreed plans and commitments.

Then the next problem, now 36 hours before the show. The President of BK called the school and was extremely upset about the alcohol. He said he didn't know anything about the alcohol being served and that it wasn't allowed. Never mind that we had (been allowed the previous year) served it before. I don't know the President of BK, but I have heard of him and his reputation as a tough but firm kind of guy. He wasn't someone I wanted to cross paths with, what with my 5th grader three years away from attending his school, but mostly because of the relationship St. Joe's enjoys with BK. On a variety of different levels, from academically to the arts to sports, there is a camaraderie enjoyed by both schools that I would not want to jeopardize. He told the Mom parent on our committee that he ran into, that he understood that with 36 hours before the show, it might not be possible for us to get out of our contract with the restaurant handling the food and alcohol, but in the future... That's where the Mom on the committee stopped him and told him we would cancel the alcohol. For reasons similar to what I wrote above. (See, many parents thinking the same way.)

It was what absolutely had to be done. No question. But I knew, that somewhere on yahoo.com, someone was going to think they had bullied us into surrendering, and that was not the case. Sure enough, a few days after the show, another mystery email appeared. And if you can believe this, while extremely brief, it made me even more upset than the first email.

Paraphrasing here: From the 11 St. Joe's Mom's who make up "Candace Bell", thank you for not serving alcohol at the Spring Concert.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!Huh?

Over the last two years, as HSA President, it has been a priority for me to inform parents about decisions we (the HSA) make and how they can help, how it affects them, etc. I am always giving out my email address and phone number, so they can contact me with questions. One of the things I like about our principal is her willingness to meet and discuss just about anything with parents (there are, of course, some things she can not). And now I've been told, that not just one, but 11 parents feel they could not come to me, the principal, the music teacher, or any other staff member to discuss their concerns about the alcohol at the concert, and resorted to threats to try and achieve their goal. I think I'm more upset that there are 11 parents out there who feel their concerns wouldn't be taken seriously by any of the above mentioned people, that they could not confide in someone at the school rather than choose the very ugly yellow route they chose to employ.

I was on fire. I wanted to hang a banner that said "It wasn't you" from the school rooftop. But the moment passed, and I wasn't going to corner every parent at the school. So I did the only thing I could. At out Town Hall meeting, two weeks after the concert, when it was my turn to address the parents, among my comments were the very simple statements, "If you like what the HSA is doing, please let us know. However, if you don't like what the HSA is doing, then we definitely need to hear from you. Meetings for fundraisers happen sometimes months before the actual event. Or better yet, you can stand up, chair a fundraiser, and make it your own. If we don't hear from you, the parents who are running these events will make them their own, and I would never tell a parent who is giving up their time for the benefit of our children's school, how to run their event unless I could offer some thing concrete directly to them."

Did "Candace Bell" hear me that night? In all actuality, probably not. But those that did, came up and congratulated me on my comments. That wasn't what I was looking for. I wanted parents to understand the work involved in chairing or working a fundraiser, and if you aren't going to help, you don't get to change it to suit what you want it to be.

Do I have moments of being chicken? Sure. They mostly involve credit cards and Keith. (Just kidding). But when it comes to my kids, their friends, their schools, their sports, their parties, their anything, I am involved. I will talk to teachers, parents, friends; I will show up early and stay late; I will sweep the floor, do the shopping, read aloud for 30 minutes, drive on the field trip, know their likes and dislikes, risk being called a host of names from idiot to, well, you get the idea, whatever it takes. Chicken and my kids just don't go together. If I have a concern about something, you can bet I start at the bottom level and work my way up until it gets resolved, at the very least I would do that for my kids -- now that doesn't apply to David getting his own work done, I'm not yelling at the teacher about that 32%, she didn't pick a number , David earned it and the repercussions therein. But not stand up for my kids? Not show them that something is going on that I don't like and have them watch me try and resolve the situation? Have them watch me be chicken? So they can learn that from me? I don't think so.

Always wondered why yellow wasn't high on my list of favorite colors.

May!

The last month of the school year! The last month of HSA stuff! It hasn't been hard to be HSA President, either year. But I'm tired and on the edge of being burned out, and I don't want to do that. This will be the last week of big stuff to do, and then it's mostly getting things in place for next year. Today was our Volunteer Tea, after all school Mass (my last EM slot for the school year), there was a breakfast served in the library by the teachers for all the parents. It was very nice, good food, and a chance to catch up with some parents I know, but don't get to see all that often.

Went home to change and was trying to get out for a walk as required by my BRW training schedule, and lo and behold, three days into it and I've already screwed up, it should have been yesterday not today. OK, and more things got in the way, including the start of the possible migraine associated with this week of the month, and I never made it. Great! Can't run a marathon if I don't move!

Before we go too far...

...there are some things I should mention.

This morning when I stepped on the scale, it said 194. (Let's hope that number goes down).

I had a banana and a piece of cheese before we got to the park.

Part of me thinks I'm not going to make it. (A really big part of me).

Part of me thinks I'm a fool for trying. (Maybe I should wait until I'm in better shape, say at the turn of the century?)

Part of me says I'm setting the bar too high. (Ask David, he knows all about Mom setting the bar).

Part of me says "SHUT UP ALREADY and RUN!"

Saturday Morning, Day 1

So this morning, instead of sleeping in my nice warm bed, I found myself, with my reading grade deficient 11 year old (progress reports came home yesterday -- 32%!! In reading!! He reads at 9th grade level!! But he forgot to write down in his log what he was reading, more than a few times. But this is a story for another day...) at Shoreline Park, off the Boise River, in downtown. David and I, and oh, about two hundred other folks, all in assorted running gear. The first day of training. Marathon training.

Boise Run Walk is an organization that promotes running as fitness. They say if you follow their training schedule, they can take a couch potato and turn them into a marathon finisher in 28 weeks. Notice I didn't say 4 minute miler. I said marathon finisher. I met more than one this morning. People who said they didn't exercise, didn't run, never done anything like this, and had completed one or two marathons, half-marathons, assorted 5K and 10K races, and the just completed Robie Creek half-marathon, here in Boise, recognized as one of the hardest half- marathons in the country. And they enjoyed themselves so much, they came back to do it again.

Over a dozen coaches, with different abilities, from the under 9 minute runners, to the walkers, there was a pace for everyone who showed up this morning. They covered what we needed to know, went over the training schedule, handed out some tips, and had a lot of laughs. It actually seemed like it might be fun. Even my surly 11 year old laughed at the jokes and said "Mom, this might be OK!" High praise indeed.

Then we took off. A three mile run today, to find your pace group. Lots of calls of "Go slow! Go slow!" It was an endurance run, not a speed run. I was ready! I have been walking for a couple of months, about three miles each time, with short runs mixed in with the walking. I felt good about being in the upper 3/5 of the group. Until my overweight 11 year old started getting farther and farther ahead of me. At first, he was just ahead of me, then a little more. He kept turning around to look at me over his shoulder. And using words I thought I wouldn't find myself saying for many a year yet, I told him, "Don't let me slow you down. Go on and find your own pace." Then he was gone. We were safely in the middle of the pack. I had no fear he was going to get lost, everyone had already associated him with me, and they'd give me updates as we passed each other.

He finished a full two minutes ahead of me, and under 45 minutes. I, on the other hand, came in just over 45 minutes. Did I mention he ran 3 miles on Friday, too? At his school's Fun Run. So, I was feeling pretty bad, with more determinaton to finish out my psychotic idea.

I signed myself up. Me and BRW for the next 28 weeks.

L.A. Marathon here I come...

OK, so posting to the blog has been less than regular.

Now there is another reason why posts will become more regular -- I need to track my progress on my newest (and some say most psychotic) adventure yet.

Growing up in Southern California, there were certain things I knew always happened at the same time, even though the rest of the country might or might not be aware of them. The last week of December, it just wasn't the 6:00 p.m. news unless they showed panic on the faces of float builders stuck in warehouses in Pasadena trying to get floats finished in time for the Rose parade come January 1st. (Not enough builders! Wrong seeds! Too cold! Rain! I missed those reports when I moved to Boise.) The Twilight Zone Marathon always happened on the Friday after Thanksgiving. You just knew that after serving turkey on Thursday, you were gonna see "To Serve Man" on Friday. No school and a full day of Rod Serling, I knew them by heart by the time I was 10. And speaking of marathons, the L.A. Marathon was always on the first Sunday of March (it wasn't this year, and I don't know why), so every few years or so, it landed on my birthday. I'd watch them for a bit, think about psychotic it must be to run through downtown L.A. at 8:00 a.m. on a Sunday morning, and move on with my life.

Now I'm 39, with two young kids, and not in the best physical shape I could be in, although I guess I could be far worse. Mackenzie is just five. I'm going to have to be around for awhile if I'm even thinking about sticking around long enough to be able to laugh at her when she stresses out about her kids!

Then the stars and moon aligned. In what I consider a sign, next year the L.A. Marathon falls on my birthday. My 40th birthday.