FIRE!

We spent a beautiful day in Monterey on Monday and Tuesday. We drove home Tuesday afternoon, and stopped for about an hour in Santa Barbara, which was also gorgeous.

We got home at about 8:30 p.m. This is the view from the exit ramp, about half a mile from our house.



We could see that view (much worse in person) from the top of our street. From our bedroom window, we could see the San Diego fires.

This is the view that greeted me this morning in our back yard.



David took these from across the street a little while later from across the street. He also has video of the helicopters sucking water out of the reservoir down the street to spray on the fires.




Sawyer's preschool was cancelled today because of smoke. It's only 4 p.m. here and it looks like dusk. The dogs came back inside with ash all over their fur. Breathing the air is like sticking your head into an ashtray and inhaling.

We are safe from the fires at the moment. But it is truly horrendous and I am furious at the morons who started the fires closest to us.

I'm a marathoner!

Okay party people, I'm back. I was too tired and too freaked out by all the flames visible from the front and back of my house to post last night (our house is safe, but the smoke is thick and it's pretty bad out here).

For those of you who just want the Reader's Digest version, it is this: I was injured, so I had to walk a lot of it, but I finished.

Now, for the rest of you who want to every last excrutiating detail...fasten your seatbelts! And get a drink and something to eat, too. This is going to take awhile.

THE WEEKEND

I flew up Friday with a lot of TNT people, including my friend and training partner, Maria, and her mom. The person I sat next to I will refer to as Grumpy Woman. I had the aisle seat. She came down to my row and said she was in the middle. I joked "how lucky" and she said, poker-faced, "Not really."

Then, later, a lot of people were cheering, and I asked her if she was with TNT.

"Yes."

Ooookay then. How can someone be THAT grumpy when leaving for San Francisco to do a charity event? I saw her at different times throughout the weekend (apparently, it WOULD kill her to smile). Poor girl!

After arriving at our hotel, Maria and I picked up our marathon bibs at the Expo and then did a little shopping at NikeTown.

Later, I was treated to dinner by my friend Melissa. We had a fabulous time and needed about 10 more hours to finish half the conversations we had!

I was really looking forward to a peaceful night of sleep, with no husband to fight for space in the bed and no kids waking me in the morning. I was asleep before 11. Then I had an unpleasant wakeup call at 5:30 a.m. when my left calf cramped. I was able to fall back to sleep before my right calf cramped at 7. Not a good sign.

So what to do to make me feel better? After grabbing some Starbucks with Maria and her mom, I went over to the Expo and got a free manicure. Then I did some more shopping at NikeTown. The entire outside wall on Stockton Street had the names of everyone who'd registered for the race. It was so cool to see my name up there!




I took a short nap in the afternoon. Then David and the kids arrived. We walked the block or so to the Moscone Center for the Pasta Party. The place is ginormous, which made what happened when we arrived all the more amazing. I don't think any description can do it justice.

We opened the door and there, lining the entire entry, down the escalator and on the main floor near the banquet room, were hundreds of TNT mentors and coaches. And they all were cheering and banging noisemakers. It was, in a word, overwhelming. Because they were all cheering for me. ME! And, of course, all the TNT participants there that evening.

Mentors from our chapter later told me the expression on my face was priceless. I was so overcome it was all I could do not to burst into tears. The noise was like what a rock star (or Oprah!) must feel like every time they take the stage.

We were so stunned we didn't take any video or pictures, unfortunately...

The kids didn't want to eat anything and got agitated fairly quickly, so David took them back to the room after an hour. I stayed behind to listen to the speakers.

There was John "the Penguin" Bingham, who writes a column for Runners World. He talked all about what a first-time marathoner needs to know. That is where I learned about the Bite Me mile. This is the time, usually in the late miles, where you want to tell anyone who speaks - or even LOOKS at you - to Fuck Off (he didn't actually use those words, but that was the drift). You don't want to hear that you're "doing great," that you're "almost there" or, really, anything at all.

You are in pain. It's all you can do to take one more step. You haven't yet had the next epiphany: the moment you realize you are, in fact, going to cross the finish line.

At that point, you need to take a moment and relish the feeling. Because you're going to be very busy soon thinking about how you want to look when you cross the finish line.

The #1 mistake? Stopping your Garmin as you cross the line! Bingham said he actually ran with a woman who whipped out a lipstick from her shorts so she could look good crossing the line!

The next speaker also had some good advice. And why not? She was the first woman Olympic marathoner. She's the reason so many thousands of women have taken up the challenge of running 26.2 miles. She broke the barrier. She showed the world that women were strong enough to go the distance (for cripe's sake, we have CHILDBIRTH, of COURSE we can do a marathon!).

The final speaker was the most inspirational. Her name is Amy. She raised $5,000 and ran her first marathon with TNT a few years ago.

Then, this spring, she was diagnosed with Stage III cancer. She spoke of her journey. Of the night she and 100 friend packed a local bar for her head-shaving party. Of the chemo. Of the fear. And of the tremendous support she got from TNT and the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society.

She thanked everyone for raising the money - $18.5 MILLION nationwide for this event. Because if not for all the research, she wouldn't be standing there.

"And now, I can say, I'm a survivor," she said, through her tears.

It was an amazing ending to a fabulous night.

RACE DAY

I got the bed all to myself Saturday night as the kids bunked with David. I fell asleep fairly quickly, but woke late with a start, sure I had overslept. It was 11 p.m. I was up a bit off an on, then finally got up at 4:25 a.m., five minutes before my alarm was to go off.

I had set out my clothes and other stuff the night before. So I was dressed and ready to go pretty quickly. I wrote with a purple Sharpie "Better than chemo" on one arm and "Mind over Miles" on the other.

I went down to the lobby at 5:15 and quickly found Maria. I completed my outfit with a TNT tatoo on my cheek.

A half hour later, we were ready to walk to the starting line in Union Square, about three blocks away. Maria and I wore very fashionable garbage bags. It was a little chilly with a little breeze, but you could tell it was going to be a nice day.

Finally, finally, it was time to line up. The gun went off. We didn't move. More than 15 minutes later, we rounded the corner and could see the start line.

THE RACE

I took my first step.

I felt the stitch in my right side.

I knew this was trouble.

This was not a stitch because of breathing. This was something different, something I get at a certain time of the month, if you know what I'm saying. It does not go away with stretching, changing my breathing pattern, or pushing on it. It only goes away when I stop moving, although I am usually sore in the area the next day.

I started running. The views were spectactular. Golden Gate Bridge in particular was amazing. I ran a bit with some of the women who were doing the half. But mostly, I ran alone.

I turned on my iPod. The first song? Beautiful Day, by U2.

Then the hills began. I was under the (MISTAKEN) impression that there would be only a couple hills. WRONG! Mile six was entirely uphill. By then, I decided to walk the hills and save energy. I knew I could make up the pace downhill. However, two things happened. First, my iPod died. Second, I realized the impact of running downhill made the stitch in my side much, much worse.

So now I was kind of doing a walk/run thing. I kept this up for awhile. Then just after mile 12, there was the diversion: those who were running the half went right, those of us doing the full went left.

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't tempted by the thought that it could be over in 15 minutes. But I stayed left and kept moving.

I called David to let him know I was passing 13. He and the kids weren't far, waiting to cheer me on. And then I saw them. Sawyer saw me and raced out onto the course to grab me.



Then as I ran away, they screamed "Go Mommy go!"

MY GUARDIAN ANGEL

By mile 15, I was hurting. I was limping because it felt like something was pinching me between my toes on the ball of my right foot (the one in which I had a cortisone shot). I now had stitches throughout my entire midsection. I could not eat my shot blocks because the thought of it was nauseating.

And that's when Chris came up to me. My friend Torrey told me last week that I would not run the race alone, that I'd find someone along the way. She was right. I was incredibly lucky that that person was Chris. He was a coach from the Southern New Jersey chapter (fitting, as some of you know I was born there).

He asked me how I was doing, and fortunately, I didn't burst into tears. He started walking with me. One of my coaches found us at 16 and told me I could divert (there was another shortcut to the finish line).

There was no way that was happening. I was going to finish all 26.2 miles, even if it took me all day. Chris was right with me. The course now ran along the beach. Chris told me that, since I knew I was not going to finish within my goal time, that I should just enjoy the beautiful day.

He was right. There was bright sunshine, you could smell the salt kicking up from the waves, and there was thousands of women out there kicking butt.

I asked Chris, who it turns out has done FIFTY-TWO marathons, what brought him to TNT. He said he's done events for them, and had been involved with the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society for years. At one event, he met a woman. They started dating, fell in love, and got engaged.

Then she was diagnosed with Leukemia. She died a year later, at age 30.

He is now dating someone else who is training for her first event. I spoke with her on his phone. She sounded great. I was very happy for him.

At mile 18.5, Chris left to go run in some of his marathoners who were starting to finish. I thanked him. He hopped the median to the other side. I continued up the hill and around Lake Merced.

FOR YOU, DAD

This was, by far, the worst part of the race. There wasn't much in the way of scenery, and it was mostly uphill. A couple times someone ran by me, tapped me on the shoulder and said "Go Dad." I was wearing a picture of my father with the words "This one's for you" on the back of my jersey.

My cousin Wendy's name was also printed on the back of all our chapter's jerseys. My neighbor hot glued crystals around her name with an arrow pointing to where I painted it.



RUMPSHAKER AND A FASHION DON'T

As I made my way around the lake, I saw a rather chubby woman walking/running along. The back of her shirt read "Rumpshaker." It was not my most encouraging moment when I realized I would probably be finishing behind Rumpshaker.

I also was not pleased that a woman wearing a green bra - not a sports bra, just a regular bra, judging from the straps, would also be crossing that finish line before me.

HEY! I'M TRYING TO RUN A RACE OVER HERE!

My phone rang off the freakin' hook. Seriously. Mostly it was David, trying to find my location so they could get situated to cheer me on. But I also got calls from friends wondering how it was going and, more frequently, my friends who'd already finished and wanted to run me on.

It was kind of funny to be chatting away. Of course, I wished I was running too hard to answer, or that my music was too loud to hear it, but that wasn't the case.

THE HOME STRETCH

I came upon our walk team coach. She told me chin up, shoulders back, and pump my arms up the hill. She later told me that I was a very good walker. I didn't have much choice at that point!

Finally, I could see the ocean again. I was at mile 24. Waiting not far up ahead was my family. The kids were having a blast running around in the sand. But once they knew I was coming, it was all GO MOMMY GO time!





Then I passed the Mile 25 marker. There, at the water station, were five of my TNT teammates: Maria, who KICKED ASS and ran a 4:15 marathon; my mentor, Cari; another mentor, Alida; and Leticia and Mary. Their job? To run (walk) me in.

I can't tell you what it meant to see these women. They were there just for me, to make sure I crossed that finish line, no matter what.

They all had their Tiffany necklaces already.

TNT people on the sidelines cheered as we went by, our little purple posse.

Then, Chris saw us and joined in, high-fiving me for making it.

Maria says "See the finish line? By those tents? Do you see it?"

I didn't.

Then I did.

It was a huge brown banner with white letters.

FINISH LINE

I started to sprint. My calf tightened for a second, but then it let go. My body realized that I wasn't listening to it anymore.

I ran. And ran. My girls (and Chris!) ran with me.

I crossed the finish line.

I grabbed my little blue box.

I became a marathoner.

Most of the purple posse
Maria and me!

Some post-race stretching
David's so glad it's over

NEXT?

I thought I would bawl once I finished. But it was bittersweet. I felt great that I've raised close to $5,000. I know that I could have given up during the race, but I kept going. It should've been my proudest moment.

Instead, I kept thinking about how let down I was that I trained so long and so hard, only to not be able to run it like I wanted to. I felt like I let everyone down who supported me along the way.

So, of course, I have to run another one.

PARTING THOUGHTS

My bff Laura and I had been playing phone tag all weekend. She finally got through Monday morning, while we were getting ready to leave.

"I'm in the hospital," she said.

"Why? What's wrong?"

"Oh, I have my PET scan. I have one every six months. To make sure the cancer isn't coming back."

We chatted while she choked down the barium.

I guess having to walk instead of run really isn't such a big deal after all.

I'm off

I leave for San Francisco first thing in the morning. I am already a nervous wreck.

Next time I post, I will officially be a marathoner. Sounds crazy, no?

So have a great weekend, all, and I'll post when I return. Thanks to everyone who has supported me on this unbelievable journey - see you on the other side of the finish line!!

Hurts so good

This morning, after dropping Sawyer off at preschool, Sage and I went to see my podiatrist. I was to receive a cortisone shot in my foot. We sat on the chair in the examing room. Sage got a good look at the ginormous needle the doctor was preparing.

"No me!" Sage said eloquently.

We assured her it was not for her, it was for Mommy. There was an audible sigh of relief.

First Dr. A sprayed by foot with some artic air. That's what it felt like. Think of sticking your foot in ice water, and then drop the temperature by about 100 degrees. You might now have some idea of how cold it was.

I did feel the shot, which was slightly uncomfortable but not awful. Unfortunately, she had to keep the needle in for awhile because I had so much inflamation in there that it was tough to get all the fluid in.

Then the cortisone hit the nerve, and my second and third toes went SPROING! Totally straightened and went out to the side. I look like my toes are saying "Nanu Nanu" like Mork. If you thought my toes were freaky before, you should see them now! (again, no pictures, sorry, that's why you have an imagination).

Now it's just tingly. I'm hoping it'll be fully in affect by Sunday. She said I could be completely pain-free, which would be awesome. So while they rest of me is dying during the race, at least my foot will ready to rock 'n roll.

Hmm...now if I could just get one of them shots for my brain...

Mind over Miles

Pour some sugar on meeeee

I would like to give a huge shout-out (isn't that what the kids are saying these days?) and an even bigger CONGRATS to my friends and training partners, Torrey and Cindy. They both ran in their first marathon Sunday and kicked some Long Beach ass! I am so proud of them.

And I was secretly hoping that the post-race report would include sentiments such as "Twenty-six miles? It felt like two!" and "Wall? What wall?" and maybe even "Nowhere near as tough as you think!"

Instead, I received this email from Torrey:

It was VERY hard. VERY. VERY. HARD. I'm your friend so I can't try to sugar coat anything for you. Hard, but great. In a hard way.

Then this voicemail from Cindy:

I have to walk backwards down the stairs and I feel like I've just ridden a horse - for four weeks straight!

Okay then. Is it time to panic? I haven't spoken to either one of them directly yet to get the step-by-step details. But maybe that's a good thing. No sugar-coating? I want to be covered in the sweet stuff like a Krispy Creme Original. Maybe I don't REALLY want to know how awful this is really going to be.

I actually enjoy living in that cozy little world called Denial (perhaps you've visited there yourself once or twice?). The thought of how I might feel at mile 14 or 18 or 21 is somewhere I really don't want to go.

I think Tuesday might be a little early to be psyching myself out. Friday, when I'm in San Francisco and holding my race bib in my hands, maybe then.

Sunday, I have no choice but to cross the starting line. I'll have the words of my friend John, a seven-year survivor, to keep me going when I'm sure that I can't possibly take even one more step. I'm planning to write these words with a sharpie on my arm before the race.

"Better than Chemo."

Small blessings

There is a little boy named Demetrius who is one of our honored teammates. He turned three I think in June. His mother is due in a few weeks with another son. At some point this summer, they had to foreclose on their house and move into a tiny place in a not-so-great area. The father works a lot and is not around much.

Demetrius, who has leukemia, is on such a high dose of chemo that he throws up constantly - and he's going to be going through chemo until December of 2009.

He has a 50-50 chance of making it.

His mother gave away a lot of his baby stuff after he was done with it because she was told she probably couldn't have another child. But here she is. I told her about all the stuff I had left over from the garage sale. I had a high chair, bouncers, bedding sets, breast pumps - tons of things she could use for the new baby.

I also told Sawyer about the sick little boy and how nice it would be if he could pick a toy or two to give him. I gave him a ziplock quart-size bag, and he filled it with carefully selected items from his vast collection of planes and cars. He kept adding more and was really excited about it.

"Mommy! I'm going to give him these toys and he's going to be all better!" Sawyer said.

If only it were that easy. But on some level, I think Sawyer did actually get that he was doing something really important.

Anyway, today we loaded up the car and the kids and headed to their new place. Demetrius was so excited, he literally threw up.

They don't leave the house much because he throws up constantly. He even says he doesn't like to go to bed at night because he knows he's going to be sick.

This is his life. This is the family's life, choosing which bills to delay so they can keep paying their insurance premiums. It is the hugely pregnant mother fighting with the pharmacist to get Zofran for her son's nausea because the generic just doesn't work. It is worry and tears and watching a dark-eyed, shyly smiling child suffer every day.

Team in Training passed a glass jar around at a couple Saturday runs and raised $1,900 to help the family pay to bank the cord blood of their new baby, which they can use for a transplant for Demetrius.

"We're naming him Cristos," the mother said of the their new son. "My husband asked why and I said, you know, like Christ. Because maybe he will save our other baby."

Small blessings.

Who loves you?

Un-Bear-able..

It was still kind of dark when I returned from my ungodly-hour spin class this morning. I had taken a few steps into the house when I saw, under Sawyer's new play garage that for some reason has taken up residence four feet from the front door, a piece of blue fabric.

Bear.

The best gift we ever got for Sawyer arrived at his baby shower. My friend Focker and his wife (duh, Mrs. Focker!) gave us, among some other things, a little blue blanket with a bear attached to it.

We put that bear in Sawyer's crib as soon as he slept in it. Since he never took a pacifier, we wanted to give him some sort of security item.

By the time he could really hold onto things, Bear became his constant companion. He carried him everywhere. Which wasn't so bad, until he started dragging him around in the dirt outside in our backyard. And because we were too stupid to go out and buy him an identical one, we lived in constant fear of losing Bear, or of him becoming irreparably damaged.

We finally had to limit Bear's travel to just inside the house (we tried just upstairs, but he kept somehow migrating downstairs like a pregnant woman to a refrigerator). Unless we were traveling by air. Then Bear was right there flying the friendly skies with us to Seattle and Philadelphia and Boston and even Hawaii.

When Sawyer got tired, he'd work Bear's satin trim between his fingers until he drifted off.

Now that Sawyer is almost four, Bear has started to be left behind. We noticed that Bear was not always requested for naps. Sometimes we'd be the ones retrieving him without Sawyer even noticing.

So that is how Bear came to spend a lonely night on the cold hardwood floor, forgotten under a plastic garage.


I took Bear upstairs, where Sawyer was already awake and sitting in our bed next to his snoozing Daddy.

"Sawyer! Bear is so sad! You left him downstairs all by himself last night. He missed sleeping with you in Race Car bed. He was scared. And now he's very sad!"

Sawyer looked at me, and without missing a beat, said:

"Mommy, Bear is not sad. He's pretend. He's just a toy. Real bears live in the forest and they are happy all the time."

Bear spent nap time today on the arm of our couch. Forgotten again. Another small shedding of baby skin.

Last Laugh

David called me on the way from bringing Sawyer home from preschool today.

"You're going to be very angry," he said.

This is never the right thing to say to me. My first thought was that either Sawyer got his ass kicked or someone came within a foot or two of him with a peanut product. Forunately, neither was the case. But I was still irritated. Remember my son, the "best-looking boy in the world" on picture day?

Well, we'll never truly know, because THEY DIDN'T TAKE HIS PICTURE!

That's right. Imagine the outrage! Apparently, I was supposed to give them the check before they took the pictures. I handed it to one of the directors after I came to get him. She took it and neglected to mention that it was too late! But for $7 I can purchase a class picture. Grrrr..

The timing of this ridiculousness couldn't have been better. Because this afternoon we got our pictures taken by a professional photographer down at the beach. She took tons of shots of Sawyer, who clearly was in touch with his inner Zoolander. The only thing was I'm not sure she got any of me and Sage. Then again, after about 30 minutes, Sage was done and refused to cooperate at all.

Some of the pictures should be up on her blog tomorrow so I will link them - if they turn out okay! Hopefully she can photoshop out the eight chins I always get when I smile..

We ate dinner down at the beach and then, when we got home, Sawyer grabbed his Fisher Price camera and started shooting. He even arranged David and I in different poses.

"I am Sawyer Photographer!" he shouted.

As if he'd want to be behind a camera instead of in front of one!

Just FYI

My new post is after my old post. I started a post apparently on Friday but didn't finish it until today, when I posted it. But it is now under the post I posted yesterday. You're all following this, right? Anyway, scroll down and you'll find it if you're so inclined. Oy.

Back to reality

Sorry about the blogging break. After spending last week with my head down on the arm of the couch while David was away in Oregon, I finally tried to call the doctor on Friday about my assumed sinus infection. But, seeing as it was Friday at 2 p.m., the office was already closed.

I ran my 12 miles Saturday, and I am not lying when I say every step was excruiating. My sinuses had drained into the area under my eyes and the pounding was almost unbearable. The highlight was when an ambulance went by and it felt like someone was jackhammering through my molars. It made me long for the good ole days of really bad hangovers.

My friend M, who was late, came sprinting up the hill to find me, sure that the ambulance was for me. No such luck.

I got myself to urgent care a few hours later. I was expecting a z pack and to be sent on my way. Instead, I got x-rays which showed a massive and severe infection. So bad, I had to get a shot containing two steroids (unfortunately not anabolic) and am now on an antibiotic and degongestant.

With 13 days to go to the marathon..

However painful my sinuses (and of course, my foot) are, I was slapped back into reality shortly after the run. We had "send off" which is where we receive all our race info, our singlet, plane tickets, etc.

A couple was asked to stand up and speak. They were holding a boy, maybe about 10 months old. They were introduced as Elijah's parents, the boy Elijah's brother. Elijah is one of our honored teammates. I saw his picture on the poster board of our other teammates. He reminded me of Sawyer, with his dark hair and eyes and infectious smile. He was wearing a red Angels cap.

The mom starts talking. She wanted to thank all of us for raising the money that goes to finding a cure for Leukemia, lymphoma and other blood-related cancers. She immediately choked up.

"I hope another mother doesn't have to stand up here and talk about her angel in heaven," she said.

I looked at M. Is Elijah dead? I asked. The tears started rolling. Turns out, they were in the marathon training program last year while Elijah was going through treatment.

"So when you're out there, and it's really hard, and you want to give up, think about everyone you're helping."

Elijah died in February. He was 4.

Hello, my name is Cheryl

And I'm married to a TV addict. My husband always has it on, even when he's working. He Tivos Magnum PI, which is lucky for him, since he bitterly informed me the other day that it's been replaced in the broadcast lineup by Nash Bridges - a show I had never even heard about until I met him.

When I first started doing my long runs on Saturdays, I would arrive home to find my two still pajama-clad children planted in front of the TV, with David clicking away on the computer. Then after a small "conversation" on perhaps using that time to interact with the progeny, they are now always dressed and playing when I return.

This is not to say that when I am in charge, which is most of the time, that the kids don't watch TV. They do. Especially in the morning. Sage usually requests Curious George, and through the magic of Tivo, she can watch it at any hour.

Sometimes the TV is on for a solid two hours, while the kids eat breakfast and I catch up on emails or visit my favorite websites. And then, when they get up from their naps, it's back on again. Especially if I'm trying to get dinner ready.

In my own defense - should I feel defensive? - these kids spend plenty of time playing outside and doing activities away from the TV. But I had this nagging feeling that the TV was becoming a little too convenient.

David went away on business this week. Thursday was the kind of hectic morning I thought wouldn't happen til my kids were at least in elementary school. I needed quiet. We were out the door at 7:45 for speech therapy, then after a brief return home, we got Sawyer in his bathing suit and it was off to swimming lessons. After that, we went to the park for two hours.

By the time we got home, it was lunch, and then naps. They both took good ones - almost three hours - and when they got up, they played together outside. I made an easy dinner and for the hour or so left until bedtime, we read books and then they took a long bath.

No TV. All day. Now, normally, when people say they don't watch TV, or don't have a TV in their house, it is accompanied by a touch of smugness as the TV-less ones waits for the inevitable "How do you DO that?!?" and "I could NEVER do that!" which of course reassures said abstainer they are one level above us on the Mommy Chart (if we believe them, that is). I'm not saying EVERYONE has that 'tude, but enough do.

I think TV can be useful, not only in engaging my child for a bit, but in helping me keep my sanity when I need a short break from them. I just think we watch too much at my house. And, of course, the minute they were in bed, there I was, turning on the TV. Hey, Survivor was on!

I continued the no tv mandate the next day. Sawyer spent the morning at preschool and Sage and I went to music class and on errands. But I have to say, after naps, it got a little hairy.

Sawyer has this engaging habit of telling Sage "NO!" while pointing in her face. Being my daughter, she smacks him. And he, of course, smacks her back. This goes on until I step in. And then they're back at it five minutes later.

I almost found myself shrieking "DON'T MAKE ME TURN ON THAT TV!!"

David returned from his trip, and the television has been back on. But I find that I am now much more proactive about limiting it. I actually enjoyed quietly reading books with the kids (even as I battled my raging sinus infection). I loved how Sawyer engaged Sage in playing outside. It forced all of us to spend more together time. And I think the kids really benefited.

It was a lesson well learned. Now if I can just wean myself off the internet..

I'm too sexy for my shirt..

Normally, I do not bother much with Sawyer's hair in the mornings. It's pretty short so there's not much to be done too it, and we're usually - okay, always - running late, so I'm happy if he has his shorts on when we make our mad dash out of the house.

This morning was different. This morning, he had to get ready for Picture Day. Last year, David took him to school and then soon called me to say that it was picture day and they were on their way back home. Why? Because Sawyer was wearing a paint-stained tee shirt and his hair was standing on end, and David knew I would kill him if Sawyer was photographed that way.

So I rushed to iron his cute Hanna Andersson light blue polo shirt that I'd bought just for this occasion (an occasion which, apparently, I'd completely forgotten about). David and Sawyer came flying into the house. Sawyer's head was then dunked under the water faucet and David squeezed some gel onto his hair. We were like a freakin' pit crew at the Indy 500. They were back in the car in 4 minutes, 3 seconds.

He did not wear that shirt again because we had no reason for him to wear a collared shirt the rest of the fall, and then the weather got too cool for it anyway.

But this summer, I unfortunately needed him to wear it again. The night before we left to fly out to Philadelphia for my father's funeral, I got the shirt out to wash it. And for some reason, it was covered with stains, like David had used it as a rag while working on the car.

We ended up at the King of Prussia Mall - which, I believe, is second only to the Mall of America in size - the day before the funeral. This mall is ridiculous. We had no clue where we were going, and this place was the size of our town. And much more crowded. We bravely forged ahead and found the Gap, where I got Sawyer a light blue polo shirt for like $4.99. Score!

He wore it for the funeral and, of course, has not worn it again. Until today! And there were NO STAINS! Yippee! Nevermind that he will be photographed two years in a row in the same shirt. I mean, it's not REALLY the same shirt. It's just, you know, the same style. And color. Hey, there's nothing wrong with consistency!

Anyway, after he downed his oatmeal this morning, we went into the bathroom. David was not home, so it was up to me. I wet down his hair and applied some nice wax pommade to spike it up in the front.

I must've done something right.

Sawyer leaned right into the mirror. Got up nice and close. And said..

"I am the best-looking boy in the whole world."

Amen to that.

Mullet be gone!

My baby girl's first haircut..

Might as well ask me for tips on how not to shop..

I got a hilarious email from my friend T this morning. I should preface this by saying that I missed Saturday's 22-mile slogfest because I was up every 20 minutes blowing my nose the night before, and remained in bed all day Saturday. I am just now cutting back on my one-box-of-kleenex-a-day habit, and did manage (barely) to run 3 miles this morning.

When I logged on this morning I found the email from T - asking ME for tips on avoiding catching a cold from one's child. ME!!! I catch absolutely everything from my kids. Motherhood has made a sieve out of my "immune system."

But I of course want to be helpful, so I tried to come up with some excellent advice to help T and others avoid the same mistakes I've made.

1) Do not let your child climb on you, then proceed to wipe his snotty nose all over every bit of exposed skin, including but not limited to your face, hands, arms and legs.

2) Close your mouth when you child coughs/sneezes directly into your face.

3) Do not finish the rest of the half-eaten banana, apple or spoonful of ice cream that your child has slimed on with his germy mouth and then handed to you.

4) Wash your hands. Wash your hands. Wash your hands. And everything else mentioned in #1.

5) If possible, lock the kids outside until they stop sneezing/hacking. (Hello? Child protective services?)

Anyway, if anyone has anymore tips, please send them along! I know I and my friend T will greatly appreciate it!

For all you moms out there..

This is hilarious! And I have to send a link because I still can't figure out how to post YouTube stuff on my blog..Bueller? Bueller? Anyone?

William Tell Overture for Moms

Read the fine print

Sawyer went back to preschool today after missing Monday with the Plague. He still is congested with some post-nasal drip, but the doctor who I took him to see yesterday said as long as he's fever-free for 24 hours, he could go.

Part of me felt guilty for sending him today. I had to juggle his health vs. my sanity. Because even though he'd spiked a fever at 2 a.m. a couple nights, during the day he was acting mostly normal. He was pounding on his sister. Stealing her toys. Making loud monster noises in my face while I'm on the phone. Harassing the dogs.

I needed a break. So I sent him to preschool, where he could cough on other kids but not on me. He wasn't too thrilled about going, since apparently they don't let him watch five hours of TV like Mommy does when he doesn't feel well.

All morning I half-expected a phone call telling me to come pick him up (when David dropped him off, Sawyer's teacher was leaving - she was sick with a head cold!). But he made it through and had a good time.

He wore a nametag sticker on his shirt during school to help out the substitute teacher. He took it off when he got home and put it on the arm of the couch.

We were sitting there after lunch. I was trying to convince him that a nap was a REALLY good idea. He wasn't having it. Then I picked up the sticker with his name on it and said, "What does this say?"

He glanced at it and replied: "It says 'I don't have to go to bed.'"

Thanks for the update

So I go to get the mail, which is across the street and up one house. Sawyer comes to our screen door and shouts, "Mommy! I have skidmarks in my underwear!"

Fashion (non)Sense

We went to the aquarium this morning. Walked around for an hour or so (including feeding the lorakeets, which decided to land on my head and in my bag). Then we dropped the kids off at mother-in-laws, and David and I went out to lunch. We walked along the main street, had a quick bite, then strolled back to the car. It was a perfect day, in the low 70s and clear skies at the beach. Then we drove back to MIL's house.

Why am I sharing this incredibly mundane story of my day with you, I'm sure you're asking yourself by now. Because, when we pulled up in MIL's driveway, I for some reason happened to glance down at my feet - and noticed, much to my surprise, that I HAD TWO DIFFERENT SHOES ON!!!! At least they were both Cole Haan thongs. But I had a black patent shoe on my right foot and a brown shoe with a silver ring on my left foot. I was wearing red pants and a black shirt, so the brown was particularly egregious.

But of course the worst part is I am apparently so out of it that I didn't even freakin' notice for hours. HOURS!!

It makes me frightened of what my next fashion disaster might be. Hopefully for everyone's sake I won't leave the house without my pants..

Dressing up

I finally bought the kids their Halloween costumes. I say "finally" because apparently I'm about a month late. The ladybug costume I wanted to get for Sage was, the saleswoman told me, sold out both in the stores and on-line the first week. That would've been sometime in August! Bad Mommy for not planning two months in advance.

They are now completely obsessed with them. They want to wear them every waking moment. It is making me absolutely nuts. Because, eerily, Sawyer's personality changes. He doesn't start walking around brandishing a knife or anything, but he has this seemingly insatiable desire to tackle Sage. Or lean on her. Or push her. Luckily, she's no shrinking flamingo. She shoves him right back. But I'm about to go buy myself a referee costume. They're wearing me out! And there's still over a month to go.

Sage also saw an old bumblebee costume hanging in Sawyer's closet this morning. I bought it for $3.99 on eBay for him to wear for his first Halloween. But David decided it was too girly and I had to run out last-minute and buy a manly race car driver outfit for my macho 10 month-old.

Anyway, Sage saw the bee, starting shouting, appropriately, "BEEEE! MEEEEE!" and so I got it down and she's worn it twice already today (except for when she spilled water on it during lunch and said "No bee" and started pulling it off).

Sawyer's spider costume emboldens him to attempt gravity-defying feats, like climbing up the outside of our staircase on his "web." Luckily, he's really not a climber, so he has no problem obeying the "Don't you go one step higher!" order issued by his freaked-out mom.


Last year, the kids wore their costumes for a total of about three hours. This year, they surpassed that the first day. I have to say I'm proud of myself for allowing them to not only wear them, but to roll around on my dog-hair embedded rugs, to visit the neighbors, to even eat meals in them (with a towel wrapped protectively around their puffed out striped and be-webbed bellies).

There is a part of me that wanted to shout, "BUT WAIT! THOSE ARE FOR HALLOWEEN!" I stifled it. Maybe it's the sight of Sage's flamingo tail waddling as she walks. Or Sawyer coming up with all kinds of Spider Boy adventures (he's a friendly spider, by the way, not a scary one). I have, however, made them promise they will not grow even half an inch before the Big Day: Sawyer already has the makings of a royal wedgie in his costume.

Even if the spider loses a leg or the flamingo gets milk stains on it, it will not spoil the excitement of Halloween for them. Joy is something my kids have in abundance.

Come out, come out, where ever you are...

I got this nifty little device, thanks to my friend M, which tells me all kinds of cool things. You might have noticed the icon way down at the bottom of this blog. Sitemeter. It lets me know who's visiting my site, how long you stay, what you look at, where you came from and what you're wearing. Just kidding about the last one.

It's very cool because I have found I have some loyal readers. Some of you I know (Love ya! MWAH!). Some of you I don't. And that's okay. But as my son would say, "That's not a stranger. That's a friend!"

Anyway, if you read this blog regularly and we've never "met," please feel free to post a "hello" comment! I'd love to hear from you. Really! You don't have to give me your vitals, just a little shout out would be fabulous!

Roid Rage

I wasn't going to post about this because it's rather, well, personal.

AHAHAHAHA! Like posting about the size of my kid's poop isn't. Of course, he's a defenseless child, trusting that his Mommy would never do anything that could embarrass him. SUCKAH! Kidding! I love my boy. And some day when he is my age he will find it all amusing. I hope. If he's still speaking to me.

At any rate, I have myself a little problem. It's a small issue that has taken on great importance. In fact, one might say it's become a ginormous pain in the ass.

There were a lot of things that hurt during and after my 20-miler Saturday. I was running with a new insole for my crazily deformed foot, but didn't put an insole in my left shoe, so I was probably a bit unbalanced (save the snickering, please). That in turn threw off my gait. My left calf was cramping pretty badly. I had a side-stitch for a few miles. My hip flexors were so sore that every step was painful.

I'm sure I looked like an extra from the Night of the Living Dead as I hobbled the last four miles.

I was sore all day. My feet ached. My legs were stiff. And guess what? That was like a tiny gnat when you get to the bottom of what was most excrutiating, a certain (back)side benefit.

It is this: A hemorrhoid. An itchy, painful external hemorrhoid. Something I haven't had since giving birth. Ever get knifed in the butt? Me neither, but I bet this feels worse.

And it's not like I can ask my running coaches (both men) about my latest malady.

Googling it, quite frankly, was terrifying. I searched for "hemorrhoid" and "marathon" and got to read all kinds of icky stories from people with bleeding and runners trots, where you have to poop every few miles. Of course, after reading what some of these people go through, I was feeling a tad bit better. But only emotionally. Not physically.

I seriously have a bad case of roid rage. There is nothing quite like the feeling of a hot poker up the rump to make one not quite so tolerant toward one's fellow man (or kids or dogs or the idiot in the parking lot who just cut me off).

My poor husband, having had no experience with said condition, had the kind of morbid curiousity that he usually reserves for identifying things at the back of the refridgerator or looking at the dogs' barf to see which one ate the plastic horse.

He had to look. His retinas are now permanently imprinted. But at least now he sees I really do have some extra junk in my trunk.

Phew

Today
I
ran
TWENTY
miles.

Germ magnet

Why is it that Sawyer goes to preschool for FIVE MINUTES and gets his first cold in months? Do germs that go to preschool have superpowers? Did they know that I had just been SILENTLY congratulating myself (silenty because of the fear of jinxing us by actually speaking it aloud) for my kids being healthy for basically the entire summer.

And it's only a matter of time (hours?) before Sage gets it too. Last time she caught his cold she had a runny nose for two freaking months. Poor Sawyer has been sneezing all over her for the past 20 minutes.

WOOHOO! The triumphant return of snotapalooza!

Where only Sawyer knows your na-a-ame..

Sawyer went to preschool this summer on Tuesdays and Thursdays for a couple hours in the morning for six weeks. We became concerned because when we'd ask him who he'd played with that day, he'd either say he played by himself or that he tried to play with so-and-so, but they said he wasn't their friend anymore.

This is so not like Sawyer. He is very social and makes friends easily, and always talked about the kids in his class at his old preschool.

I brought it up with his teacher, Mrs. K. When I was speaking to her, Sawyer interrupted to tell her that he'd forgotten to bring his dinosaur to class. She pretty much blew him off, just giving him the old "uh huh" and then went back to speaking with me (I mean, it's one thing if I do that to him when I am with him all day and need him to stop talking for ONE BLESSED MINUTE. But she only has him for three hours!). Needless to say, I was not impressed.

Then, the next class, when he DID bring his dinosaur, she told me that he shouldn't bring stuff to school. Wha?? They were learning about dinosaurs, he was so excited about it that he wanted to bring his toy to school - which he kept in his cubby - and she was discouraging it.

Ugh.

I sent David to talk to the directors about moving him to a different class. He just said that we were concerned with the chemistry of the particular kids in the class, that maybe it wasn't a good fit. They said they would see what they could do.

I stopped in the office later that morning before picking Sawyer up - and it turned out Mrs. K had quit only moments after David had left the office. YIPPEE!!

Now he's back at preschool, going three days a week. And I love love love his new teacher. She's (relatively) young, and when I told her about his peanut allergy, she (unlike Mrs. K) didn't look at me like I had just sprouted a third eye, or ask questions like "but it's okay if the other kids have peanuts, right?" Uh...NO!

Wednesday, when Sawyer wanted to tell her something, she stopped what she was doing and squatted right down to his level to listen to him. Nirvana!

Sawyer seems to really like her and has already come home talking about the friends he's played with. And she told me that she always knows when Sawyer is talking to her - he's the only child who calls her by her name!

****

Here's some assorted Sawyer-isms from today...

Because of my injured foot, I decided to do another spin class this morning instead of running. Sawyer was waiting when I got home.

"Did you have a good run, Mommy?"
"Well, I didn't run today. I went to the gym."
"What did you say?"
"I said I went to the gym."
"Oh. What did you do there, brush your teeth?"

Later this morning, he had his swimming lesson with A, who has a heavily tatooed left arm.
"A, why do you have stamps on your arm?"

Freak of Nature

Today I had confirmed what anyone who has seen my overly-long toes already knew. I am, in fact, a freak of nature. Or as the podiatrist I saw today diplomatically said, "It's not completely rare, but I wouldn't say it's common." I feel so special!

The reason for the visit was because after doing some of my long runs, the ball of my right foot is incredibly painful. I can't walk on it, can't stretch it. The pain goes away after a few days of staying off it. But because I'm running a marathon in SIX WEEKS, I can't exactly stop running now. Plus, I also can't seem to stop eating leftover birthday cake, so I REALLY need those extra miles right about now.

Sage and I headed to the podiatrist this morning. I packed lots of snacks and toys for her (yes, including her talking princess mirror), which came in handy because we were kept waiting almost an hour. An hour! With a two-year old. Hellooo!?!?!

We finally got into the exam room, and Sage was fine until the doctor came in and attempted to speak to me. That's when Sage started screaming. So I had to bring out the heavy artillery: grapes. Not only does she need her entire mouth to chew, so is quiet, but the labor of pulling the grapes off the stem was all-encompassing. This is what I'm using my brain to come up with these days.

The doctor wanted x-rays. Luckily, a front desk woman put Sage on her lap and the two of them kept very busy tracing Sage's hand with pencil. Meanwhile, I got to wear a ultra-chic radiation sarong to protect my reproductive organs, should I ever require them again.

Then it was back to the exam room, to wait another 15 minutes for the doctor to get my x-rays. And there, in black and white and shades of grey, was absolute proof. So all of you who have seen - and laughed at me - about my crazy piano-playing toes did not realize you were, in fact, picking on my birth defect. Because there's a reason for my over-long tootsies.

All the big joints in the foot that connect to the toes are supposed to line up with the one for the big toe. Shockingly (NOT) mine do not! The joints for my first and second toe are like an inch higher than they're supposed to be. Seriously, if I had normal toes, I'd wear a size 9 instead of 10.

I also have something going on with the two sesmoid bones in the ball of my foot, but that's not nearly as interesting as my completely freakazoid toes.

Fortunately, the doctor said I can still run. I'm going to put in an insole and take anti-inflams. And hope that Saturday's 20-mile run will be pain-free. At least for my foot.

Incidentally, just because I can pick up and peel a banana with my toes does not mean I'm going to post a picture of them! Too many foot fetishists out there!

Dear Sage,

When people find out that you are 2, they immediately say "Ah, the Terrible Twos!" Yeah, right, as if THAT particular phase didn't start from birth.

The drama! As soon as you learned the word "me," you quickly added "mine" to your repetoire. So whenever your brother dares touch one of your toys, we get to hear "MEEEEEEEEEE! MINE!" at eardrum-piercing decibels.

You are finally starting to speak - using real words, that is, instead of your Sage-isms. You had a speech therapy session with a new teacher on your birthday, and you emerged saying "baby" for the very first time. This might not sound impressive, but I did get teary-eyed. For almost a year, you have called babies "mamas" despite my consistently telling you the correct word. For you to finally say something correctly..you were so proud!

And you keep adding words! "Cookie" is a favorite. You are finally really trying to repeat what we say (so I guess you'll be saying "shit" pretty soon..) and we feel for the first time that you might, actually, speak. You've even started to sing "itsy bitsy spider" although it is all presently gibberish. You're awesome at the hand movements, tho!

We do have conversations. A typical one goes something like this:

"Sage, can I give you a kissy?"
"No."
"A hug?"
"No."
"Tickle-tickle?"
"NOOOOO Mommy. NOOOO!"

We predict you're going to be our little jock - who'll wear pink ribbons in your hair. One of your favorite toys you got for your birthday is a talking princess mirror. You love to gaze into it, then press the buttons and hear things like "your hair looks lovely today." (Now, this is something I think all of us could use. Can you imagine, when you're feeling bloated, you have a huge pimple emerging like Vesuvius from your chin AND your hair is not only frizzy but in dire need of a dye job to hide the advancing army of grey, just picking up your mirror and having it say "You are an incredibly hot babe (push button) You can't be a day over 20 (push button) "Your breasts are amazingly perky today" and so on.)



You also slept in your sparkly pair of dress-up shoes. Diva!



Everyone is now trying to convince me to cut your hair. But I can't. You're a girl! So what if you have some sort of wispy mullet thing going on. When I blow dry it, I can stretch the two longest strands down to your shoulders!



We are still working on getting you to say the word "two." But there is no doubt you knew your birthday party was for you. How did we know? It was the "MEEE! PARTY!!!" that tipped us off. And the day after your party, the first thing you did after getting out of your crib was to run to our bedroom window and look out into the back yard to see if the Curious George bounce house was still there (it wasn't).

You knew your day was all about you. Kind of like every day. Except, on your birthday, there was cake.




Happy birthday, baby girl. We love you more than any words..

Mommy

Happy 2nd Birthday, Sage!

The sweetest thing..

Sawyer started going to Music Together classes when he was about six months old and he lasted until he was about 2 1/2, when he ended up in a shoving match with this obnoxious kid over who got to turn off and on the lights (and the kid's mother did NOTHING, even though I made Sawyer apologize. What is wrong with people??). I figured it was time to move on.

There was one song from the CDs that I started singing to him, making up my own words. Here's the gist:

Sleep, sleep, sleep sleepyhead.
Sleep, sleep, snuggle in racecar bed.
Mommy will keep you safe and warm.
So sleep, sleep, sleep sleepyhead.

Not exactly poetry, but Sawyer really liked it. He recently started asking me to sing it to him again before bed. Then he decided he wanted to start singing to Sage.

So before her nap and at night, Sawyer goes in her room. I put her in her crib, lay her blanket (known as coat) over her, turn on her fan and turn off the light. I then leave, because Sawyer wants "Privacy, Mommy!"

Then he sings her this:

Sleep, sleep, sleep sleepyhead.
Sleep, sleep, snuggle in your crib.
Sawyer will keep you safe and warm
So sleep, sleep, sleep sleepyhead.

He then follows the song by saying "Goodnight Sage, I love you" and making a kiss noise before running out of the room.

We are trying to get it on video, but it's tough because of his PRIVACY, MOMMY! request. We are working on it. A little stealth would be totally worth it.

The purity of him singing to his sister - without any prompting whatsoever on our part - is one of our greatest joys of parenting so far.

GPS update

David found it! Woohoo! It had somehow fallen down between the driver's door and seat. Now I can breathe easy again knowing I can turn on my GPS and safely navigate to the end of my very short street (yes, I was born without an internal compass).

And yes, for those baseball purists, I DO realize that pic of Vlade is from a road game, and that he's not standing in right field as he was when Sawyer was shrieking hello to him but is up at bat in some other stadium. But hey, I only wanted to spend a small amount of time on google. And of course I forgot my camera last night (DOH!). So get over yourselves!

Can you hear me now?

I took Sawyer to the Angels game last night (thanks to some free tickets). It was the first game he's gone to that he remembers. When we first arrived, I told him that when an Angels player hits a home run, they shoot off fireworks. WRONG thing to say. He wanted me to assure him that NO Angels player would hit a home run. Fireworks are apparently on the list of Things That Are Scary.

We get to our seats, and of course Sawyer has to ask if everything the vendors are selling are peanuts (I'd explained to him before we went that he'd have to be extremely careful and not to touch anything, so I had him pretty worked up, which is okay, since if he has a peanut he could die). The only positive about it is he didn't ask to buy any food, except for cotton candy. Denied!

Then he saw his favorite player, Vladimir Guerrero, standing in right field.




"HI VLADE!!!!" Sawyer screeched at the top of his lungs. "Mommy, do you think he heard me?"
"Yes, Sawyer, I'm sure he heard you."

"HI GARRET!!! Mommy, do you think he heard me?"
"Yes, Sawyer, I think everyone heard you."

The people sitting in front of us were totally cracking up.

"HI GARY!!! Mommy, do you think he heard me? Then why isn't he saying hi to me?"

We made it all the way through the fifth inning - in time to see Garret Anderson hit a home-run. And guess what? Sawyer didn't even mind the fireworks.

After a quick visit to the team store to purchase a red wood bat (after I talked him out of the pink one), a small red baseball and a new Angels cap, we headed back to our car (which, incidentally, someone got in and stole our GPS machine).

On the drive home, Sawyer talked about what a great time he had.

"So who are your favorite players?"
"Vlade and Garret. Because they're my friends."

Two halves do not make a whole, unfortunately...

I have now completed two half marathons this year. Now if I could just combine those two times and call it a marathon, that'd be great. Instead, I actually have to run the whole 26.2 in one shot. Oy.

Today was only slightly cooler than the surface of the sun. When I left my house at 3:45 a.m., it was already 81 degrees. Good times!

The race itself wasn't too bad, despite the heat. David absolutely hates Disneyland (the crowds, the waiting in line, the cost) so we haven't been there yet with the kids. It was fun for me to see it as I ran through it. A bunch of the characters were out along the course, and runners were stopping to get pictures taken with them. People in large costumes freak me out a bit, so I looked away and kept running.

One not-so-bright guy was running dressed as Buzz Lightyear, complete with a white vinyl-ish suit and hood. We expressed our concerned that he would basically drop dead by mile 2. He apparently was wearing nothing (eew?) under the suit so had no choice but to wear it. No report on whether his brains boiled over from the heat.

We also got to run through Angel Stadium. For my friends, this was one of the highlights of the race. I, on the other hand, was trying to calculate just how many hours I've stood in the Angels dugout, baking in the sun while the team took batting practice. Clearly a sign I've spent waaaay too much time there.

I was pretty beat by the 11th mile, but finished okay, a little slower than my last half but still under 2:30. The best part is, because I actually hydrated correctly, I had no cramping and felt fine afterward.

I'm guessing San Francisco in late October will be just a tad cooler. But at least I'll have my nice Tiffany's bling that each finisher gets to keep me warm..

It's getting closer..

So my marathon is in, like, seven weeks. SEVEN WEEKS, PEOPLE! I am running a half marathon - through Disneyland, yippee! - on Monday. Today a couple of us from TNT ran five miles while the rest of the poor fools ran 18 miles. Yep, that's right, I said EIGHTEEN. We actually ran that last weekend instead of the scheduled 16 because we knew we weren't doing a long run this weekend. It is quite amusing to me that running 13.1 miles is no longer considered long.

When I ran my first (and only other) half marathon back in February, my longest run til that day was 10 miles. Thirteen was a challenge. Especially considering I basically died at the 10-mile mark and crawled to the finish line.

Now, 13 sounds not so bad. I've done runs of 14 miles twice, and one run of 18. When I finished the 18, I thought to myself, for the first time, that I believe I can actually finish the marathon.

That might sound like a ridiculous thought for someone who has been training to do just that for over three months. But there are days when three miles is a struggle. I've figured out that it's all in the mindset. You mentally gear yourself for the longer mileage. And then you chug chug chug along.

I sure wish I were a faster runner. I seem to have slowed down a lot over the past few months. I don't think I'll better my time from my first half. But I guess the most important thing is I'm out there doing it. Especially after listening to a woman speak before training today.

She is on the walk team, I think. She got up in front of us this morning to share her story. She is a survivor. She was diagnosed with ALL (the most common form of Leukemia) when she was a sophomore in college. Her treatment included chemotherapy, drugs that made her gain 30 pounds, a bone marrow transplant, and, her doctors got around to telling her, would likely make her sterile.

Having babies was not exactly something she was thinking of at that time in her life. Until suddenly she had to. So, even though her insurance didn't cover it, she harvested and froze her eggs.

Luckily, her brother was a perfect match for a bone marrow transplant. This November, she will have been in remission a year. Someday, she can even have babies.

We applauded. Some of us, especially us moms, wiped away a few tears. And remembered why we're running.

Drama King

Sawyer's new trick is, when he doesn't get his own way, to burst into tears and race into David's office, slamming the door behind him. We basically ignore the whole thing (while inwardly admiring his dramatic flair). The other day, though, David went in to talk to him and he said that Mommy didn't like him anymore because I yelled at him. And then I had to explain that Mommy will always love him, but it seems that when I ask him to stop something, nicely and politely, he won't until I get frustrated and yell at him. So now, when I ask him to stop and he doesn't, I say, does Mommy have to yell? And that is working. For now.

But I digress. Yesterday, Sawyer had preschool. It was the last day of the summer session. He had his face painted like a monster, which he was pretty excited about. He was a little bit wound up but, I could tell by the whining, tired.

After Sage went down for her nap at 1 p.m., I told Sawyer he'd have to do quiet time. This meant he could stay downstairs, but we weren't watching TV. I wasn't going to talk with him or take care of him. I needed Mommy break time.

He begged me to read him a book, so I told him no, I would read to him after quiet time. He did the whole running-into-Daddy's-office thing. I of course felt bad, so after about two minutes, I went in. And this is what I found..

This apple did fall far from the tree..

After dinner the other night, when it had cooled down to an inhabitable temperature for mortals here on earth, we walked across the street to our neighborhood park. It has a pool, playground, basketball and tennis courts, a paved jogging loop, and a couple baseball fields.

The kids had a blast climbing and going down slides and digging in the sand. Then Sawyer decided he wanted to run the bases. I "pitched" to him, and then he'd take a "swing" before heading off around the diamond.

Then he wanted me to run too. And so I did. We raced around the bases, with Sage in hot pursuit. Sawyer could not stop laughing, clearly the best sound on the planet.

I wish I could say that this was something that I remember doing with my own parents. But it's not. I can't recall doing physical activities with them - not riding bikes together, not going for walks, and DEFINITELY not running.

My father was 36 and my mother 32 when they had me (I'm the youngest of three). I remember thinking they were "old" parents as most of my friends' parents were significantly younger. It wasn't just the calendar that set them apart.

Both my parents were overweight. Sedentary. My father's horrible eating habits and lifestyle led him to border on obese. It also gave him high blood pressure and diabetes. Thus he emabarked on the slippery slope from which he could never regain his footing. On came the strokes, kidney failure, congestive heart failuer and other issues which eventually killed him. My mother, although still overweight, is fortunately in excellent health aside from arthritis.

I am pushing 39 and am trying to set a good example for my own kids. Sawyer knows that Daddy and Mommy exercise. He joins in when he can, his personal favorite being the stretching portion as he contorts his little body into all kinds of hilarious poses. He also loves running around outside, and, as the little sister, Sage is Monkey See, Monkey Do.

I am very aware that we had our children a little later in life - certainly later than my own parents had us. If Sage is our last child, we will be hovering around 60 when she graduates from college.

My children did not ask for older parents, but that's what they got. I feel like I owe it them to stay active and healthy and fit. To be around as long as possible.

To be able to run the bases some day with my grandchildren..

Edvard Munch, eat your heart out!

A rolling poop gathers pine needles, and other tales from the run

Three hours is a long time to run. I know this because that is how long it took me to run 16 miles Saturday (yes, you math whizzes, 16 miles in 3 hours = S-L-O-W but I'd like to see YOU smart asses get out there and do it!). I regularly run with two women who are my age during our Saturday runs with Team in Training, which, as you know, I'm raising money with for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. We were also joined by another woman who we'd not met before who is the tender age of 25. No matter. She enjoyed our geriatic pace and was quite entertained.

I run with my iPod, but I have it low enough so I can carry on a conversation and most importantly, so I can hear the demonic bicyclists who race up behind us and shout at us for not being far enough over on the side.

In case I haven't mentioned, three hours is a long time. But I have to say it goes by a lot quicker when you have some interesting conversations. And since most of you were either still sleeping or at home relaxing by the pool, I thought I would bring you some of the gems that were discussed,most of which have to do with the workings of the digestive system.

1) When said demonic biker zipper by and yelled something nasty at us, one of our party shouted back "We hope you don't get leukemia!"

2)Body Glide, Body Glide, Body Glide. Slather yourself with it or else you'll end up like K, who not only had to endure inner thigh chafe (yeeeeOWCH!) but also found, upon taking off her shoe and sock at the finish, that the back of her heel bled right through her sock and onto her shoe.

3) Gu gives you gas. I don't do Gu, I do shot blocks, so I don't have this problem. Apparently when two of the women were out for a run during the week one of them, er, "released" her discomfort. The other one jumped - she thought it was a dog barking.

4) If one has to poop during a run and it's an emergency, said runner usually makes like Carl Lewis and sprints to the nearest bathroom. It's known as a desperation dash. If one has to poop but it's not an emergency, just kinda bothersome, it's advisable not to clench one's butt too tightly to keep the poop in. This, in one woman's experience, can lead to the incredibly undesireable condition called Butt Chafing.

5) And my personal favorite story: T runs with a woman who regulary poops during runs, usually behind a bush (I didn't ask about TP). One recent day, she went up a small incline to the bushes to do her bidness. One poop landed in pine needles and started rolling. It gained momentum, rolled right down the hill and landed - plop! - right on the sidewalk at the feet of her running partner like a perfectly wrapped gift.

That No. 5 kept me giggling for a few miles. It's not the hill I handled or my bruised toe or the calf cramps I finished with that I'll take with me from Saturday's run. It's the sharing of conversations you might only have (or not!) with your best friends, the feeling of being in this together, that will keep me going for many, many more miles.

OMG!!

So David and I go to the wedding of one of his best friends from high school. It was our second wedding this summer. I'm not clear that we'd been to a wedding since WE got married back in 2001.

As the first wedding, in late June, approached, I realized I had nothing to wear. All of my dresses were too big (yes, I know, a nice problem to have, until you start panicking because you REALLY have nothing to wear)And even if the stuff did fit, most of it was horribly out-of-date, a veritable freak show of sparkles and straps and even taffeta!

A trip to the mall was completely unsuccessful as the only things I liked were well over $200 which was out of my price range. In desperation, I headed to TJ Maxx, where I found an Anne Klein dress for $50. The price was right. I purchased. I hated it. To make matters worse, I look pregnant in the pictures from the wedding. Delightful!

I was determined to find something better for yesterday's wedding because there was no way in hell I was putting on that stupid dress again. My sister and I went to Seattle to see my Dad a few days before he passed. The hospital did not allow visitors in the morning, so what better way to release stress than by shopping?

Five hours later, my sister and I had both purchased a dress (she had a wedding to go to last week). I thought my dress was a unique color. The style was flattering. And it was under $100.

I felt great wearing it (tho I didn't love my shoes). So imagine my surprise when David and I walked into the church and the first thing I see is ANOTHER WOMAN WEARING MY DRESS!! Hilarious!!

What are the odds? Not only that, but she came and sat at our table. Luckily, she was incredibly nice and thought it was as funny as I did that we were wearing the same frickin' dress.

The only bad part was when she told me how much she paid for the dress: $8.50. That's right. Eight dollars and 50 cents. I wanted to kill myself!!

But of course we had to pose with the bride as her unofficial bridesmaids (excuse my gazillion chins, I am the least photogenic person on the planet). Oh - and I don't know why it's cutting off the picture.

HIDE and seek..

The "hide" part is, I've discovered, torture for a 3 1/2 year old. We played hide and seek tonight, and Sawyer got to hide. When I got done counting to 10, and had shouted "Ready or not, here I come" Sawyer responded by shrieking "I'M IN THE GARAGE! I'M HIDING IN THE GARAGE!" I explained to him that he's not supposed to TELL me where he's hiding. He said okay, and proceeded to inform me he'd be hiding in the kitchen next. Then I got to hide, and squatted behind the couch he was sitting on while counting: "1, 2, 3, 4, TEN!" He raced by me, but Sage ratted me out, yelling "EEE MOMMY!" It might not have been perfectly by the rules (perhaps we should rename it Hide and Shriek?), but it was a perfect way to spend 20 minutes of a Friday night!

Back to our regularly scheduled blogging...

Sage has been going to speech therapy for a month. And I'm happy to say it's actually working!Her new favorite word is "up." She's not afraid to use it.

Just the other night she was in her crib and was having a tough time going to sleep - mainly because she sensed her brother was watching Charlie & Lola somewhere without her. So she stood at the rail of her crib, clutching her bear, blanket and little doggie-head-blanket thing (which she refers to as mah, coat and nnnnnn, respectively) and shrieked for awhile. Then I heard her say "up! up! up!"

We have felt obligated to pick her up when she asks, to reward her for actually speaking in our native tongue instead of Sagese. This night, I went up there, and I had to tell her that everyone - Mommy, Daddy, Sawyer, the doggies, and yes, even Curious George - were all sleeping. Satisfied, she flopped to her belly and fell asleep.

Sawyer, meanwhile, has discovered that his body can do tricks: "Look, Daddy!" he said with glee, as he moved his penis up and down without his hands.

For you, Dad

My sister, brother and I all spoke at my father's funeral. Here is what I read, more or less. I added a couple things that day that I can't remember exactly.

Memories

I am five or six, and Dad is home from work. I crawl up, trying to fit myself into the inches of his lap that are not already occupied by his stomach.
I lean in, careful not to disturb the newspaper he is reading through his thick glasses as if the words contain the meaning of life.
I inhale. The scent of Kent cigarettes and Old Spice fills me, comforting me.
This was Dad. He always seemed larger than life. And at 6-4 with blazing red hair – strands of which still colored his hair to the end - and a distinctive raucous cackle, he practically was.
He's the float we used to hang onto in the ocean, the pale, freckled knee we used as a diving board. He was the backyard coach, throwing tennis balls higher than the rooftops to us. And when we’d catch it and then throw it back, errant tosses were met with “Who was that throw to, Licorice?” Or Truffles, depending on which dog was currently with us.
Dad was also a food critic. When Mom handed him a plate of her new recipe for tuna casserole, he immediately renamed it – and quite accurately, my siblings would agree – Tuna Plop. Naming a meal was preferable, however, to his occasionally flinging a salad or plate of pasta at a misbehaving Ellen, who was lucky enough to sit next to him.
He certainly could be intimidating. A great day for me was when I got faster than him and could race up the stairs to my room and slam the door before he could swat me for whatever bad thing I’d done.
Some of the biggest fights Dad and I had involved the afternoon newspaper. My favorite thing was to hustle to the top of the driveway and retrieve it before he did, thereby giving me dibs on the sports pages. Dad wasn’t always in agreement with that strategy, and he had the gift of being able to outshout pretty much everyone he knew to get those sacred pages back.
But from Dad I got my passion for sports. Before the days of remote controls, I was his. I’d sit on the floor in front of the TV on football Sundays and turn to different games at his command. We watched the Miracle on Ice together. Doug Flutie’s Hail Mary.
He especially loved the game of baseball. He knew everything about it. He grew up in New York and Philadelphia so he’d seen his share of history.
I too fell in love with baseball, and it became my career. He was also a great storyteller. And he loved to ask my friends all about their lives and had a way of putting them at ease. I'd like to think I inherited some of that gift, and I have Dad to thank for that.
When I moved to California in 1999 to cover the Angels, it meant I was going to get some free trips to Seattle when they played the Mariners.
It was at a game that I nervously introduced him to David. Dad knew that David is half-Korean. And anyone who knows Dad knows how much he likes to talk about his time over in Korea during the war.
It didn’t take long for him to completely embarrass me by telling David that he had a Korean houseboy during the war. His name? Tae Bo.
Luckily, David laughed. Which is why I had to marry him. Because if you don’t think my Dad is funny, you won’t last in our family.
This came into play again later when Mom and Dad visited us. We met friends at a Chinese restaurant. Dad opened his fortune cookie and read “Help. I’m a prisoner in a Chinese fortune cookie factory.”
I groaned. The joke was so old, the pilgrims told it coming over on the Mayflower (another Dad-ism). I’d heard it a gazillion times. But David and my friend Jean laughed until tears came.
Just the other day, David dragged me in to watch a Magnum P.I. episode in which Magnum gives Rick and TC a fortune cookie. They read the fortune aloud, and guess what is says? David is STILL laughing about it!
Dad kept his sense of humor, even when events over the past few years were incredibly difficult. When he finally got his electric wheelchair, Dad enjoyed cruising the halls and, of course, socializing. He became quite popular.
When, for the third time in his two-year stay, a roommate died, several residents requested they get moved in with him. Apparently Dad’s conversational skills and off-color humor outweighed the possibility of any curse.
One of my favorite memories is of my son, Sawyer, then 18 months, climbing right into his lap and trying to “help” Dad drive his wheelchair. The visit was something Dad talked about often.
In Dad’s final days, he clearly was in a lot of discomfort. But it wasn’t enough to still his sense of humor. Or his stubbornness. He recovered twice in the past year from life-threatening illness.
This time, when he knew his weakened body couldn’t recover, he still was present in the moment.
When Mom asked him what she could bring him, he smiled in what we call his “hideous grin.”
That was Sunday. Tuesday, he passed peacefully, listening to his favorite Frank Sinatra songs. Andrew said later that maybe Dad thought he was in heaven.
So Dad, wherever you are, I hope there’s good music, great baseball, a comfy recliner and a cold beer. You deserve it.
Thank you for being our father. You were truly one-of-a-kind.

May 5, 1932-July 24, 2007

My father died today. While he took his final breaths, this Frank Sinatra song was playing in the room. My brother likes to think Dad thought he was in heaven.

Rest in peace, Dad. There's no more pain now.



Fairy tales can come true, it can happen to you
If you're young at heart.
For it's hard, you will find, to be narrow of mind
If you're young at heart.

You can go to extremes with impossible schemes.
You can laugh when your dreams fall apart at the seams.
And life gets more exciting with each passing day.
And love is either in your heart, or on it's way.

Don't you know that it's worth every treasure on earth
To be young at heart.
For as rich as you are, it's much better by far
To be young at heart.

And if you should survive to 105,
Look at all you'll derive out of being alive!
And here is the best part, you have a head start
If you are among the very young at heart.

And if you should survive to 105,
Look at all you'll derive out of being alive!
And here is the best part, you have a head start
If you are among the very young at heart.

Goodbye, Dad

BAD BLOGGER! GET IN THE CORNER!

I'm awful. It's been almost a month. So much has happened it's overwhelming. I've been busy busy blah blah blah. You don't care. You wanted dispatches from my fascinating life!

In quick summation: Sage started speech therapy, Sawyer started his new preschool, my father almost died, I threw a ginormous garage sale that I'd spent hours working on and nobody showed up, I bought into a business and I'm trying to go to Seattle tomorrow.

Phew.

So it's been a bit crazy. The great news is my Dad is doing much better. But it's been tough for me to muster the energy to get on here and blog. I promise to be much more diligent about it!