I guess I really am a runner

I haven't ever called myself a runner.  I don't look like a runner. I don't run like a runner. I don't train like a runner.  If the word jogger didn't make me think of 80's running suits, I might use that term, but instead when describing my involvement in the sport I say "I run."  I have described my miles as an action verb, not a definition of who I am.  That's fairly common for many half marathon runners, I think.  In fact all it takes is one day at a running event to realize that anyone (and I do mean anyone) can run a half marathon.  It's the kind of thing that is on many people's bucket list.  But I don't think anyone has "Run two half marathons" on their bucket list.  Many people run a half to cross it off the list.  I did in 2009.  In 2010 I ran a second.  Now it can define me.  I am a runner.

I run because I can

Forgive my continuation of the running theme but it is kind of consuming.  When you run 13.1 miles you have a lot of time to think and my mind covers a lot of different topics but surely one pervasive thought is "why in the heck would I pay money to do this?"  The answer I always come back to is "because I can."  I spend a lot of time in prayer (running up hills, praying for the next water station, asking God to keep me safe, asking God to heal fallen runners) and through this prayer has come the realization that God has given me the ability to do this.  He has made my remarkable body.  It might not look like I want or function perfectly, but it works mostly like it should and as long as that is true, I will continue to do this.  I had a foreboding thought yesterday after the race when I was considering why none of my friends run for a cause.  I think it's mostly because none of has one common cause that is so meaningful to us.  I thought briefly how quickly that could change. How in a year's time, before the 2011 Go! Marathon, any one of us could be cancer stricken or debilitated in some way and running may no longer be an option.  Unless or until that happens I will run.

I'm alive

Funny how something that makes you feel so close to death actually makes you feel so alive when it's over.  Brad and I (and 17,000 others) ran the half marathon yesterday in St. Louis.  Running 13.1 miles is truly amazing on so many levels: psychically, spiritually, mentally, socially.  One of the most incredible feelings was at/near mile 10 when I was passed by the lead marathon runner.  Yes, that's right, when I was at the 10 mile mark of a 13.1 mile run, someone else was at the 23 mile mark of a 26.2 mile run.  I actually teared up.  I was so moved by his humanity and physicality.  The human spirit and the human body is so incredible.  I couldn't help but think how God made that possible, but that runner made it a reality.  I know it won't happen but I want everyone I love to run a half marathon.  I want them to experience the same thing.  I think it's a life changing experience.

Hand holding

Eleanor started in a new tumbling class last week.  During her first class she was one of only two girls.  The other girl, Emily, is four also and has a sister in Meredith's class.  Obviously Eleanor and Emily have a lot in common.  This week there were a few new girls, bringing the total to six.  Eleanor and Emily are still friends.  I know because I saw them holding hands.  It warmed my heart.  It made me grateful for the friends I have and sad for how friendships change as we age.  There is not a lot of hand holding that goes on in grown up friendships.   But just like everything else in her young life, when Eleanor sees something she likes, she picks it up and holds it in her hands.

Why does this feel so long ago?

Like (grand)mother, like (grand)daughter

Young mothers usually reaches a point where they recognize their own mother in themselves.  I think that's common.  This weekend, however, I turned into my grandma.  It took my new friend, Tammy, to help me realize it.  Tammy goes to St. Gertrude's.  She knows grandma.  Now she knows me.  We were attending a retreat at church (Example 1.)  There were about 40 women there all weekend.  We ate a lot, we drank a lot, we had a lot of plastic bottles and cans.  It seemed silly not to recycle so I found some bags and separated the cans and bottles (Example 2.)  While I was separating the trash Tammy asked me why I brought a crock pot full of soup.  I told her because my potatoes were starting to sprout and if I didn't use the mushrooms they need to be thrown out (Example 3.)  Tammy said "You're like a little Shirley Maune."  I'll take that.

A uniquely maternal feeling

Poppy had her preschool assessment today.  Each of the girls has done one in advance of starting school.  Poppy was the first one who wouldn't go without her mama.  At first I was frustrated by her neediness but then I was flattered (is that wrong?)  Either way I got to see the administration of the Dial 3.  Miss Eyvonne is so sweet and motivating you feel like the mother of a prodigy even as your three year old answers "TWO!" when asked her first name.   Overall she did really well.  There was one activity where Miss Eyvonne had a variety of circles, squares and triangles in different colors and sizes.  She asked Poppy to pay attention telling her that she would need to do exactly the same thing when it was her turn.  Miss Eyvonne made three piles, one for all of the circles, another for all of the squares and the last for all the triangles.  I thought ugh.  But then, like she had been sorting and stacking her whole life, Poppy did the whole thing correctly.  (In my mind she might as well have cured cancer...I actually got teary-eyed.)  My pride quickly disolved to a feeling I can only describe as maternal...never, before having children, had I felt this way.  I suspect it's a feeling I will forever know.  When asked to cut with scissors she tried and tried and then she put her head down in shame and said  "I can't do it."  My heart broke.  I was sad for her, I felt like I had failed her, I was mad at Miss Eyvonne for not moving on before her shame set in, I was afraid she might never learn to cut, and on and on and on.  I know why they don't usually like parents to be present for the Dial 3.

Childhood magic

The sun has shone!  Finally.  After a seemingly eternal, gray winter the sun was out today and we broke 70.  To celebrate we packed a McDonald's dinner and headed to the park with our cousins.  There wasn't much eating happening but, thanks to Daddy Pettet (who can do the best underdog in the whole world) there was a lot of swinging. Every swing was full with a hiney and every face was full with a smile.  Not your everyday pose for the camera smile but a huge, this-is-as-good-as-life-gets-for-a-kid smile.  Swinging is truly one of the most magical childhood past times.   I still swing sometimes, but it's not the same.  I hope my girls have years of the aforementioned swinging left in their lives.  They deserve that kind of magic.  Daddy and I deserve those kinds of smiles.

My new tardiness theory

I just watched the neighbor kid running to school (late.) I think the rates of tardiness are inversely correlated to proximity to the destination.  I can make it to a St. Louis meeting on time, but somehow can't get to church by 9:00 AM.

Life imitates art

We have a lot of princesses in our house.  Girls, movies, dolls, dresses, panties...you name it, we have it with princesses.  I think we've seen all of the Disney princess movies and the favorite depends are the day and the real life princess.  Yesterday, Poppy was watching Cinderella at Mary's.  She told Mary that stepsisters are mean.  Then she told Mary that Meredith was her stepsister.  Hmmm...

Tell-it-like-it-is Gal

I always hear these great stories from other parents about the divine or inspiring things their children have said. I am not hearing those things from my girls.  They might say them, but I am not tuned in enough to hear them.  The quotes that stand out for me tend to be LOL worthy.  I took Poppy to the bathroom at Bob Evans yesterday after she nearly panicked and declared that her poop is almost coming out.  I don't usually rush because that Poppy is a fibber, but this time I sped up because a huge mess seemed eminent.  Long story short:  we get there, she mounts, no poops, just potties because as she tells it her "hiney is empty."  Makes sense, especially if you are two.

Tell me what I want to hear

I am out of town this week and while I have tried to call home daily to talk to my girls, I didn't make it today.  I didn't even get to my hotel room until 8:00.  My girls go to bed at 7:00.  I just hung up the phone with Bradly and made a point to ask "They didn't miss me did they?"  Courteously (and probably honestly), Brad answered no.  It got me thinking about a powerful maternal skill that was obviously born of necessity in the absence of our children.  I think they call it ignorance.  Not ignorance as in dumb, but ignorance as in don't ask, don't tell.  Interestingly today I heard two other similar stories from mothers.  Early this morning, a state legislator was providing insight to being in politics while raising children.  While her kids are grown and largely out of the house she suggested that sometimes you don't want to know what they are doing.  You work hard to raise good productive adults (note we do not raise children, we raise adults) and then you have to step away.  She advised that you do not want to know everything.  Later, I was talking to a professional woman who once lamented that she would miss some of her daughters' early milestones when she returned to work after giving birth.  Her childcare provider lovingly reassured her that "no firsts happen here."  I am not sure fathers have this same need, but as a mother I am grateful sometimes for what I do not know.

My altered reality

Today I was getting a computer game for Eleanor.  She likes to play the online games at Nickelodeon or Disney.  I was finding the Wonder Pets game when she asked what Ruby's brother's name is.  I thought for a minute and said Max.  Then I started singing the theme song from  Max and Ruby, a show on Nickelodeon.  Then Eleanor said no, the Ruby from this real life.  Funny how my mind defaulted to a cartoon with a theme song and not our real life cousins Ruby and Jonah.  I guess I need a reality check.

Try, Try Again

Today is officially Ticked Off Tuesday.  We were snowed out last week so I had to take a rain check.  Hmm, maybe it should have been called a snow check.  Well, anyway I am looking forward to it.  I have figured out why the girls were excited about me being on the radio and, consequently, why they were sad to miss it.  Apparently, I didn't tell them that Ticked Off Tuesday is a TALK show.  Meredith asked what song I was going to be singing.  Sweet girl.

A nightly ritual

As much as we rush through life we try to build in as much routine as we can, particularly at bedtime.  It's hard though because sometimes a scheduled book or a song will be what tips the scales the following morning.  One thing that has become a nightly ritual for us is a small gesture suggested by Deacon Leon Noelker when he baptized Meredith in 2003.  Regrettably, I have few memories from any of the sacramental moments in mine or my children's lives.  But I do remember Deacon Leon asking that we parents make the sign of the cross on our child's head each night.  I don't think I started right away, but it has become a nightly ritual for me.  I take comfort in it.  The girls barely even notice and often ask me to do it as they missed it the first time.  Even if I don't have bedtime duty, I sneak in quietly before I retire to give this tiny blessing.  I have seen Bradly do it and now, most touchingly, Eleanor likes to do it back to me.  She did it last night on my lips and I found that to be such a tender moment.  Maybe a telling moment, too.  It makes me think she knows a lot for her four years and, perhaps, I needed that.  It was a small gesture that will have a lasting impact.

A fire and hot cocoa

 

I am officially tired of the snow and cold, but I must say there is nothing cuter than kids in snow suits.  Not to mention it makes you want to shout "I can't put my arms down."  This was from Brad's first attempt to sled with the girls this winter.  They were very excited but they kept telling people that mommy didn't want to sled, she wanted to sit by the fire and drink hot cocoa.  There was no fire and no hot cocoa. Of course see below for what happened after the photo shoot and one or two trips down the hill.

Yep, that's us, driving away.  Suddenly a fire and hot cocoa didn't seem like such a bad option when compared to subzero weather and walking up that hill.  Of course Meredith and Daddy had a blast.  But we were warm!

The etiology of a nickname

People ask me frequently how a child named Lillian came to be called Poppy, instead of the more obvious flower nickname, Lily. Like most childhood nicknames a sibling was involved, but rather than being anointed Poppy, her name sort of evolved. Lillian was born when Eleanor was just 16 months old. Unfortunately Eleanor's toddler language skills were not quite developed enough for her to say the three syllables of Lillian or the double L sound. So she called her Lala (like the Teletubby.) And we did too. Eventually, as her language skills developed, Eleanor began to call her Lala. And we did too. In goofy "mother-of-a-newborn-ese" (that's the official language of sleep deprived, hormonal, postpartum women)Lolly became Lollipop. As Lillian grew so, too, did her personality. Eventually her nickname was being modified depending on her mood. If she was crabby, she was Pop Tart. If she was showing off she was Pop Star. If she was crying she was Poppy Top. From there we evolved (or perhaps regressed) to Poppy. Funny how a long name was shortened to a nickname which was then lengthened to another nickname was inevitably too long. Thus we arrived at a nickname of a nickname. Don't ask me how Eleanor came to be called Noodle, just be glad she reclaimed her name. I suppose Lillian will too, if not before, she will definitely do so when she is asked about the etiology of her nickname.

Gifts for the new year

I just remembered how I was awakened this morning…

A small finger inside my nose followed by the sweet voice of Lillian proudly saying “Mommy, I gave you my boogie.”

December 31, 2009

Eleanor (4) to her much older friend, Lizzie (8)

From December 28 (blogging for prosperity and so I can delete the email from my inbox.)

"Did you know some couches are named sofa?"

A jury of your peers

I was summonsed to jury duty today and although it was canceled it made me wonder about the process and the promise of a jury of peers.  Do I really want to be the peer of someone whose guilt or innocence I would be called to determine?  Maybe peer means something different to me than it does in legalese.  I actually even looked up the definition of peer.  M-W.com defines peer as:

1 : one that is of equal standing with another : equal; especially : one belonging to the same societal group especially based on age, grade, or status
2 archaic : companion
3 a : a member of one of the five ranks (as duke, marquess, earl, viscount, or baron) of the British peerage b : noble 1

I choose noble.  If I get a choice of which kind of peer or which definition to choose, I choose noble.  Anyway, most people dread jury duty.  I can't wait.  I am a true crime junkie.  As such I don't think I will actually be selected.  I imagine the defense will issue a peremptory challenge. They might claim "actual bias."  Do you think I watch too much Law & Order.  QUIET IN THE COURTROOM.