My Sore Arm

I am working this week (well, except for yesterday which was taken to celebrate Toddler Pukefest – 2006) and I have to tell you that I feel cheated in some way. The parking garage here at work is almost completely empty, with everyone taking vacation this week. I chose not to take vacation, however that is NOT the point. The point is (oh, shut up – I am getting to it) that it feels wrong to work when nobody else is. Wrong, wrong, wrong. And more of the wrong.

I sit here, trying to accomplish great things – like year end employee reviews, left over training for our new time reporting system, filter through the 4336 emails that I have not yet gotten to (I am totally NOT making up that number) and other miscellaneous stuff. I am not doing a very good job of any of it. Next year maybe I will take the holidays off too.


Here is my challenge for you staying at home lumps of uselessness today: Carry around – in your left arm - a 25 pound weight (in the form of a sick, clingy, dead-weight toddler) all day long. This weight will accompany you EVERYWHERE YOU GO. You will not be permitted to put it down every – or you will be subjected to horribly pathetic (and loud) screams of discontent. Take this weight to bed with you as well, enduring hours of kicking, patting, pulling and general annoyance. And then, just like me today, walk around wondering why your freaking arm hurts so much.


My Christmas Memory

I have a nice life now, however I have not always had it so easy.

My mother raised my brother and I by herself. She worked hard, sometimes two jobs, sometimes at night – doing whatever it took to give us the things we needed to survive. Some years were harder than others… some sting just thinking about them – like the years where there were no Christmas presents and people brought us donated food in boxes so that we would have a nice dinner. Some years were very, very good – like the years when my mom was able to buy me a prom dress and shoes. Overall, it was a fantastic childhood, however those hard holiday years still stick with me. I blame them for my disdain of Christmas. And, I believe they are the reason I always go overboard with gift giving. I tend to spend too much money, buying the kids too many things…but it makes me feel good to do it – because I can.

I remember one Christmas where there was next-to-nothing under the tree. It was not the worst Christmas in my memories but it was near the bottom. It did include free food from the Church (which was amazing, and I loved it, and I don’t mean to knock the charity at all), and we had friends surrounding us and we were all fairly healthy and happy – so that part was good.

-- Let’s establish right now that I know Christmas isn’t about toys, or clothes. It isn’t about giving or receiving things. It is about something grander…it is about family and religion and hope. It can be so much more than I used to make of it – but to a kid – it is about the stuff. And as a kid – I just never had the stuff.--

So that very memorable year, we went to a friend’s house for Christmas dinner. It was one of the most painful holidays I can recall, because it was the first year I remember noticing how little we had in comparison to those around us. I walked into our friend’s house to a house full of new toys and clothes. I had never witnessed such a lavish display of gifts. I had no idea that people lived like that…and boy did it sting. Yes I was shallow. Yes it was wrong. But I was 10, and had received a book of life savers and a cat calendar. It was not the worst year in terms of gifts received, but it paled in comparison to the stuff those kid were given from Santa. The Santa they still believed in. The Santa that I came to know didn’t exist when I was 4 because my parents had gotten divorced and my dead-beat dad packed up and left town to some unknown place in the country where he could squander away his money and never ever again be forced to send to us – leaving us poor, poor, poor. Stupid fake Santa.

Is there a point to this? No idea. I just know that I always think about my past this time of year. I think about how far I have come and I think about those less fortunate. I try to give money, gifts, time to those less fortunate and hope that I make a difference to them. I hope that I can make the holidays just a little bit better for someone who is now in the same boat as me all those years ago. I hope you do the same.


My 18 Month Old Boys

The boys went to the doctor the other day for their 18 month checkups…and they are still HUGE. Roark is around the 75-80% for height, while Cole is in the 90-95% (1 ½ in difference). Weight is the same with Cole at 34 pounds and Roark at 33. They walk, run, jump. They play together, make car noises (VAROOOM), laugh at the most mundane things, love to be chased, and they actually do talk a little. Roark says poopoo, diaper (byeber), ice, doggy (goggy), ROAR (when asked what a bear says), woof (hoof), fatty, die, no, yeah, dada, mama, quack (kack), and says a few other things we cannot figure out. Cole is a little less interested in the whole talking thing – he says no (nyah), die, doggy (doddy), dada, mama, ice, meow (mow), quack (kack), poo, and a few others. They are great at repeating (god help us) but don’t tend to walk around talking for no good reason. They try to use a spoon. They drink from a cup. They do still use pacifiers but we are starting to only let them have them at night. They still take two naps a day (although as I write this Roark is protesting nap number two by screaming from his bed). They love to play at the park and think the slide is the bomb. They color with sidewalk chalk and crayons, although eating the tools seems to be the preference. Overall, they are doing great… it is amazing what little boys they have become.


My 1/2 Marathon

Not much interest in reading any blogs today. A lot of work to do and just feel drained. We ran the White Rock ½ Marathon Sunday…and it has left me wanting for energy.

Our time was not bad…2:15 for the ½ which was our stretch goal. That would bring us in around 4:30 for a full, with a stretch goal of 4:15. I think that would be fantastic. I used to dream of a sub-4 marathon, however I am not sure that is realistic based on my past times. I don’t know if my block is physical or mental, but it sure does irritate me.


My Journal

When I think about this journal and try to figure out what its purpose is I tend to get a little confused. However I started thinking about it this way: If this journal were written by my mother as a gift to me…what would I want it to say? If I am leaving this as a legacy or as a reminder of my life, what is important to complete? Interesting no? I of course didn’t come up with any answers, but the thoughts were good. And I think I like what is here and feel that it serves its purpose for me. It is about my life – my hopes and dreams...and failures. It is for my family – who all have the link and sometimes even read – so that they know what is in my heart. It is a record of my life and the things that are important to me. I like that. It feels right.

I have been reading Tuesday’s with Morrie to the boys (when I read which is every-other-night). It has made me think about my life quite a bit. I wonder if I were to cease living today how successful would I rate my life, my relationships? I am sure that I wouldn’t stack up to the Morrie’s of the world. Would you?


His Sweetest Moment

Roark was crying around midnight so I went into the room and watched him for a minute – he was struggling to get comfortable, looking around for someone to pick him up. I scopped him up into my arms and carried him back to bed with me. I know that this won’t last long –that he will be big and brave and won’t need me like this soon enough. I laid down, him beside me, sharing a pillow and squishing under the covers. He leaned into me, his forehead against mine, noses touching. His little hand reaching up stroking my face as he fell asleep. It was by far one of his sweetest moments and I wish it could have lasted forever.

My 12 Miles

Next weekend is a ½ marathon here in Dallas. A ½ marathon that I so eagerly signed up for MONTHS ago. I sit here now and wonder what I was thinking when I decided to race in the middle of December at 0-dark-thirty in the morning. I can say with some amount of certainty that I was either drunk or just not thinking at all.

We went on our last long run before the race this past weekend. My husband and I went around 3:00 when the boys were sleeping so that we wouldn’t have to drag them along in the cold. It is nice having teenagers at home. So, so nice. At 3:00 it is usually fairly warm. Not on Sunday. It was windy, and cold. There was sun, however it was slacking and not providing a damn bit of heat. So, we started out bundled in sweatshirts/jackets/gloves/hats. We were wearing shorts thinking (optimistically) that it would warm up a bit once we got going. And it did…we did. We got warmer and ran back to the car to drop off jackets/sweatshirts, because we didn’t want to carry that stuff for the whole run. BIG MISTAKE. I even held onto my hat and gloves, but it didn’t seem to matter. From that point on, it didn’t warm up. In fact, it just got colder as the sun set and we never really got warm again.

2 hours later we returned to the car – freezing and tired. And sore. I have a freaking sore hip – like I am 90 or something. I am amazed at my ability to fall apart at such a young age and this is the icing on the cake. I am two days out of that long run and it is hard to walk, or even lay on that side. I am just not looking forward to 13.1 miles on Saturday.


Email I Received This Morning


I am passing this on to you because it definitely worked for me and we could all use a little more calmness in our lives. By following this simple advice I heard on the Dr. Phil show, I have finally found inner peace.

Dr. Phil proclaimed, "The way to achieve inner peace is to finish all the things you've started and never finished."

So, I looked around my house to see all the things I started and hadn't finished, and before leaving the house this morning, I finished off a bottle of Merlot, a bottle of White Zinfandel, a bottle of Bailey's Irish Cream, a bottle of Kahlua, a package of Oreos, the remainder of my old Prozac prescription, the rest of the cheesecake, some Doritos and a box of chocolates.

You have no idea how freaking good I feel. Please pass this on to those you feel might be in need of inner peace.