School teacher by day, Superhero by night

February Memories

noreply@blogger.com (Erin) — Wed, 01 Feb 2012 18:06:00 +0000

Last night, I dreamed that I was nine months pregnant. It was so realistic. I could feel the swell of my stomach, feel the baby twisting and turning and poking out limbs. I woke up confused about why I was sleeping on my stomach because, oh, I was way too pregnant for that. But then I remembered that I'm (thankfully) not and so I can sleep on my stomach for maybe the rest of forever.
It made me think about February five years ago. Entering into this month knowing that I'd most likely have a baby in this month. Scared, excited. Ready to be done, but yet, afraid to be done because what was I going to do with a baby?
Part of that time is a blur. I don't remember much of my life before kids. Not because it was a meaningless life--it wasn't--but because the last five years have held so much that I forget that they haven't always been my life. But I remember Uno tournaments with Shane, both of us on the cusp of this new life, enjoying those last few days when it would be just us. I remember that every night, I would sit in the nursery, complete but for a baby. I would rock in the glider and imagine what it would be like with a baby at my breast, tired but surely so happy. I would place my hand on my stomach and say, "You can come out any time now. Whenever you're ready. We're ready to meet you. Your mommy and daddy and grandparents are all ready to meet you."
I would dream.
The hours and hours that I spent in labor with Luke are a blur. I remember only snippets, hours of walking the halls, of watching the buses arrive at my school in the morning and being thankful that I wasn't there, that I was in this miraculous moment instead. I remember thinking he'd never be born. I remember wondering if I was right, if he would be a he. I remember being so out of my mind with pain at the end that I felt like I was outside of my body. I remember being so tired that I could hardly lift my head or speak, yet I was pushing with strength that I didn't know I had, strength that was beyond me. I remember the way my mom yelled when he was almost born.
I remember the feeling when his feet slid out of me. Feeling empty, yet so whole.
Holding him, at last, at long last. At first, I didn't even know that he was born, then all of a sudden he was in my arms. In that instant, I forgot that he hadn't been in my arms forever.
Part of me can't believe that Luke turns five this month. I can't believe that he's been in my life for this long, that he isn't still that baby who fit in my arms as if they were created just to hold him. These past five years have been a struggle to learn how to be a mom, to learn how to raise a son. I don't always do it right. In fact, most times I'm certain I'm doing it wrong, but I keep trying. Someday, I hope he'll know how hard I tried to do right by him. I hope he'll know that I never meant to yell or not be 100% present in the moment or not be as patient as I should.
I hope he'll be as proud of me as I am of him.

half marathon training [week 4]

noreply@blogger.com (Erin) — Sat, 28 Jan 2012 20:46:00 +0000

In this installation of "stuff that is boring to non-runners," things are pretty unremarkable. No new distances or speeds, but I did get to run outside every day this week. And I upped my dumbbells from really, really tiny to really tiny, causing me to walk around wincing in pain all day Thursday.

I am slowly getting used to Monday runs, although they're hard. I've always had Monday as a rest day because let's face it, Mondays are jerks. But to fit in three runs during the week, without doing them all in a row, I kind of had to utilize Monday. Monday is tough because I can't run right after school. Instead, I pick up Luke at school, then pick up Tommy, then dash out the door as soon as Shane gets home. Luckily Monday runs are never longer than three miles, but I still feel a little guilty saying hi and then goodbye to the boys. This particular Monday was stupid windy and I felt like I was running into the wind no matter which direction, but I got it done in 31 minutes and headed back inside to really see my boys.

Tuesday's run was a pain. The bike trail I run on had flooded at some point and then frozen over into a thin sheet of ice. Also, for some reason, there were chunks of wood on the trail. I can't figure this one out, but I was so busy watching for ice that I ended up turning an ankle on a chunk of wood. I am pretty sure I spent more time walking than running Tuesday--and I know I spent all of that time cursing myself for being out there. It was not pretty!

Thursday was a quick one mile run. It's amazing how easy this sounds, but it's really not that easy for me. I take awhile to warm up, and you don't really warm up on a one mile run. I did this in the morning before school, as I had Luke's parent-teacher conference after school (glowing report! so proud!). I have such mixed feelings about running in the dark. On one hand, I love it because it is so quiet and peaceful. Hardly any people or cars. On the other hand, I am a nervous, paranoid freak and I can't really enjoy it. I'd do it more often if there was some guarantee of safety.

This morning, I ran seven miles. I was excited because it's been awhile since I've had a run longer than five miles. I was not so excited when I saw the weather. A few inches of snow and wind gusts of up to 35 mph? I can handle the snow, but the wind. I hate you, wind. There was just enough snow to make running difficult. My usual strategy of cutting through the school parking lot and frontage road because they are always clear was a fail, as they were clear of snow, but not clear of ice. Instead of running through a clear path, I had to walk in the snow piled to the side of the road to keep from slipping! After this, I was happy to be back in the snow covered sidewalks and roads. I ended up miscalculating distance and finished my run not only uphill, but straight into the wind. I must've looked so comical. I was making running motions, but I swear I was moving backwards. Dealing with the wind and dodging snow plows was a little (okay, a lot) annoying, but it felt so good to be out there this morning. My muscles are screaming at me a little, so I'll definitely be spending some time with my foam roller today and tomorrow.
When I stopped for a snow plow at one point, I turned around and saw this view.

Isn't that beautiful? The path is the old railroad path. I always think about running down there, but I'm not sure if it belongs to someone or if there are hunters out there, so I don't want to go by myself. If anyone is ever up for a trail run/exploration, I would totally make them run this with me. Regardless, it was a beautiful sight this morning and I'm so glad I was there to see it.

Comparing, Contrasting, or Just Being

noreply@blogger.com (Erin) — Fri, 27 Jan 2012 17:06:00 +0000

Slowly, steadily, I'm working on my Body Restoration book through Brave Girls Club. (Registration is still open for the course I'm taking--I cannot recommend it enough!)
Before I started, I was overwhelmed by all that was included and was so worried that I wouldn't have time to do it. So much so that I almost quit before I even began. I'm so glad I didn't. I've found out that I can carve out a little time each night, especially if I set up Luke and Tommy at the table with paint, too. We're all crafting together, almost every night, and I love it.
This week's really struck a chord with me. It is about loving you for you and not spending your time measuring yourself against others. I'm so bad about this. I might leave the house feeling good about myself, but put me in a group of women, and I'll decide why I'm not good enough. Someone will have better hair than me. Better boots. Look cuter in jeans. Thinner thighs. Much better hair. The list goes on and on. It's unfair to me and it's unfair to everyone else, because they didn't leave their house simply to become a measuring stick against which I judge myself. As I'm devaluing myself, I'm also devaluing the women around me. They are more than just their bodies, too.
Last night, I worked on this collage. I looked at each of the women; some pictures provided by Brave Girls Club, others that I'd cut out of a magazine.

It was still drying when I took the picture. It's not the best picture, either, but the purpose was to assign these labels to pictures of other women. Not labels about why she's better than me, but labels about how these women are real human beings who were put on this earth to be more than just a body. To hope, dream, cry, laugh, and simply live. It's a simple realization. Not exactly rocket science, but I can't fathom why it took the simple act of putting words and pictures to paper to strike me. I can't say that I'll never judge myself against others, but I'm going to try to be more cognizant of this--to realize that it doesn't matter if someone wears smaller jeans or has cuter hair, it just matters that we're both humans who are worth so much more.

Castaway Bay

noreply@blogger.com (Erin) — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 13:18:00 +0000

We had the most wonderful weekend. A month or so ago, I received an offer for our family to visit Castaway Bay, an indoor waterpark located in Sandusky, Ohio. I jumped at the opportunity because my kids love the waterpark--and so do I. There's something really enchanting about playing indoors at an 82 degree waterpark while it snows outside. You can almost forget that it's winter. This time around, we definitely forgot that it was winter! This was our first time at Castaway Bay and we definitely return. Of the waterparks we've visited in the past, Castaway Bay quickly became our favorite. There are many reasons why, but first and foremost, we loved it because it is SO perfect for young kids. We've had incidents with shoving, running teenagers knocking into our little ones before and we've struggled with there only being one slide that's really appropriate for young kids. And let's face it, even a two year old is going to get bored after awhile. Castaway Bay was great because there is SO much to do. If you live in my area, it's super easy to travel. The distance is about the same as to Wisconsin Dells, but you miss Chicago traffic. Basically, we just got on the toll road and drove east until we got to Sandusky--it was so easy! The Ohio turnpike is great, too, because there are plenty of safe, clean places to stop. We were greeted by a table full of goodies when we got there. The boys were so excited that I couldn't stop little hands from grabbing things long enough to take a photo! And while I know that as guests of the waterpark, we obviously got a little extra special treatment, but I cannot stress enough how great the entire staff was. Obviously I didn't walk around with a sign saying, "Hi, I'm a blogger," so outside of the few extra perks, we were treated just like everyone else. The staff was unbelievably kind and friendly. Every time we passed the main guest, someone would smile and ask how we were doing. When we asked for a rollaway crib for Tommy (because I like to keep him contained in baby jail), it was brought up immediately with extra linens and pillows. The staff made a point of talking *to* the kids--asking them if they were having fun. I really liked that. The family activities offered at the park are awesome. While some do involve paying a little extra for supplies, for the most part, the activities are free and plentiful. Luke and Tommy loved seeing Peanuts characters wandering around the halls and lobby! As soon as we got there, we hit the waterpark. The slides in the toddler area quickly became Tommy's favorites. I loved them, too, because to get from the bottom of the slide, out of the pool, and back up to the top of the slide was completely open. This meant that I could stand at the bottom of the slide and wait for him to come back down and at no point was he out of my line of vision! This is awesome, because he wants to do everything on his own, and I didn't have to worry about losing sight of him. Safety is so important and I love it when a place is safe, yet doesn't infringe upon the fun that is being had. Luke's absolute favorite was Rendezvous Run, a water coaster. The first time we went on it, I was afraid he was going to be scared because my stomach dropped on the first hill, followed by a straight shot into a pitch black tube. Of course, as soon as I got my bearings, I realized he was laughing gleefully and not scared at all. I lost count of the number of times we went up the stairs and down this ride, but it was a lot. I love that he's tall enough to go on these sort of rides! We also discovered that he was tall enough to go on Paradise Plunge, a body slide at the top of the family funhouse. It was really cool to do these "big kid" slides with Luke and watch him REALLY enjoy them. I found myself wishing I had a waterproof case for my phone, as I would've loved to capture his joy! Don't worry. I captured it in other places. Friday night, we all went to a blogger dinner, where the kids got to sample some of the crafts available at Castaway Bay. I love how Castaway Bay handled this event, by the way. They seemed to understand that while we were there as bloggers, we were--first and foremost--there as families, which meant that we were interested in doing activities with our family. The boys go to color tshirts, make door hangers, and decorate cookies. (Okay, I colored Tommy's for him, but Luke had a blast decorating his!) Cookie decorating was a huge hit... Luke had such a blast that before we left, he gave out hugs and I love yous to the two absolutely wonderful PR women behind the event. Oh, and did I mention that a special guest joined us? The kid who wailed at the sight of Santa this Christmas couldn't get enough of Snoopy. Go figure. We finally had to tell Tommy that Snoopy had to go night night, because he was obsessed with seeing him again that he didn't want to go back to the waterpark before bed! Fortunately for us, we saw Snoopy the next morning on our way to the waterpark. Best of all? He was wearing pajamas, totally keeping in line with our "Snoopy went night night" fib from the night before. Tommy was so excited that he stopped dead in his tracks. I didn't get any shots in the morning, because I wanted to just enjoy our last little bit there. We went up and down the waterslides more times than I count, played basketball in the pool, battled the waves in the wave pool, and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. Walking out of the waterpark was definitely not easy (I'm not naming any names, but one of us did have to be carried kicking and screaming out of the park). We stopped in the lobby while Shane was loading the car, where we discovered two very awesome things: free face painting and Linus! I *love* that Linus has his blanket. (Shane is clapping because we couldn't believe that Tommy sat still for face painting.) Although it was incredibly hard to leave, I love that we were able to end the trip with face painting. It gave the boys one last experience to talk about on the ride home. I didn't talk much about our room, but we were very pleased with the Starfish room. The room itself was quiet. We didn't hear any noise at all once we went to bed, which is such a blessing. I hate staying somewhere only to have none of us able to sleep because all you hear are loud people crashing around outside your room. It was just the right size for us and had a mini-fridge and microwave, both of which are essential when traveling with kids. And free wi-fi! I did check out the fitness room Saturday morning (yes, I'm crazy) and found it to be very nice. The room itself was cozy with a big window and two flat screen TVs to make working out a little less painful. I was definitely impressed. Overall, I can't say enough good things about our stay, except that we will be back and I cannot wait. If you're looking for a fun, affordable family friendly getaway, I would definitely recommended Castaway Bay! Our trip was provided by Castaway Bay, but all opinions expressed are my own. Huge thank you to Castaway Bay and thunder::tech pr for providing us with this amazing opportunity!

Half Marathon Training [week 3]

noreply@blogger.com (Erin) — Sun, 22 Jan 2012 00:06:00 +0000

This week had some ups and downs, but overall, I felt like it was a strong week. I had the day off Monday, so I got to run in the morning. This is always a nice weekday treat! However, the school in my town did not have the day off, which meant that my usually clear mile or so through the school parking lots and frontage road were not an option because I didn't want to dodge school buses and teenage drivers. The snow we'd gotten earlier in the weekend had time to melt a little and refreeze, making for slippery running conditions--not to mention that many of the sidewalks weren't clear. Including the sidewalk in front of the police station and town hall, which was so piled with snow that I had to walk into the busy street. That was kind of a pain, but I still finished three miles in 33 minutes. Not bad considering the conditions! Tuesday was my best 5k time yet! I finished in 29:45, shaving 14 seconds off my previous best time. The funny thing was my RunMeter app wasn't working correctly and didn't announce my pace or time, so I had no idea what my time was until I finished. I kind of like it that way, because I focused on how I felt instead of what the computer was telling me. Unfortunately, I need the app to tell me distance, so it's not an option to turn that off all of the time. I kind of screwed up on Thursday and underestimated how very cold it would be. Instead of packing my Mizuno gear, I just packed regular tights and a zip up hoodie. It was cold! Single digits cold, so I ran on the treadmill. Fortunately I was only scheduled to run two miles, but I was still pouty because I'd been looking forward to a quick, easy two miles outside. Thanks, winter. You're a dumb jerk. It took me 21 minutes and I managed to hit the emergency stop button twice. Did I mention how much I dislike the treadmill? In case I didn't mention how much I dislike the treadmill, let me reiterate. Today I was scheduled to run six miles. Because we were on a mini-vacation at a waterpark (a post is coming on that very soon), my only option was to do a treadmill run in the morning. I thought I could do it. I really, really thought I could power through my treadmill dislike and do it, but I could not. I managed to run three miles in a slow 36 minutes (during which I punctuated with tweets about how much I hate the treadmill), but I honestly felt like I'd died and was in some level of hell where I was required to run the treadmill for all of eternity (I'm pretty sure Dante would've mentioned that if treadmills were around in his time). It was awful. I turned on the TV, I listened to music, and nothing worked. It was so miserable. I stopped at three miles and got on the elliptical for 3.25 miles. I know it's not the same as a six mile run, but I'm confident that I could've ran six miles if I would've been outside. Instead of in what was so obviously hell. After my run, we went back to the waterpark where I climbed up the stairs to the top of the big slide with Luke approximately eight million times, so I'm confident that I got a good workout regardless. I really need to learn to power through my treadmill dislike. I'm trying, but mental blocks are my worst enemy. I also did a Tough Mudder workout on Wednesday. I should've done one on Friday, but after four hours in the car and three hours chasing the boys around the waterpark, I was beat! Again, I'm assuming all the stair climbing counted as conditioning. According to my Daily Mile, I've logged 104 miles since December 1st! Not bad at all--I can thank the mild December for most of that. Now that we have a taste of winter, I'm definitely ready for spring. Here's hoping I'm able to run outside this whole week...

so much more

noreply@blogger.com (Erin) — Fri, 20 Jan 2012 03:24:00 +0000

Recently my friend Kim blogged about a Body Restoration class she's taking, on a site called Brave Girls Club. I'd never heard of either, but the names both intrigued me. After clicking over to the site, I was in love. And wanted to do it so badly, but I knew I couldn't budget it or even come close to budgeting it so I resigned myself to just follow along with Kim. And then just a few days later, Brave Girls Club opened up a contest offering free classes to sixty people (how generous is that?!). I entered as soon as I saw, but my comment was one of hundreds--imagine my complete happiness when I found that I won a Body Restoration class. It felt so right. Then I looked at the lessons and I kind of panicked a little. It required so much art! Although I used to be artistic to an extent, it's been years since I've had the time to do anything like that. Who was I kidding? Still, I went and bought art supplies on Monday. Tuesday was an incredibly stupid and stressful day. INCREDIBLY. The kind of stress that shows no signs of stopping any time soon, which is frustrating in eight hundred ways. I came home with the boys, set up my new sketch book (spiral bound because it was cheaper, naturally), and set to work. I gave them paint, too, and they were beyond thrilled. I painted. I cut. I decoupaged. I used to decoupage all the time! It's been ages, but I used to go through jars of mod podge on a weekly basis. I decoupaged everything. If someone sat too still, I would decoupage them. I'm only half kidding. I love the stuff. It's like glue on steroids. And I felt better. It's certainly not pretty or artistic or even neat, but that's okay because it made me feel better. This week's theme is how you're so much more than your body. Those are my eyes, of course. I chose words that spoke to me, about all the things I do that are so much more than my body. I used pink because it's my favorite color and sparkly green because I like glitter. Most importantly, when I was done with this and the two journaling pages that follow it in my book, I felt better. The stressful situation was and is still there, but it settled from a huge lump in my throat to a slightly smaller one. I'll take it. Part of the course also involves thanking your body for the things it does today. When I ran on the treadmill after work, instead of glaring in the mirror at my wobbly bits (seriously, fitness room designers, a wall mirror two feet in front of a treadmill? NO.), I tried to keep a running thought of how strong my body was and what it's doing for me. And then I accidentally hit the emergency stop button and almost fell off the back of the treadmill, so I instead began thinking about how much of a clumsy spaz I am, but that's okay because at least I wasn't focusing on those wobbly bits--because those wobbly bits? Yeah, I'm so much more than that.

Half Marathon Training [week 2]

noreply@blogger.com (Erin) — Sat, 14 Jan 2012 22:07:00 +0000

Week 2 of half marathon training is in the bag! I felt pretty strong this week, especially compared to last week. Last week's migraine really killed me... I'm hoping it's awhile before another bad one hits.

Monday was definitely my strongest 5k ever. I finally finished a sub-30 5k. Granted, I finished in 29:59, but that one second counted! When I hit 2.5 miles and it read my time as 25 minutes, I panicked a little because I had two hills in front of me and was running into the wind. I actually faltered and walked a few steps before I was like, What are you doing? You can DO this. And I did. My splits were 10:23, 9:32, and 9:12.
I was a little tired and sore Tuesday, after two full days of teaching and pushing myself during Monday's run. I missed that sub-30 by six seconds, but I still felt strong. Splits were 10:10, 9:44, and 9:20. Another good negative split!

Wednesday, I followed the Tough Mudder workout and managed to not die. This is a good thing.

Thursday, heh. Thursday killed me. I knew there was a winter storm coming, but I convinced myself that I could run in it. Until I stepped outside and chipped all the ice and snow off my car and almost fell three times doing so. I swallowed my pride and trudged back inside the school to use the treadmill. A little note about me and treadmill running: I haven't done it in, oh, four years. And when I last did it, I was just starting out running and really did more of a fast walk with a few occasional jogs thrown in. So I didn't really run on it. However, I've always heard people say that treadmill runs are faster and easier, so I was all, I'm going to kill this run! It's going to be so fast! Yay easy fast run!
I love it when the universe laughs at me. I am, apparently, not a treadmill runner. I couldn't figure out pacing. I'm used to listening to my legs and letting them tell me when to speed up and slow down. Pushing buttons? Yeah, that doesn't really work for me. Looking at a wall mirror while I'm running? DEFINITELY doesn't work for me. I am horrified at how, uhh, bouncy things are. In one week, I ran my fastest and slowest 5k. I'm nothing if not random.

Friday, I again survived the Tough Mudder workout. And I managed to do a grand total of one real pushup (aka, with my knees off the floor).

Today, I finished strong with a snowy run. It took forever to find my motivation today. I had a little headache. Tommy was sick and woke me up in the middle of the night, needing comfort and snuggles. I finally pushed myself out the door and I was so glad. It was only a four mile run (funny how my miles have actually decreased for the time being!).
It was COLD and the sidewalks weren't all clear, so I stuck to the roads in places that were not heavily trafficked. My head felt light once I got out in it. As much as I detest snow, it is pretty and covered up all the ugliness of January. My splits weren't perfect, but I had to walk through a knee high snow drift at mile three. Without that, I probably could've achieved a negative split. Still, I was pretty close with splits of 11:01, 10:20, 10:43, 9:39. I am probably going to feel this run in my hips tomorrow, as I had to brace myself to keep from slipping and sliding for most of the run. In a few places, I opted to leap over snow that was piled around driveways and I kind of felt like a kid. It was fun!

It was definitely a good one! I have to say how much I love Mizuno breath thermo gear for winter running. The headband keeps my head so warm that I didn't need to pull up my hood, and the gloves keep my hand so toasty that I've yet to make it through a whole run without needing to pull them off to let my hands cool down.

I am glad I had a good week. I felt like last week was kind of a bad start to training and worried that it was a bad sign. I'm glad week two turned it around for me!

there is a silence

noreply@blogger.com (Erin) — Fri, 13 Jan 2012 16:08:00 +0000

listening to the Sufjan Stevens Pandora station. This really beautiful song While You Were Sleeping by Elvis Perkins just played. I've never heard it before, but I love discovering new music. The words are really moving. I can do this only because I have no students today. Only papers to grade and grades to type in the computer.

As I'm listening, I'm thinking that some people get to listen to Pandora all day at work and discover new favorites all day long. What must that be like? I feel that momentary pang of jealousy, that grass is greener moment. It's not what I want, not what I've ever wanted. It's nice for today, but the steady silence beneath the flourescent lights would start to get to me after awhile. I would miss the 8th grade exuberance, even when it's annoying.

Yesterday I gave my students an assignment over The Red Wheelbarrow. They had to write their own poems, deciding what so much might depend upon. For the most part, they got it. It's always such a good feeling when they're showing you work that equals or sometimes outreaches your expectations.

I should be using this time to clean out my file cabinets, my catch all drawers that end up full of unnecessary, unorganized items. My cabinets, my shelves, all of those things that I always swear I am going to organize so well. On the surface, my classroom is very organized, with daily folders for homework, monthly calendars, it's all easy for my students. But inside the closets and the closed drawesr, everything is a jumble.

Instead I'm gazing out between the blinds at the snow, the white ground and wondering how I'm going to run tomorrow if the sidewalks are still not cleared.

I don't want to shake this quiet, though. I want to soak it up, because it's so rare. Breathe it in, hold on to it, knowing that this room won't hold this silence again until June, when I'll be too busy gazing between the blinds at the green grass and sunshine and my closets will still be messy.

That's okay, though. Maybe I kind of like them that way.

Daily Routine

noreply@blogger.com (Erin) — Tue, 10 Jan 2012 01:15:00 +0000

If you're on instagram, you've probably been following along with the January Photo a Day meme. Basically, someone set up a plan for each day of January to correspond with a specific photo. Today was daily routine. The thing is, we have a lot of daily routines and I couldn't pick one, so I thought I'd take some of the highlights and make them into a blog post.

Morning routine:

Stumble to the bathroom at 5:30. Choose various amounts of makeup that might make myself look less zombielike and more human.
Daydream at the way the mirror splits me into two people and wish that I actually had a clone. Clone Erin could go to work and make money, while I stayed home with the kids.
Wake Luke up at 6, then move him into our bed so he can ease into the day. Tommy does his morning breathing treatment at the same time. It's so hard for me to not curl up in bed with them!
I usually make Luke's lunch the night before, but I forgot. Today I made him his own version of a lunchable, with a few extra goodies.

Load Luke into the car at 6:30. Super awesome head wound is courtesy of a gate smack while walking to the park with the sitter. It actually looks a lot better than it did Thursday!
Full moon.
Preschool dropoff.
I love the view when I pull into the parking lot at work. It makes it slightly less painful.

Afternoon routine:

Finish off a long day of teaching and meetings with essay test grading. I plowed through two classes today, and I hope I can get to the other two tomorrow.
Then on to my favorite routine, picking up my two buddies! First the taller one, who goes to school right down the street from my school. Then the shorter one, who goes to the sitter right down the street from our us. Both convenient pickups!
Fighting over who gets to check the mail is a daily routine. I usually cross my fingers and say, NO BILLS, NO BILLS.

When Shane got home, I headed right out for a quick run. I didn't think it'd be a good one, but I ended up much faster than usual and ran my first sub-30 5k! (This explains why I'm so very red faced.)
Dinner! Crock pot Italian beef, BLT pasta salad, and bread.
After dinner playtime, followed by cleaning. Tommy likes to drag out all the pots and pans to pretend to cook. Luke very sweetly put them all away tonight.

Evening routine:

Bathtime
Rocking Tommy... he thinks the camera flash is hilarious.
Shane has a meeting tonight, so Luke got to hang out in our bed with the iPad while I was putting Tommy down.
And finally, as soon as I hit enter and my tea finishes steeping, I'm going to settle in with a cup of tea and a good book.

Just four more days of this, then I can settle into the weekend routine, which involves yoga pants and gluttony. C'mon weekend!

Half Marathon Training

noreply@blogger.com (Erin) — Sat, 07 Jan 2012 23:30:00 +0000

I wasn't sure if I should blog about half marathon training, because well, it's kind of boring. I mean, I put one foot in front of the other for a specified number of miles. And also, I'm always freakishly afraid that talking too much about something will mean that something will somehow end in failure. I'm insane, I know.
But in the end, I take so much inspiration from people who do write about their running successes and failures that I thought, why not?

I'm following a training program that my friend Barb shared--it was created by her friend, a certified running coach. So far, I really like it. While I like Hal Higdon's programs and would have otherwise used his, I also felt like his novice program was more about increasing miles to get to that point. This is great, but the longest run on his program is ten miles. I've already ran ten miles, and I feel like if need be, I could get up and run 13.1 miles tomorrow. I wouldn't run it strong or well, though, which is what I really want to focus on for the next fourteen weeks. Although the training plan is only twelve weeks, my race is fourteen weeks away. I like the extra time in case I need to re-do a week for whatever reason or in case the kids and I are really sick, which is always possible.

This week was a mixed bag. I felt that I ran strong, actually, but I missed Thursday's run due to a migraine (a really nasty stupid migraine that has finally convinced me that I need to see a doctor). It was only a three mile run, so I don't think it's going to make or break anything, but it's still frustrating. The plan calls for four days of running, with two days of strength/cross training, and one day of rest (yay rest!). On the non-run days, I've been doing the Tough Mudder workout. It's hard. I don't do pushups the right way and I'm not even attempting the chin-ups, but it's kicking my butt. It's needed, though! Maybe this means that someday, I can open pickle jars all on my own.

I'm really trying to work on negative splits. It's hard, because my tendency is to start out really fast, because I feel good. Unfortunately, I then can't maintain and end up slow and gasping and it's not pretty. I'm getting much better at starting out slower. Sometimes I really have to force myself to slow down, but I'm getting there. I love it when I do, because speeding up toward the end of a run feels great.
With today's five mile run, I did a pretty good job of it. Mile one was 11:11, followed by 11:03 for mile two, 10:30 for three, 9:59 for mile four, and 10:08 for mile five. Not a perfect negative split because mile five was a little slower than four, but I also had to step off the road and onto the grass to let a car pass at one point, so I'm counting it.

The nicest thing about knowing that I can probably run this distance without dying is being able to focus on improving my running itself. Of course, I say this now. Check back with me on April 1st, and I'll probably be cursing myself for ever thinking this was a good idea!

Behind and Ahead

noreply@blogger.com (Erin) — Sat, 31 Dec 2011 18:46:00 +0000

At the end of 2009 and 2010, I linked back to my top ten most commented posts. I'm not sure if anyone cares, but I like looking back refreshing my memory, so why not do it again? I have more than ten on here, but some of them were ties in the number of comments.

10. Twisty
9. Hallelujah, By and By
8. Food and Resolve
7d. Just Breathe
7c. Food and Resolve
7b. To all the parents who have a baby that will not sleep
7a. C-C-Cold
6. Her hands held history
5c. Bitter Tears
5b. In A Year
5a. He Is, I Am, We Are
4. Run Around
3. Love Notes
2. A Working Mom's Grace
1. Absent Truth

I don't really make resolutions and don't plan on starting any time soon, but there are some goals I hope to achieve in 2012 (wow, it's going to take awhile to get used to writing that!).
+ keep running. Of course. I'm already signed up for a half-marathon at the end of April. I start training for it next week. I've given myself more weeks to train than needed, because I want to make sure I run it strong and have time to make up weeks in case of sickness, etc.
+ Run more races. Races are great for accountability, but also, I need to work on the mental game. I am not used to running with other people. I run alone, all the time. So put me on a road full of other runners and I panic. I convince myself that they're all faster than me, that I'm going to finish last or make a fool of myself. I need to get over this.
+ Replace our kitchen linoleum with per go or something else that is nicer than the linoleum. This would be pretty much anything. Since we're no longer able to budget a house cleaner (MAJOR SAD FACE), I need a kitchen floor that is easier to clean and I'm willing to pay money to make that happen. Plus it'll look nicer. Linoleum sucks.
+ Keep reading. Last year, I read over 100 books. I'd like to do that again this year
+ Blog more. I used to blog a lot. I don't as much anymore. Partly because I don't have the time I used to, partly because I sometimes don't know what to say.
+ Send more mail. If I send two cards a month, that's two people who will have a good day when they open the mailbox.
+ Keep being awesome. That one is simple enough.

I turn thirty in 2012. I alternate between being terrified and not really caring. I feel like I did so much in my 20s. Got married, started a career, had babies, that I'm not really sure what's left for the 30s. Except maybe grey hair and wrinkles? (just kidding, everyone already in your 30s). But at the same time, it's a new chapter, a new adventure, and I'm kind of excited to see what it'll bring. Oh, and if anyone talks to my husband, two words: surprise party. Even if it's a BYOB BBQ in the backyard, I don't care. Thirty years is a very long time on this planet and I've yet to have a surprise party. Shameful.

Most of all, I hope 2012 is just full of blessings. Have a happy (and safe) New Year's Eve!

that little voice

noreply@blogger.com (Erin) — Wed, 28 Dec 2011 22:02:00 +0000

My New Year's resolution is to not listen to that little voice. You know, the one in the back of your head that tells you all sorts of nasty things. That you weigh too much, you're not cute enough, that you're just not good enough for a million and one silly reasons. Why are we our own worst critics?

That little voice nearly got the best of me on Tuesday when I headed into a heavy snow to run. By the second mile, I was miserable. My shirts were soaked through with snow, it kept getting into my eyes, and I was worried about my phone getting ruined with all the moisture. But the worst part is that I wasn't listing off these reasons in my head. Instead I was thinking, "This is so dumb. I'm not even a real runner. Only real runners should be out in this. I'm just pretending." And so on. It was awful and dumb. I ran past the gas station and people were looking at me like I was nuts, and I thought, "They're totally like, 'that girl is so slow. who is she fooling?'" And yeah, they WERE thinking I was nuts, but I'm sure they weren't thinking it like that.

I finally stopped and ignored the little voice. Partly because I was three miles from home by that point, so I might as well just keep running, but partly because I forced myself to ignore it. Even if I'm not a real runner, even if I really didn't HAVE to go out and run Tuesday morning, I did. I dodged snow plow spray and stuck to sidewalks to avoid fishtailing cars. I had so much snow on me that I had top and brush off my fuel belt every mile or so. My hair was soaking wet by the time I was finished. The tracks I left at mile one were almost filled in by the time I ran back past them at mile six.

Mile seven put me right in front of my house, and I was so glad to get inside and take a hot shower. But more than that, I'm glad I ignored that nasty little voice.

Tell me, what does your little voice tell you? I bet it isn't true.

Holidaze

noreply@blogger.com (Erin) — Thu, 22 Dec 2011 19:39:00 +0000

This week has been a blur. I mean, really a blur, because tomorrow is Friday and wasn't it just Friday? I swear it was just Friday, guys.

Last Friday was Luke's preschool program. He's been looking forward to this for ages. I have to give huge props to his preschool teachers, because I don't know how they go from the Thanksgiving program to getting ready for a Christmas program in about three weeks. I promise you, I could not get my 8th graders to sing eight songs in that short amount of time. I could not even get them to walk in a straight line, if we're being honest. But because his teachers take speed or are super human, they were able to put together a fabulous Christmas program. Luke was line leader, so the best part was seeing him walk in right behind his teacher. So proud of my big little guy! He kept this big dimpled smile on his face through the whole program. I wish I'd taken more photos, but I was too busy videotaping it!

Tommy had a blast, too, because he got to participate in the book exchange after the songs were finished. It was so sweet to see him sitting next to Luke. I love that his teachers included younger siblings!

The weekend flew by, as weekends always do, but with the promise of two weeks off it's a little easier to deal with the flying. Monday, my mom and I went to my favorite spa (if you live in the area, please check out Serendipity Province--you won't be disappointed), because I gave her a massage package for Christmas. And you can't give someone a spa package without also getting one for yourself. It's practically a law. We were pampered and went out to lunch afterward. It was a really nice day, until that evening when I went from just fine to stomach flu central. In the midst of my sick, Luke got sick too and Tommy decided that 1AM was a perfectly fine time to wake up for the day (when I say wake up, I mean, literally, he gets up at 1AM and doesn't go to sleep again until his afternoon nap--twelve hours later). Can you imagine how we were Tuesday? Imagine a bunch of pale zombies. Except for Tommy who somehow thrives on no sleep and was just fine. Fortunately, the worst of the sick passed us by in the middle of the night.

Unfortunately, Tommy now thinks 1AM is a swell time to wake up for the day. No amount of cajoling, begging, pleading, swearing, weeping will convince him otherwise. Still, we're doing our best to deal with the complete and utter lack of sleep. I still managed to get Christmas cards displayed, though not as nicely as I usually do. I love getting cards in the mail, especially ones with photos. What a great excuse to display photos of all the people you love.

Today has been an easy, tired day. I ran for seven miles this morning and I've been wearing pajamas ever since. The boys have actually been playing nicely together, for the most part. I'm drinking spiced cider and getting ready to dive back into a good book. It's a nice calm before the storm.

In case I don't get a chance to say it because I get lost in a whirlwind of glitter and tinsel, have a Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, or simply have a great weekend.

Cards by Tiny Prints. Fabulous photos by Keli (Keli was even nice enough to photograph the CARD for me when I realized that I forgot to take photos before sending them, duh) and Beth Fletcher Photography.

Light for the Holidays

noreply@blogger.com (Erin) — Tue, 13 Dec 2011 15:18:00 +0000

Hi everyone, meet Lux.

I have a very special Etsy shop to share with you today. My bestie Leah created Vintage Lux a few months ago, in memory of her sweet kitty Lux. 100% of the profits of her store are donated to the Humane Society in her home county, which is desperately in need of a new facility after a fire damaged the shelter. Lux was a rescue kitty herself and probably one of the sweetest cats I've ever met. The last time we visited Leah, Lux was in heaven cleaning up the floor beneath my two very messy boys. She went for everything, even pieces of lettuce! The boys thought this was great and Luke still asks about Leah's black kitty. Unfortunately, this was the last time that we would get to see Luxy while she was still living, but I'll always remember her eating all the little dropped pieces of food.

Leah's shop is pretty cool. I'm personally digging this milk glass cookie jar, but this blue mason jar is pretty neat too. Leah has generously offered to give away a vintage Lux tote bag for the holidays, a perfect, eco-friendly way to carry Christmas presents, library books, or even groceries. All you have to do is visit Leah's shop and tell me which vintage, reclaimed item you like the best. And if anything catches your eye today, Leah has also offered up the code 'peace' to receive 10% off your purchase.

Giveaway will run until Friday, 12/16. Happy holidays!

this history

noreply@blogger.com (Erin) — Mon, 12 Dec 2011 01:04:00 +0000

I've been thinking a lot about history lately, since Victoria came to speak to my students.

I wonder sometimes what sort of history I'll have to pass on to my children. History, the real, deep parts of history, is becoming more distant. I've never lived through anything that's worthy of a chapter in a history book (not that I'm complaining because the things worthy of a chapter in a history book are usually big and scary). I've become more cognizant of what history there is around me, what things I should ask about and talk about, things that are big but maybe aren't in a history book.
Like how both of my parents had their blood types tattooed on them during the Cold War. Apparently blood type tattoos were done in the case of a nuclear attack from Russia, but--understandably--it was not widely done. They had it done during elementary school, walked down as a class and given tattoos. Can you imagine something like this happening today? My mom jumped, so hers is a blur, but my dad still has a clear, though faded, A+ tattooed on his side.

My mom is a polio survivor. She has this amazing collection of dolls and as a child, I remember learning that she got them when she spent a long time in the hospital as a child herself, with polio. I remember learning about Franklin Roosevelt in school and asking her later why she wasn't in a wheel chair or crippled in any way. She explained that she had the form of polio that attacks the respiratory system and showed me the dimple in her throat from the tracheotomy. When you look back at pictures, those were the kids in iron lungs. My parents both talk about what a scary time this was, because no one knew how polio was spread and Jonas Salk hadn't yet created a vaccine. There were quarantine signs on houses. People were afraid to let their children go public places. Can you imagine? I can't. This isn't my history, and yet, it is.

Back to this powerfully tiny woman...

You're probably tired of me talking about her, but I can't help it. I've been irrevocably changed by the depth of the lessons she taught me and my students. Again, there is the history that you read in books and then there is history. When she came last week, I introduced her to a colleague who teaches history. She said, "You teach history. I AM history." She is. I remember reading Night for the first time at fifteen and putting down the book and bursting into tears at his description of how the SS men threw babies in the air and used them for target practice. It was a moment of knowing but not knowing. I knew the horror of the Holocaust was extreme, but this was a level that I didn't know and then I did and it was almost too much to handle (yet, out of respect for those who LIVED it, I had to read it--I had to know).
It was like this with Victoria. I knew the horrors. In the years that have passed since reading Night, I've read countless books and watched countless documentaries on the Holocaust. I knew.

And yet, I didn't. I didn't know what it was like to watch the eyes of a 90 year old woman cloud with tears as she talked about watching an SS man take a crying baby and throw it into a wall and then, when she fainted at the sheer horror of it, she was beaten. I didn't know what it was like to watch the tears blink away, her voice thick with anger as she explained, "Because I was supposed to CLAP for him, because I was supposed to applaud him because everything they did was right. NO." I knew about the selection process at concentration camps, but to hear her talk with shame at having to take off her clothes while the soldiers stood around and watched and told them Polish people were dirty and still all these years later, she feels she has to explain, "We were not a dirty people, this was not true." To bite my lip against the tears as she tells how the old women and children under seven went one way, while she went another way and they never saw those women again. Just like that. I knew this, but I didn't. Because this is her history. It's written down in books, but it isn't. The words in the books aren't the same as looking into the bright green eyes of someone who lived it, someone who faced these atrocities and is not afraid to stand up and say how they were wrong and how it taught her to channel her anger into good. imagine, learning a lesson from the hurt. We could all use to do this.

Just when I started to think I couldn't be more in awe, Victoria came back to speak to the rest of my students on Thursday and handed me a Christmas present. I didn't understand. I stood there dumbly, because why was SHE giving ME something, when it was me who owed her so much? She said, "Open it, tell me if you like it." I pulled out a beautiful table runner and again, stood there dumbly as her daughter said, "She made that for you." This. She made THIS for ME.

I don't know what I did to deserve it and looking at it makes my heart twist in a million ways, ways that I can't even tell you. We have the perfect table for it, too, but the words are failing me. She gave herself in so many deep, raw ways to myself and to my students and yet, she went home and crocheted me a table runner, like she had to give more. The lump in my throat grows each time I look at it.

I don't have history of my own, but I have this table runner that was made by the hands of a woman who survived the Holocaust and kept with her a spirit that refused to be broken. I have the words to teach my children when they're older, to share her history with as much depth as I can muster. It's not written in a book. Instead it sits on my table, it lives within my heart and mind and my promise to never, ever forget.

her hands held history

noreply@blogger.com (Erin) — Tue, 06 Dec 2011 15:17:00 +0000

When I was 16, I went to Europe on a school trip. I got my first job at 15 to pay for this trip, so badly I wanted to go. One of the events on our trip was a visit to Dachau--an event that I looked forward to, in a weird sort of way.

I remember this day so vividly. It was a grey, overcast sky with a chill in the air. The perfect weather for something so somber. I remember the way the gravel crunched beneath my feet as we walked around. It wasn't a guided tour, we just walked and looked at everything. The barracks, the piles of shoes, the crematoriums still with soot marks on the bricks, the THOUGHT that those soot marks were once human so hard to comprehend all these decades later. To imagine the atrocities that went on in the very place where we now stood. The mass graves, the barbed wire, the sign that claimed that work was freedom. It was and still is one of the more poignant events of my life.

Today a Holocaust survivor came to speak to my students. I've been trying to arrange this for years, because my students struggle with understanding that these were real people, people just like them with hopes and dreams. She is so tiny. 90 years old with wispy white hair. I asked if she wanted to sit, she said, "No. I MARCH, so they listen to me." And listen they did. She told of the Germans coming silently, like thiefs in the night. How they took the religious men first, then they took the teachers. She told them that history always attacks the teachers first, because the teachers make you think and make you aware. She told of how all the teachers had to dig a hole and then one by one, the Germans shot them and buried them in the very grave they dug. She told of how she was arrested. A German soldier lifted up her skirt with a bayonet, and she smacked it away. She was beaten for that. How her brother was killed in a concentration camp. How her mother died from the operations done on her in a concentration camp. Of being placed in closed trucks and starved and afraid for her life and of working in a German military hospital because she could speak German. She talked of the Americans liberating and how all the German soldiers, the ones who weren't wounded, disappeared again like thieves in the night. How when she learned of liberation, she ran up and down the hall shouting and banging on things and celebrating and you could see it, this 90 year old woman, you could see it in her eyes how it must have been.

She spoke of so much that I can't even really put into words, not quite, how deeply moved I am, how my eyes clouded with tears at the pain and somehow, beauty of it. She told my students, "You might say, this couldn't happen to me. I said that once, too."
My students didn't want to leave the room even when I told them it was okay to go. This never happened. They lingered, some staying behind to hug her and say thank you. She asked each one their full name and delighted at the Polish last names.

We hugged tightly before she left. I gave her the cookies I made and said, "I know this isn't much of a thank you, but I hope you like them." She clasped my hands in her and told me she would enjoy them so much, that she loves cookies. My hands smell like her soft, powdery perfume as I type this. I can't quite tell you the strength and power held within that moment, sixty years between us--her surviving untold atrocities, me this morning, worrying about how my students would behave for her--yet somehow connecting in that single handheld moment over a plate of chocolate chip cookies.

linking up with Just Write

It's Beginning To Feel...

noreply@blogger.com (Erin) — Mon, 05 Dec 2011 13:46:00 +0000

A teeny, tiny bit like Christmas. A very tiny bit. Actually, scratch that. I keep forgetting it's December. Saturday, I ran past a sign advertising a pancake breakfast for December 4 and I thought, "That's weird. Why would they have that up so soon?" Then I ran about a half mile and interspersed with my usual thoughts of wondering why the hell I punish myself by running, I thought, "Wait! December 4 is TOMORROW."
I'm really feeling very challenged by the calendar lately. Part of my confusion has to do with the lack of snow and fairly mild temperatures. THIS IS NOT A COMPLAINT. I do not need snow, no, I don't. But at the end of October, I bought a ton of cold weather running gear to prepare for running right now and so far, I'm just wearing tights and a long-sleeved shirt. And by the end of the first mile, I've pushed up my sleeves.

We don't yet have our tree. We get a real tree and usually wait until mid-December to cut it. I hate when the needles dry out and fall on the floor. We'll get our tree Saturday and I'm pretty excited. We have lights up outside the house and have since December 1st. I love how they brighten everything.
Yesterday, I put up the Fisher Price nativity set. I hate the Willow Tree nativity set and spent years building up to the full set. We used to place it on a table in our living room, but Tommy is very much at the age where he likes to smash things, so this year, we put the plastic nativity set in the living room. This morning, he went barreling at it full speed and knocked over the camels and the shepherds. I said, "Watch out, Bethlehem. Here comes the Tommy tornado."

We do, however, have our Willow Tree set up downstairs. Actually, it stays up all year long. Someone (who is related to me by marriage, but that's all I'll say) made fun of us for having it up in June, implying that we were lazy and hadn't yet taken down our Christmas decorations.

Not so. Regardless of what you believe or don't believe, isn't it simply a message of hope? Even if you think the Christmas story is just that--a story--thematically, it's a story of hope and don't we need hope year round? Not just for a few weeks in December?

Bitter Tears

noreply@blogger.com (Erin) — Mon, 28 Nov 2011 22:53:00 +0000

You know that moment when you don't want something, you really, really don't want something? But wait, maybe you do kind of want it. Or maybe you don't. Your heart can't decide.

That moment when a pregnancy announcement sends you into a full blown ugly cry, when you choke out, "She's having a third, but I don't think I'll ever have a third and that's okay because we can't afford it and we don't have space and I don't know why I'm crying except that maybe I want a baby."

But I don't. I don't. My phone rings every night at 8 to remind me to run and take my pill and run, I do, because I don't want a baby. And I want to keep running and run further and faster, I don't want to be slowed down by a pregnancy, derailed by a postpartum period. I almost like my body now and I don't want to lose it. I almost get to sleep some nights and I don't want to lose that, I definitely don't. The thought of sleepless nights, months of sleepless nights, scares me. The thought of a newborn with a toddler who doesn't ever sleep past five makes me cry in a different way.

And yet, the thought of little baby toes, of bringing new life into this world, of feeling the kicks and movements and twists and turns in a growing belly, of holding a new sweet freshness to my skin, nursing, kissing, loving. Oh, I ache, deep down in the place where those bitter tears start and I confess that if anyone asks when we're having a third in conjunction with this announcement, I will not react well, no, I will not.

I knew when I wanted a first baby and when I wanted a second. I know I'm blessed that it all worked out and fell into place just perfectly, just as we planned. I know I am so blessed. I just never knew about the twisting, turning heart aching confusion that would come after that, that I would one night rock my youngest and cry tears into his still damp hair that he might be my youngest always.

I tell people that we won't have another baby soon. Probably not at all. I laugh like it's okay and mostly it is, but for these tears.

Linking with Heather of the EO's Just Write

Because.... why not?

noreply@blogger.com (Erin) — Mon, 28 Nov 2011 12:20:00 +0000

Four day weekends are so my friend. By the time Saturday rolls around, you mostly have your work done and you don't have to rush around like a usual Saturday because you've already had two days off. Four day weekends should happen more often, if you ask me.

Alas, no one really asks me, so they don't happen very often. Still, we did our best to make it good. Friday night, Luke's cousin spent the night. We were a little (okay, a LOT) unsure of how this would go, worrying that we'd end up driving her back to grandma's house at 3AM. Fortunately, she adapted and fit right into our little circus without so much as a sniffle or a homesick word at all. The kids had so, so much fun. Grandma came to get her Saturday morning, after a delicious breakfast of make your own crepes. After she left, we decided to show our support for Small Business Saturday by heading to one of our favorite local stores (Lifestyles). I love, love this store because they have the neatest things, plus even though it's a store filled to the brim with expensive breakables, they never, ever act terrified when you walk in with kids, instead they're super welcoming and even have a little play area set up for kids. How great is that? Anyway, Shane picked up a couple of presents and Luke and I picked out a bag of Jelly Belly's. On the way home, we drove past a miniature golf course. Luke and Tommy were both in awe of the giant dragon and Luke asked if we could go. My knee-jerk reaction was, of course, to say, "No, not today." Because it was almost Tommy's nap time. Because I had laundry to fold. Because I wanted to get home and put on my yoga pants.

But seriously, those are just reasons and none of them very good, so as we drove past, I turned to Shane and said, "Do you think that counts as a small business?" He said, "Do you see any cops before I do a u-turn?" We pulled in the parking lot and Luke said, "Wait. Where are we?" His excitement at realizing that yes, we WERE going to go mini golfing today was totally worth it.

We were the only people golfing on this Thanksgiving weekend.

Luke couldn't quite hold his club the right way and Tommy threw his ball every single time. We never had more than two putts on any hole because Tommy would helpfully collect and hand us all our balls back as soon as he could reach them.

They both attempted to climb the dragon.

And then because we were already there, we figured we might as well stay for pizza.

Of course, once you have pizza, you pretty much have to play a few games of skeeball.

We missed Tommy's nap time. He fell asleep in the car and counted those fifteen minutes as his nap. Unfortunately, this made folding all that laundry a little more complicated, but I got it done.

When I asked Luke if he had fun, he said, "Oh, a LOT of fun!" That right there is enough to convince me that every now and then, we need to say, "Yes. Today."

Ungrateful Gratefulness

noreply@blogger.com (Erin) — Fri, 25 Nov 2011 19:49:00 +0000

Yesterday I ran a 10k. Last week, I thought it would be easy, because I know that I can run 6.2 miles in one go. For some reason, though, I struggle with the 5-6 mile distance. Isn't that funny? If it's a 5k, I know I can just push through those three miles. And if it's a longer distance, I know to ease back and not push until I get closer to the end, but I never know what to do with the 10k distance. Do I push through or ease off until mile four and then push? Race adrenaline got to me and I went pretty quickly for the first four miles, despite it being much hillier than I'm used to. Still, despite going along at a pretty good pace (for me), I couldn't shake the self-doubt and the feeling of, well, not wanting to be there. I didn't want to do it. I wanted to go home. I wanted to go home before the run even started, and I'm not sure why. It was a long week and I didn't sleep well for several nights in a row, and I just couldn't get my groove yesterday. I was worried about making it home from the race in time to shower before our first Thanksgiving dinner of the day. I felt guilty because Shane was home cooking and getting the boys ready while I was out running. There are always going to be bad runs; it's just frustrating when that bad run happens on a race day. When I learned my pace at mile four, I panicked that I was going to burn out and be too tired to finish. And then my panic turned into me convincing myself that I couldn't do it. It was miserable. I just couldn't push through and ended up having to throw in quite a few walk breaks over the last two miles. It's frustrating, because I know that I don't NEED to walk, yet I couldn't do it. I finished in 1:03, which isn't awful... but I know that if I wouldn't have struggled toward the end, my time would've been better. My time should've been better, but my body just wasn't feeling it yesterday.

My whininess aside, if I'd been in a better mindset, it would've been an awesome run. The scenery was beautiful and aside from the wind, it was good running weather. There were post-race donuts (which I didn't have time for, sadly). I saw relatives and people I went to college with and co-workers.

At the halfway mark, I was thinking, "I am dumb. Why didn't I sign up for the 5k? What is WRONG with me?" And then we ran past a home for adults with mental disabilities and three people were out in the driveway, cheering and clapping as we ran by. One man was in a full body wheelchair and I just thought, "Really? I'm complaining about my CHOICE to run, mentally beating myself up, while he would probably give anything to feel his feet hit the pavement." I wish I could say that I stopped hating the run at that point, but I didn't. I hated it until my feet crossed the finish line and then I hated it for a little while afterward, until I begrudgingly put on my race shirt and went to gorge myself on stuffing and rolls.

What I got out of it, though, is that a bad run is still a good run. It's a good run because I am able to run. Period.

And as I counted my blessings yesterday, I added that to the list. Along with friends, family, pie, and yoga pants, I'm thankful for the perspective to look outside myself, to see a little bit of good in bad--to realize just how lucky I am.

Perfect Ten

noreply@blogger.com (Erin) — Sun, 20 Nov 2011 18:22:00 +0000

This morning I left the house at 6:20. On a day that I didn't have to work. Dumb, right? But do you know what you missed if you were still in bed at 6:20? Well, you missed my angry seething rage at every house that I passed that was still dark and looked like it contained sleeping people (because of course, the tiniest person in my house thought 4 was a totally acceptable time to turn on his light and start playing with his trucks this morning oh, and EVERY MORNING THIS WEEK), but you also missed how the sky was this really cool dark grey and how over the next two hours, it slowly turned from dark grey to light grey with various shades in between.

I forgot how utterly quiet the world can be on a weekend morning before 7. I saw no one, aside from a group of guys in orange hats carrying guns into trucks. I hope they were hunters, otherwise I witnessed the forming of an early morning militia.

And then lost in the peace and quiet of it all, I ran this many miles...

Since I haven't begun my half-marathon training yet, I never really set out with an exact mileage in mind. I give myself a few different options, then just see how I feel. Today I felt great. At two miles, I thought, "Hmm... could I?" And I did. At 7 miles, I thought, "Just a 5k left!" Traffic was blissfully light this morning, so I managed to cross roads without having to stop, until I hit 8.5 miles. I lost my stride a little bit after that, but I still managed to finish at a sprint.

Today as I was running, I was thinking about how in gym class, I never even ran a mile (actually I was thinking about a lot of things, like how the Burger King sign was advertising cheese fries and how good that sounded or how warm my head was thanks to the magical Mizuno headband somehow turning my sweat into heat, magic, I tell you). In gym class, I walked a slow fifteen minute mile, running only when a gym teacher would glare at me. Part of that, I think, is that I don't remember them conditioning us, I just remember them being like, Okay, today we're running a mile. I never had a chance to prove to myself that I could run a mile, and I certainly never even let myself try, instead saying that I couldn't run. Plus I was intimidated by the boys who could run a five minute mile and man, gym class was DUMB. I do not miss that aspect of middle and high school at all.

But it's interesting how you can convince yourself of something for years and years, like that you can't run, and then one day, you decide to stop convincing and start doing and hey, imagine that. You can do it, after all.

in the quiet

noreply@blogger.com (Erin) — Mon, 14 Nov 2011 12:54:00 +0000

Some of my favorite memories with my children are when they're sleeping. I don't mean that it's a favorite because they are actually quiet and not asking a million questions (although sometimes these moments are a blessing), but a favorite because when they are sleeping, I can just hold them close and be in the moment.

Like this moment... one of our first, as I held Luke close to me and he drifted into a heavy newborn sleep, his skin against mine.

(please ignore my double chin, thanks.)

Or this moment with Tommy, when the calm finally settled over us after his tumultuous birth.

(please notice my lack of a double chin, thanks.)

I remember just holding them, feeling their skin against mine, and marveling how they were mine. How did they come to be mine? How did I get so lucky to be matched with these babies who were so exquisitely, perfectly mine? I remember just holding them and not wanting to put them down, even when it was obvious that they were deeply asleep. I remember drifting off to sleep next to them and waking up before they did and just gazing at them, drinking them in.

Now that they're bigger, we don't have those quiet sleep moments as much. Especially since one of them doesn't really like to sleep. Or be quiet, for that matter. I still steal those moments when I can, though. When Shane has a late meeting, Luke gets to fall asleep in our bed while I put Tommy to sleep. Sometimes he's still awake when I come in and we cuddle until he drifts into sleep, his cold feet pressed into my belly.

I treasure those moments. It's hard to move him into his bed, because I just want to keep him next to me so warm and alive.

I don't rock Tommy to sleep at night, but on the weekends, I rock him to sleep for nap time. I miss him so much using the week that these moments are really nice. I just hold him for as long as I can.

These moments are just us and the world could stop spinning while we're in these moments, but I don't think I would notice. I don't think I would want to notice.

Write Run Think

noreply@blogger.com (Erin) — Fri, 11 Nov 2011 15:35:00 +0000

I’ve felt the urge to write more lately. I’m not sure why. My students are working on essays currently. A day after I gave this assignment, my third hour class begged me to write the next essay with them. Not really with them, but they want me to write an essay response to the topic, too. They made a big deal and said that it had to be a good essay, and then they made me sign a contract promising that I’d do it. What they don’t know is that I love writing essays. I love the beauty of a good, quality attention grabber in the introduction and a solid thesis. I love tying outside references to literature and making a connection. Once I wrote a paper on Dracula and how he represents all parts of the human psyche, but especially the id—that part of us that wants only pleasure without caring about what it takes or about decency or morals. I was really proud of it. My professor wrote a note on the bottom that said, “You speak the truth… I’m a little jealous of Dracula, myself” and put a smiley face next to it. He gave me an A+. I miss that so much. My senior year of college, I took five English classes at once. At any given moment, I was working on an essay and I adored it. I had a post-it note on my computer with each essay and as I’d complete one, I’d cross it off and add a new one to the list. I managed a 4.0 that semester. No fluff classes, no field of studies unrelated to my major, just all 400 level English courses (I’m sure I had an education class in there, too). I miss it.

Last night I ran eight miles and when I run, I usually write essays in my head. It passes the time. I wish there was a brain to computer app where I could actually put these thoughts onto paper, because by the time I’m done they disappear.
It looked like this on most of my run, so my internal essay was about how weather sets the mood.

I was pelted by little balls of snow and ice. I stuck out my tongue and caught snowflakes and thought about how crazy it was to be running in it. I passed one man on a bicycle who was so bundled that I could hardly see his face, in stark contrast to my long-sleeved shirt and tights. I waved and he shouted, Keep it up! The next mile after that was the fastest mile of my run. Funny how an encouraging statement from a stranger can do that.

When I got to the sitter’s house to pick up the boys, Luke, Tommy, and the two other children there hid behind the couch. As I walked in, they all jumped out, yelling SURPRISE and came over and hugged me. I could write an entire essay about how sweet it was, but I’ll spare you. Their sitter asked if I saw the snow. I laughed and said I was running it. I told her how it started when I was four miles out and I was afraid it was going to start hailing. She said, Wait, how far are you running? I said, oh, I went eight miles today. She gasped and said, so you’re running running?! I’m not sure what she thought I was doing before this, but it made me laugh.

I could write an essay about the funny things people say to me in the course of a day, especially the days that I spent with 8th graders. Could I ever! I wonder how your thoughts form in your head? Are they haikus? Pictures? Or do you write in thesis statements and body paragraphs like me?

heavy eyes, heavy skies

noreply@blogger.com (Erin) — Thu, 10 Nov 2011 14:09:00 +0000

This morning, the sky is heavy. It’s one big cloud, dark grey and menacing, yet somehow the light is still pushing through. Those are the most magical skies to me when the trees are backlit against the darkness. I love sunshine. I’m holding onto it for as long as I can. My students complain because I open all the blinds in my room and only turn on one row of fluorescent lights. They don’t understand how badly I need to see outside, how badly I need the light in the room to come more from nature and less from lightbulbs. On days with no light outside, my classroom is dim with only the dry erase boards lit up. Somehow it makes it seem calm, even with thirty or so 8th graders gallivanting around. I wish I could light candles. Stupid fire codes.

I lost a contact on the way to work this morning. I don’t know where it went, but halfway to work, I noticed that my right eye was blurry. I thought maybe my contact had slipped, but instead, it’s not there at all. I feel so off-balance. Everything clear on the left side, everything a blurred mess on the right.

This morning, when I woke Luke up, he groaned and rolled over and said, I don’t want to get up, I’m so comfy. I said, I know, buddy. We all feel like that on these mornings. Still, he let me pick out his clothes and asked me to carry him downstairs. I hefted him into my arms and each time I do this lately, I wonder how much longer I’ll be able to pick him up like this, so big these days. He sighs and puts his tired head on my shoulder and asks me to take him all the way down stairs, until we get to the living room and he spots a Christmas decoration that Shane brought home yesterday. “Wait, stop! I want to stop here. I want to see this, mom.” And he jumps down from my arms, just like that a grumpy morning saved by red letters that say Joy. Yes, joy indeed.

Tonight Shane has parent-teacher conferences until nine pm, his third late evening meeting this week. I keep thinking about what the boys and I will do. I thought maybe we’d see if friends wanted to meet at the park, but it’s so cold and I know that after running several miles, I won’t feel like being out in the cold anymore. Maybe I’ll take them out to dinner or to the store to buy new winter coats or maybe we’ll just sit on the couch and eat pizza. I just can’t wait to see them. I’m trying to push away guilt about running after school because that adds an hour until the time that I get to see them, but I know (hope) they understand how I need to clear my head some days.

I wonder how I’m going to make it through the day with one good eye and one blurry, squinting and feeling off-kilter the entire day. My kids will probably get away with all sorts of misbehavior because I can’t see. What I can see is the sun already slipping away beneath the dark sky and I want to yell at it to stay, please stay, as I squint blurrily out the window and hope that the hours fly by today.

In Wonderland

noreply@blogger.com (Erin) — Tue, 08 Nov 2011 01:29:00 +0000

"If I listened earlier, I wouldn't be here. But that's just the trouble with me. I give myself very good advice, but I very seldom follow it."

When I was little, Alice in Wonderland was my favorite Disney cartoon. I was never much for princesses, but Alice. I loved Alice in her pretty blue dress and her blonde hair and her confused, yet tenacious attitude in Wonderland as she chases the elusive white rabbit. As I grew older, it surprised me to find that everyone didn't love Alice as much as I did. That some people found it scary. Others found it weird. Even more wondered if the Disney producers were on acid (okay, we've all wondered that) at the time of production.

I still love Alice in Wonderland and as I grow ever older, it seems so much like the life we live is in wonderland. The number of times I've felt so very small or the number of times I've cried enough tears that it seems that surely there must be enough of them to fill an ocean. The days the beautiful flowers I once admired turned ugly and mean and made me feel like a weed and people's faces shifted into unrecognizable masks and they disappeared from my life. The growing pains between childhood and adulthood (and wondering why I'm 29 and still feel those growing pains somedays).

So maybe I love it because I identify with Alice and sometimes I spend days wondering if this is a dream or if this is real life. If I'm asleep on a river bank somewhere and just dreaming the hard days, if I'll awake in a start and walk off to afternoon tea shaking my head at the silliness of it all or if I really did fall down a rabbit hole and if I did, how do I get out?

Tonight I'm not Alice. I set out my clothes for work tomorrow. I won't be wearing a blue dress with a perfectly fashioned white apron; instead, a long grey skirt with a purple top and a black shirt to layer beneath because it's always so cold at work. I peeled a sucker off the carpet and no one was around to hear me wonder how it got there. I made the coffee for tomorrow morning. I took a long bath and fell into a good book instead of a rabbit hole and this isn't Wonderland, there is no caterpillar smoking a hookah to offer me sage advice, but tonight before bedtime, we galloped around and around and through the kitchen and living room each of us with a laughing, shrieking boy on our backs having our very own caucus race and it was more magical than any river bank dream could ever be.

linking with Heather of the EO's Just Write