So while I sit. On a bike. Praying my butt isn’t bruised too badly that I’ll be able to sit in the car for 4 hours and drive home Sunday night, Jessica is going to be working on something that will benefit us both. And you! And the WORLD.

Just you wait.

It’s going to be pretty awesome.

In other news, yesterday I was described as being saucy. I’m going to assume that’s southern for direct.

Last post, I discussed how I think it’s an amazing thing when people can put up with me. I should probably clear that up. See, when I was a kid, I always wanted to be the sweet, kind and endearing person. Turns out I’m typically described by people who know me best as saucy, opinionated, a firecracker and frustrating. But that’s only really five people out there. I probably should have been more specific.

To everyone else out there aside from those five people, I’m typically known for smiling and being positive and generally loving life. Because I truly do. I look at life in a glass half full kind of way and that’s alright with me. Sure, life isn’t always rainbows and butterflies, but for me, it’s all in how you approach it. I’ll never be one of those people who suck the life out of you or feed on negativity like a cancer. It’s just not who I am.

I think the reason I’m difficult to my family is because I know them and I know that I can be angry, honest and difficult with them. I’m pretty sure I’m not alone in that assumption. I know I probably shouldn’t be, but, well, that’s another discussion for another day.

Please don’t hold that against me. I’m also over dramatic at times. So…perhaps I’m not that difficult.

Just don’t ask my husband.

So please send some endurance filled, leg strength, butt of literal steel thoughts my way on through Sunday night, would ya? Because I know I’m going to kill the choreography and I’m not worried about my personality, but I’m not quite sure if my legs have gotten the memo about the 20 hours yet.

Big things!

While on the shuttle to get to the start of our relay point, I was chatting with a group of runners at the back of the bus and I said, “I totally saw some guy with ‘Go Meat!’ on his race bib. That’s fantastic.” Then, the guy directly behind me said, “Um, that’s me.”

When we got off the shuttle and took a look at our surroundings, we got some Gatorade to drink and then he offered to hold my stuff so I could pee. I mean, friends from the start. C’mon. Plus he knew I was married, so it wasn’t like he was hitting on me. That’s always a good thing, too.

He remembered my name and found me on facebook, and well, here we are today. Running together and b.s.ing.

Here is a short, but complete list as to why he is a fantastic running partner.

1. He puts up with me.
2. He runs at a slower pace with me, especially when it’s cold and my legs don’t want to work.
3. He’s willing to run many miles with me, when I’m sure he’d be perfectly content with just five or six.
4. He puts up with me.
5. He agrees with me.
6. We talk about things we’ve done before, and then discuss what parts show questionable judgement. (Read: exes, alcohol, extra curricular activities and such.)
7. We make lists.
8. He runs in front of me when cars are coming so they don’t hit me.
9. He runs along the river so I don’t fall in.
10. He puts up with me.
11. He once bought me a bottle of wine.
12. He hardly complains when I say, “Can we run on Sunday? I know it’ll only be 14 degrees out…”
13.  He reminds me to bring gloves.
….and 14. He puts up with me.

To sum up, he’s a saint.

I told him that he and my husband and best friend Ian should start a club and call it, “Cassie and the men who put up with her.” I’m not saying I’m difficult, I just know what I want and I want it now. And I hate excuses. And I have a few opinions about stuff. And I hate being told no. So, OK, I’m difficult.

Whatever.

Anyhow, I have the best running partner. He’s currently training for his first half marathon and, because of course, I’m me and very, very persistent, he agreed to run the Cook Forest Half in March with me. I mean, hell, Matt’s running a million miles an hour these days and wants to run it for time, so there’s no way I could keep up with him. Anthony, on the other hand, is hoping to finish around 2:15:00, and since I did my first in 2:11:00, we’ll match up fine.

So, in the end, my running partner is fantastic. I so hope that everyone out there who runs has a good, quality running partner. One who is fun to talk with, runs your pace and keeps you in check. Also, who pushes you and makes you work harder. I hope everyone has their own Anthony.

A friend, who is always inspiring me to work harder, posted on his facebook page today a quote from Oprah, and it is so very, very true:

“The big secret in life is that there is no secret. Whatever your goal, you can get there if you’re willing to work.” 

Instead of making a New Year’s Resolution to lose weight, I had kids to inspire me. Which seems kind of odd, because having kids means your life gets a little bit busier. How on earth can one throw in the regular exercise needed to not only loose the baby weight, but be fitter and healthier? I don’t know that answer. I just do.

The gym to me, is not only the place I go to regularly sweat and pray for a quick death, but also where I’ve met some amazing people with similar goals to my own. I’m constantly inspired to be better, work harder and dig deeper, because the person next to me is. And if that person can, I sure can, too.

I’ve also made my intentions known to the instructors. They know that I’m there to work hard and in return, they push me. I know that at Body Pump, Angelica will hand me an extra 5 kg weight to use for overhead triceps dips and that at RPM, she’ll offer to increase the tension on my bike. I know that at free style spin, Janis will yell at me to dig deeper and clap a rhythm for me to match. And at yoga, I’ll sink an extra inch deeper during standing strength. If I’m running solo on a treadmill, I choose one that is near another runner. That way I feel like I’m not running alone.

Aside from camaraderie and such, I’ve gained results. What I’m about to show you is a photo from April of 2011, about 2 months after I had Mae. Then I’ll show you two photos from today. As of, like, an hour ago. After I ate dinner. So don’t hold it against me. I’m trying to prove a point.

Here’s April’s photo:

And here’s the one from an hour ago:

Oh, and let’s throw in my arm for good measure.

I honestly thought it’d be easier to take a photo of a flexed arm, but alas, it’s really not that simple. Either way, that’s where I am today.

Want to know something funny? From the first photo in April to the photo from today, I weigh the same.

I mean, exactly.

And that’s the hard part for a lot of individuals. I’ve noticed that most base their progress on weight alone. And obviously, you can’t do that. No wonder so many fail. I mean, look at me. Look at those photos. There’s a difference. Is it huge? No. Is it where I want to be? Not yet. Did I work damn hard? Hell yah. These results are from hours spent at the gym. Consistently. It took dedication and commitment.

What it didn’t include was gimmicky diets, 10 minute solution work outs, and excuses.

As I previously mentioned, since I stared taking Body Pump, I’ve gained about 7 pounds. But I look so much better than before. Maybe it’s just me who can see the difference, but it’s there.

I’ve also taken measurements. That’s where the real loss is. I’ve lost over 20 inches over my entire body since that first photo was taken. 20 inches. That’s over my hips, thighs, waist and belly button.

(Oh! And I just noticed I’m wearing the same pants in both photos. That’s kind of neat.)

The bottom line is, when people ask me, “How do you do it?” I say, “Hard work, dedication and a fantastic gym daycare.”

With that, wish me luck, because next weekend I’ll leave for Harrisburg where I’ll undergo training to become an RPM instructor…and hopefully teach a class or two at my gym. If not, at least it’ll be one hell of an experience and a test of my hard work.

I personally think that what she wrote was super special, too.

Some of the comments on it are as follows:

My mom: “OMG, I love this! And not just because I’m Cassie’s mom (and thank you for acknowledging that I am not a woman of ill repute who has no idea who my children’s fathers are…LOL). Next time you’re in town, I get to meet you “

Jessica: “FINALLY!

I am so incredibly jealous. Looks like you guys had an amazing time and I’m putting that bakery on my list of places I must visit while I’m there.

Amazing photos. I especially love the ones of the kids piling on top of Matt and the ketchup bottle dinosaur.

Also, Cassie looks like she’s using her mom discipline face in her beauty shot.”

Bluz: “Katie, While I already had a good sense about Cassie and her awesomeness, I have to say that this post is put together absolutely brilliantly. Great pictures, great story, great city, great family.”

Doesn’t that alone make you want to read?! Sure does for me. And my ego is now too large to fit through the door.

My input on the whole visit was, Katie’s voice was higher and sweeter than I thought it would be. She was taller than I thought she’d be and she was so super nice I seriously thought, for a milisecond, she was an imposter. No, seriously. She was so super cool. Her friend Tracey was neat, too, because she put up with me. That’s no easy task, mind you. Especially if you don’t know me to begin with.

I mean, you might just assume I’m a crazy teenaged mother with no ambition to work and have no idea who the hell my father is.

For the record, I’m 95% sure who my father is.

Go head on over to Katie Ett’s blog: Unapologetically Mundane. Leave her a comment. Tell her I sent ya.

Or at the very least enjoy the awesome photos.

Twenty minutes later, Matt got home from his run at the gym, handed Claire his phone to play a drawing game and I tried to catch up on my Words with Friends.

Went downstairs, had breakfast, read (The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest,) colored with the kids and played emergency vehicles.

We went to the gym where I was the one to tell the front desk that the yoga class I take got moved from 10 to 11. I’m not even the instructor.

Did some yoga.

Got the kids from daycare, had a conversation with Claire before I even pulled out of the parking lot that consisted of:

Claire: Mom. You can’t drive through the snow. You need to put on your four ways.
Me: Claire, hun. I grew up in Minnesota. We get lots of snow there. Sure, it’s not hilly at all, but still – ice, snow…I get it.
Claire: I still think you should put on the four ways. They’re pretty neat.

Got home, made the kids some lunch. I heated up some of the tomato bisque soup I made the other day, (I mean, wowie is that stuff fantastic,) and heated up some minestrone soup for Mae to eat. That kid loves to feed herself.

I put the kids in the tub and then they went down for naps.

I came downstairs, wrote a blog about the “ten kilometer foot race” bet I have with a coworker of Matt’s, watched the Grey’s Anatomy episode I had missed last night and drank far too much water.

Maelie woke up, I brought her downstairs where she proceeded to find something on the floor and put it in her mouth. Within about two seconds, she was gagging, then choking on the item. I flipped her over, she vomited, and out came a tiny piece of wrapper. It looked like the corner of one of the kids’ fruity flakes. I plopped her down on the floor and she crawled off to find another thing to choke on.

I started to make dough for bread when Claire woke up. She then proceeded to tell me every step and poured every ingredient. (Train ‘em young, I say.) She even know when to get out the dough hook. Smart kid, that Claire. I also made pizza dough to freeze.

Then I moved on to making bulk chocolate chip cookies. I wanted to have some to freeze and some for tonight. While making the chocolate chip cookies, Luca woke up. He had peed the bed, poor kid, so I put him back into the tub, threw his sheets in the wash, took out a batch of cookies, fed Maelie some broccoli (she goes nuts for that stuff,) had Claire stay with Luca for a minute so I could do all of these things, and wondered for a brief moment if cloning humans was really the way to go.

I got Luca out of the tub, wiped Mae down (she had broccoli in her hair,) punched down the dough, shredded potatoes for dinner, washed up some dishes, supervised Claire as she vacuumed, started the dishwasher, gave Mae a bottle and put her in the crib for a quick cat nap, emailed back and forth with my mom where I sent her a list from Damn You Autocorrect and she asked me what DTF stood for, which is always a fun teaching moment. I took away a few more questionable items from Mae, explained to Claire that, no, it’s not a good idea to go outside and play in the snow right now, as it is pitch dark outside, and then helped Luca put on his coat since Claire insisted on pretending they were going outside. For the record, Luca was in a long sleeved shirt, Cars undies and snow boots. He left his pants in the bathroom when he went to go pee. I figure, if he brings himself to the bathroom, if he forgets to put his pants back on, so be it. That’s a cheap price to pay.

Mae woke up from her quick nap, the other two are still down in the basement pretending to be outside, and I sat down to write this out.

However, today was relatively tame.

I shouldn’t have said that, though, because looking at the clock, I still have another 3 1/2 hours until the big ones go to bed.

Now, back in May, when I had my ankle injury, I had run my five miles for the Marathon Relay, and then the following week, I hobbled on it to run a 5K. For the 5K, I had registered myself, Matt and his coworker as a corporate team. Why not, right?

Matt’s coworker beat me by a minute and after the race I could hardly walk.

He calls it an excuse.

Enter the Great Race of 2011. He and I both ran the 10K and I beat him by a good 2 minutes and I count that as a fair win because we were both healthy. Well, maybe not the coworker so much, because he kind of looked like death after the race. I guess that’s pushing it to the limit? He had registered for that race with some friends on a team and the top three scores were taken. His teammates came in at 30 minutes or something ridiculous like that for a 10K. Unreal. So his team won, thus allowing him to be a winner by default.

Anywho, when Matt told me about his coworker’s bet, I about choked on my dinner. Of course he would.

Now, let the record state, Matt’s coworker is by far one of the funniest and wittiest guys I’ve ever met. And it all comes naturally, which makes it that much better. I figured I should see what he was thinking as a rematch. So I emailed him.

It took all of a few hours to receive his response:

That was a fantastic response.

I just no idea how the hell to respond to it.

Either way, IT’S ON.

Well. I’m about 95% convinced Maelie is a dog. Just last week she crawled up to me and had a ring of brown liquid surrounding her mouth. Since I knew it couldn’t be poop because she’s not that gross, I quickly squeezed her little cheeks together and out popped a dog food nugget.

So gross.

And this isn’t a once and a while thing. Sometimes I get there too late and she has three in her mouth.

Don’t even get me started on her dog stalking. It’s not so much that she’s stalking Sadie, rather, she’s stalking her chew.

And she’s fast. I mean, really fast.

She’ll hide them, too.

And she’ll have the guiltiest look on her face.

Once she gets it, though, it’s almost as if the whole world just melts away…

It’s almost relaxing. So in a sense, it gives her a sense of baby euphoria.

And sometimes if we’re lucky, she’ll offer to share.

Because, who wouldn’t want to chew on that? Yum!

And I try to explain to her that it’s disgusting and it’s made with animal pieces and bones and hair and who knows what, (Sorry, Sadie.) but she just quietly crawls away and sneaks through the play room and the dining room and around the corner BACK to the dog dish where I find her stuffing dog nuggets in her mouth as if she’s a chipmunk.

I found three in her mouth this time. Super gross.

Typically I can redirect her but sometimes she looks at me and says:

Kids these days. Where do they learn this stuff?

Honestly, I can’t take him seriously with that thing on his face. He looks like a cross between a 70′s porn star and a pedophile.

It goes away at the end of the week. (You have no idea how much this eating me up not being able to say more about this.)

I’ll supplement that with this fancy flow chart a friend of mine posted on Facebook. I’ve always kind of identified myself as a drifter when it comes to religion. I believe that there is a great being out there that’s pretty rad but I also think being reincarnated would be cool, possibly because I identify myself so much with having lived during the ’40s. Plus, I don’t like being told what to believe. I use the church of common sense and stick to it. I’m not out killing people and I love life and I love me some Jesus. End of story. Here’s the photo:

So when I follow the flow chart I’m either a Buddhist or a Jew. That solves a lot of problems for me, whereas it also creates a bunch.

Sorry, Catholics. You can’t identify. Sad panda.

While at Body Pump, two interesting things happened. One – my instructor randomly told me that I was sweet and that I made it fun for her to teach and then I noticed while doing lunges that, yes, while my butt only fits into two pairs of jeans anymore (see previous post) it looks might fine. And for a split second I considered taking a photo and posting it. Maybe next week, Bluz.

Next, JESSICA IS VISITING! JESSICA IS VISITING! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD (or Buddha as it seems,) JESSICA IS VISITING! June can’t come soon enough. For one, it’s effing cold out. 26 degrees, Universe? Tell that to my three kids in puffy coats and limited mobility. Also, because I get to finally see my dear friend again. As we just discussed this evening, we’re pretty much sisters. Why? Because she was telling me, “Who cuts off a chunk of their finger while using a peeler? This girl,” to which I responded with “OMG, I totally did the same thing just last week!” We even bled through the same amount of bandaids, albeit that mine were Dora bandaids and hers were just generic, that’s neither here nor there. Point is, FREAKY.

Matt’s simply happy Jess is visiting because she’s bringing Mark (and of course Miss Sarah) but Mark. And Mark is XY. Testosterone. He’s seriously lacking in these parts as he’s outnumbered by not just me, Claire and Mae – but Sadie-dog, Boscoe the cat and Lila Monster. That’s a whole lotta angst. God Bless him.

Lastly, it’s January 4th and I’ve already registered for a half marathon, a full marathon and two 10Ks. My brain is all, “Yay! Yay! This is going to be great!” and I’m pretty sure my legs and lower back are all in denial.

Woo! This is going to be a pretty fantastic 2012! Races! Marathons! Jessica! Testosterone!

I had gained 7 pounds.

SEVEN.

Now. I know, I know – muscle weighs more than fat. Blah, blah, blah.

Still. It’s disheartening. Here I am, working my ass off, when in fact, I’m not working anything off. It’s getting bigger. And suddenly, I had no pants.

I’m left with maternity jeans, too huge jeans and jeans that mock me. Like 10 pairs of jeans that mock me.

So I tried to suck it up, wear the huge jeans until the time came when my body balanced out, because I refused to have a muffin top, but today I had had enough. It won’t balance out any time soon.

So I bought jeans that fit. And I’m happy.

In other news, I’ve been busy.

I repainted my ‘master’ bathroom and built a shelf for it.

(YES. I know, I have a lot of lotion. My mind changes from day to day as of what kind I want. So there you go.)

I finally organized my zillions of vitamins and made my dining room not look an unorganized mess.

(Oh, yes. I also know that child proof locks keep your kids from getting into vitamins and dying. Every night, I dole out about 10 vitamins between Matt and I. It’s a pain in the ass to keep it in a cupboard and the kids know not to touch them. Luca tried to open one once and Claire screamed bloody murder and now he’s petrified to even touch them anymore. Plus these jars are mason jars and they self seal. AKA – child proofed but pretty.)

I made ice cream.

I refinanced the Volvo, mopped the floors twice after the damn dog failed to realize that when I asked her to sit it means sit not run away scared and drag mud all through my house.

And I made Claire her very own super special secret reading spot.

It’s not done yet, but I made her a comfy overstuffed pillow to sit on and got her some cute, durable drawers to store things. She’s already filled them up to max capacity. I just have to get her a light for in there and we’re going to paint the walls something fun. Maybe do potato stencils. Who knows. Either way, her closet (that she never used) is now something special for her and it gives me alone time when the other two are napping.

And I’ve been so busy today that I didn’t realize that one of the kids left the deck door open a crack (because of course, they just HAD to touch the snow.) So when I was filling out paperwork and such, my feet were freezing cold and the heat was on nonstop. I thought to myself, wow that’s a draft we have here. I then realized…DUH CASSIE. Door’s open.

It was probably open for at least three hours.

But hey! I have jeans that fit! So…there’s that.

While I’m not big on New Years Resolutions, I do make goals. This year’s goal is to complete the Pittsburgh Marathon and finish it in 4:30:00. Maybe 4:45:o0. Or hell, just finish it.

And maybe fit back into my old jeans again. That’d be fantastic, too.

Happy New Year!

See, for those of you not from Pittsburgh, the Penguins used to play at Melon (or Civic for the old folks *coughbluzcough*) Arena.

Now, they’re slowly ripping it apart, piece by piece and turning the old top into Christmas ornaments. (I got mine!) It’s weird seeing it all rusty.

Anywho, now we have Consol.

Wait, those are just the kids being cute. Here’s Consol:

We’ve been there a few times, mostly from when Matt takes the kids to see the Pens practice at training camp. Inside they have a really cool mosaic that’s made up of photos submitted by Penguins fans and it turned into a tribute to Mario Lemieux.

Then we found or seats. Luca quickly got bored.

But the first period ended and Claire heard the magic word: Zamboni.

I mean, she really, really loves the Zamboni.

She waits for them to wave to her just like normal hockey fans wait to get a fist bump from a player.

Then Matt and Luca started acting…well, like boys.

And we realized it was time to go.

They lasted 2 1/2 periods, which is pretty impressive.