I’ve thought about how I’d write up the big post on how Luca did at his tooth extraction. Let’s just sum it up, shall we?
Luca’s a freaking champ.
He did everything perfectly. He didn’t eat or drink past midnight. He didn’t complain when I said he wouldn’t get breakfast until after his tooth pull. He didn’t get nervous. He drank the versed without hesitation and he did everything the doctor said to do.
Now let me say what I think about the dentist who did it.
He was amazing. I don’t understand how someone can be so patient with a kid high on versed and nitrous oxide. Seriously. When we brought Luca back to the treatment room, he was noodle legs and full of giggles. When he went to put the nitrous on his face, Luca was smiling so big and uncontrollably giggling. And then he kept trying to grab at the mask.
I had been standing in the doorway at the time, but Matt looked at me, who was sitting on half of the only chair in the room and said, “Why don’t you sit?”
Apparently I looked nervous.
I stayed calm for Luca and Matt of course was fine. I was mostly glad they let us both go back into the room. I know I would have been fine and calm, but my issue is that I feel that I need to help, forgetting that the dental hygienist and the dentist know what they’re doing and if I didn’t go back to the treatment room, they’d STILL do their job. That Luca would be fine. So when Matt asked me to sit down, he was basically saying, “Woman, sit on your damn hands.”
So how did the day go?
We were out the door by 7 AM and at the hospital by 7:20. We got Luca checked in and he had about 10 minutes of wait time that he spent wisely playing on the provided iPads.
When it was his turn to go back, we were immediately greeted by a super nice dental hygienist who walked us back to a nice dim room where Luca got to pick out any chair he wanted to sit in. He, of course, chose the orange recliner and then got to watch his very own TV.
I mean, they think of everything there. Everything. They have aquariums and iPads and games and interactive trains all in the waiting area. They use a pager system so you know when it’s alright to go back to your respective office area so that the rooms aren’t inundated with people waiting. They have personal TVs! Personal. TVs. I mean, wow. Even though the kid in the recliner next to Luca had Sponge Bob up loud enough for the entire hospital, whatever. Luca, at that point, was in happy land.
Now what does versed do to a four year old, you ask?
Within about 10 minutes he looked stoned. He was playing with Claire’s Innotab that she lent him and he went from finding treasure to having no idea what end was north or south and then it slowly slipped from his hands.
Fifteen minutes was the magic number and the doctor walked us back to the treatment room.
When I first picked him up he had a case of the Audreys. Read: bobble head. I had to remind him to keep his head on my shoulder over and over when his head would fall all the way back and he’d snap it back up.
So just imagine a drunk four year old. That’s about right.
Everything was funny. When I sat him down on the dentist chair, he started giggling. And then he quickly slumped to the side and laughed at the arm rest. And then the dental hygienist got close to his face and smiled and he smiled so wide and then giggled. Then his head fell over.
When Dr. Lustman came in and sat on his right, he was looking to his left. Dr. Lustman said, “Luca, can you look over here?” Then he, in super slow motion, moved his head, looked at the doctor and started giggling.
So then he sniffed vanilla ice cream (nitrous oxide) and got multiple shots of Novocaine which he didn’t even feel and then when I thought he was just looking at his mouth one last time, his tooth was out.
Best. Dentist. Ever.
When I first made the appointment, I said, “I want Luca to remember nothing. You hear me? Nothing. I want the best mind erasers you have in this joint.”
Dude doesn’t remember anything. Not a thing.
He got to pick out a pencil and a sticker that he proudly wore for two days and Matt carried him out of there.
He did cry a little, because versed makes one emotional. Elevators are a very emotional experience, people.
I stifled as many laughs as I could. I really did.
When we got home, he was hungry, so we fed him oatmeal, eggs and yogurt. He watched old episodes of Superman from the 1940′s and he took a 4 1/2 hour long nap. When he woke up, I had a tent waiting for him made with three full sized blankets.
Because that’s what moms do.
(Watching Mulan while in the tent. Claire takes it seriously.)
Last night he was petrified at the thought of the tooth fairy. So we let his bedroom door stay cracked open and this morning when he woke up and found a ten dollar bill in his tooth fairy pouch, he was over the fear. (Ten bucks is the least we could give him after the trauma of losing a tooth that way. Claire was only minorly jealous.)
This morning, exactly 24 hours from his procedure, he decided he wanted to do taekwondo again. Apparently his fear was in his tooth, because he said he wanted to take class, took class and did great at class. And wants to go again next week.
Whatever, I say. Go on with your bad self, dude.
So along with having a nice big gap in his mouth, he has the cutest lisp ever now.
I don’t even know what more to say. I’m so seriously impressed with him and how brave he was. I am the definition of a proud mom. So proud.
On the day you were born it was hot, much like today. It was sunny, too. You were scheduled for an induction because I was tired being pregnant, so I figured washing your Auntie’s car would be the smartest thing to do to speed along the process.
Apparently you don’t like being told what to do, and you were born just before 10 that night while hockey playoffs were on the tv in the background. One minute I was commenting how Detroit scored, next minute you were here.
No, seriously. That’s how fast you were born.
You had a pretty busy year, Luca. You almost got swept away by a rogue wave at the beach. You had to share your once peaceful bedroom with Mae-Mae the destroyer. You discovered Legos. You put up with me for a year.
From the stories I’ve heard about your dad when he was little, you’re proving to be just like him. I take that as both good and bad. Good in that, well, I loved him enough to marry him. He’s a really good guy, your dad. But with that comes the childhood daddy that packed a bag in preparation to run away and would choose to be alone over hanging out with his family.
That’s you. I’m 90% positive that at some point you’re going to look around at your surroundings (read: your sisters) and just say, “Peace out, homies,” and walk down the street with a stick and sheet tied to it.
Not that I’d blame you, kid, but I’d kind of miss you. So please don’t be doing that. You can run away to the basement. That’s cool with me.
Listen, guys. There’s very little that I won’t answer. I’m pretty open and honest when someone asks a question. It’s just who I am. I have nothing to hide.
At the gym yesterday I had so much fun. I’m talking dripping in sweat, muscles shaking, endorphins running amok, fun. Someone there commented on how it must be nice being back to my pre-pregnancy body.
It’s a running joke at the gym that they forgot I just had a baby, because I didn’t take a formal maternity leave. I was back a week later coaching and two weeks later on the bike. That’s not being said to brag, it’s just who I am. I feel loyalty to the members and I simply love what I do.
Am I back to my pre-pregnancy weight? Ha ha. Ha ha ha.
No. No I’m not.
One thing women don’t talk about is weight. Well, we talk about weight, but we don’t talk numbers.
I’m going to talk numbers.
I’m 5’8″. And I currently weigh 158.
Yesterday I posted this on facebook:
I know that sometimes we as women focus solely on what numbers we see on the scale. Today, I weighed in at 158 which is 8 pounds away from my pre-Audrey weight. I say this, because while I still have weight to lose, right now in body pump I’m lifting more than I ever have and in RPM I’m pushing myself harder than ever. So yes, while I still have a jiggle here and a pound or two there, I don’t really care what that scale says. Because my body says, “You are awesome.”
And that’s the truth of it all. I have weight to lose, yes. Does it ruin my day that I have weight to lose? Not really. For one, it’s fun seeing improvement and also, I work out all the time. Weight loss seems inevitable when there’s room to lose.
Do I have a goal in mind? Of course I do. I’d love to be back to 140. It was easy to maintain and I felt the most content with my body at that weight. Would it ruin my life if I stuck in the upper 140′s? Not at all.
I know it’s scary to throw a number out there. Body weight is such a personal thing, just as pant size or even bra size. But the problem is, there’s such a misconception of how much someone should weigh.
Before I was pregnant with Audrey, when I’d tell someone I weighed 150 (or 148 on a good day) they would say they were shocked. They guessed I’d weigh less than that. At first it made me think, “Wow, what am I doing wrong to not be in the 130′s?” And then I realized that it’s just what it is. We’re so messed up as a society on body weight because of shows like America’s Next Top Model where these women weigh in at 110 and are 5’10″.
I can tell you with 100% certainty that being 117 pounds and 5’8″ was painful to keep up. When I came home from the Army, that’s exactly what I weighed. I lost 17 pounds and ended up breaking my pelvis. Because of that, when I came home, I couldn’t run to keep up with the weight loss and gained it back. My body just didn’t like that feeling, and my brain didn’t even more so and ended up dealing with an eating disorder of sorts. I felt so happy yet beat down when I comfortably fit into size 5 jeans again, just like when I left the basic training.
I ended up getting help and got better, and then ended up on the other end at 168 on my wedding day.
So. I’ve been on both ends. I know what I like and I know what I can do to make it happen, healthfully.
Do I diet? No. I have no self control when it comes to dieting. I’m pretty sure that if I took the time to do calorie counting or something I could easily be back to pre-Audrey weight, but alas, I like to bake. I don’t overdo the calorie intake, though. I drink water over juice or other calorie filled drinks, eat healthfully most of the time and limit processed foods.
Those are all doable things for me.
And I exercise a lot. Because that’s not only good for me and my heart and blah, blah, blah, but it’s also my stress reliever. It makes me happy.
So while I may have some weight to lose to get to my goal, I’ve upped my weights in Pump. I’ve added more resistance to my bike in RPM. I’ve held planks longer and I’ve done extra pushups on my toes.
I’m not a supermodel, and I’m never going to weigh 130 again, but I feel really good with where I’m at right now and that’s really all that matters.
You are what you see in the mirror, and to be honest, I like what I see because it’s much more than skin deep.
One of the biggest blessings yet curses is the fact that I’m a nurse. Two cliches come to mind: Knowledge is power and ignorance is bliss.
Sometimes knowing a thing or two about the human body and illness is a wonderful thing. It avoids me unnecessary trips to the doctor, keeps me calm in a somewhat challenging situation and provides my friends and family a person to rely on for simple questions.
But sometimes knowing too much is no good.
There are times when I only want to know that a cold is just a cold and a scrape is just a scrape. I don’t want to know about all the possible germs that could invade the scrape and cause cellulitis or even worse, MRSA. I just don’t. I want to live in a nice little bubble where nine times out of ten, everything will be OK.
Sunday afternoon, Mae was awoken unexpectedly by having an accident. And it wasn’t pee. Mae is completely potty trained, so this, to me, indicated something bigger than just an accident.
An hour later she proved me true, when she reached to snuggle with me on the couch and subsequently vomited all down the front of me.
That night, she was up off and on every few hours and insisted Matt sleep in her bed until 4 am, seemingly uncomfortable.
Monday morning, she seemed perky enough – making silly faces and trying to drink water. She ended up napping on the couch all morning off and on, and then took a big nap in the afternoon. When she woke up, she was back to her regular self, so I had my neighbor’s daughter (who is nearly 20) sit with Mae while I taught at the gym. She was keeping saltines and pedialyte down, so I figured it was a safe bet.
She went to bed, looking tired, but no worse for the wear.
Tuesday morning rolled around, and I figured we were in the clear. 24 plus hours since she had thrown up and she kept fluids and simple carbs down. All good things.
All good things until she threw up all over me, again.
Let me say this. What she lacked in frequency, she made up for in volume. From my chest to my toes, I was covered.
At this point, I was getting worried. She should have been better by now, not worse. But worse she was, because her eyes were heavy, skin was pale and she spiked another fever.
I called my doctor’s office and the nurse gave me the same canned answer I already knew: Look for the signs of dehydration, then she listed them for me.
I was kind of insulted by the nurse’s response because she knew I was a nurse, too. I’m no idiot. I know the signs and symptoms of dehydration. I was calling because she was exhibiting the signs, now what should I do?
My doctor then called back a bit later and said, keep an eye on her, if she doesn’t perk up, bring her to the ER.
By 5:30, Mae hadn’t perked up even in the slightest. My mom was at the house prepared to sit with Mae while I taught RPM at the gym, but my gut just didn’t feel right.
All day, my gut was telling me something wasn’t right. But which gut was it? Was it my mom gut or my nursing gut? Because the mom gut is emotionally driven and the nurse gut is based off of facts.
Emotionally, we were both drained. I was tired of seeing her sick and Mae was tired of being sick.
Facts, she was lethargic, had a fever, ached, didn’t eat a thing and had maybe 5 ounces of fluid all day.
I called Matt and he told me to go with my gut and since I was with her all day, make the call. He trusted my decision.
So the ER it was.
I’m going to start by saying every single employee at CHP must take Ativan before each shift, because they were all extremely calm and serene.
During triage, when they were getting her vitals, she cried. Then I started to cry. She was pleading, “Mom! We go home! Mama, we go home? Please! We go home!”
After triage, I had expected to be sent back to the waiting area until our turn, but instead, they took us right back to a room.
Mae had had enough. She started having the mother of all tantrums. The doctors were patient and the volunteers were even better, offering her barbie dolls and crayons. She had an x-ray done, she had an ultrasound done. She got a pencil and some stickers. We watched Full House on the tv in the waiting room at ultrasound to go back to her room. You know, the episode where DJ has an epiphany and decides to dump Steve. Mae fell asleep on my lap while we rocked in the rocker.
Transport came, and walked us back to our room. I carried her everywhere. Mae was exhausted.
We got back to our room and Mae got a purple mardi gras necklace. She then decided that was gift enough to pee in a cup for me.
They checked her urine and determined that she was, in fact, moderately dehydrated. Mae refused to drink any more after she drank four ounces of apple juice.
At this point, my friend Jen was there as moral support. I was so thankful for that, because I felt like I was so stupid for bringing her to the ER – that I was overreacting. She sat there and heard the same things I did from the PA and the doctors. So when Mae, again, refused to drink anything, the doctor said, “Usually I make these decisions for the parents, but you know your kid better than I do. Will she drink?”
I looked at Jen. Her face said it all – little kid’s sick and she probably needs an extra boost.
I knew that if I said no, it was IV town for Maelie. But I wasn’t going to lie. Mae wasn’t going to drink. She is stubborn and was so very exhausted at this point that there was no reasoning with her.
So Mae got a first class ticket to IV town.
Let me tell you what. The nurse was phenomenal. The aid held Mae down in a very firm, but not too overwhelming way. The nurse had, from the time she placed the tourniquet to the time she said, “All done!” it was less than a minute.
And I didn’t even cry.
Mae totally did.
I don’t blame her.
They checked her blood sugar, and it was low. Even after the apple juice, it was still low.
Mae slept through the IV fluids, one of which had dextrose in it. I sat there and stared at the wall. One, my phone battery was near dead and also because I just needed some time to be a vegetable. I have been in a constant state of worry and stress since Sunday afternoon. I needed a break.
When it was done, the doctor came back in. It was after 11. We were tired. She looked at me and said, “I normally would have her stay over night, but you’re a responsible parent, so I trust that you’ll bring her back if she’s not getting better, correct?”
I said yes, thanked her profusely and carried Mae out of there and didn’t look back.
I read an article the other day in Psychology Today called a Nation of Wimps.
In summary, kids these days are weenies who are over controlled by their parents.
Let me start off by saying I’m not perfect. I’m doing the best I can, just as I’m sure most parents are. However, there are so many styles of parenting out there to cling to, and I’m pretty happy that I just kind of go with the flow. It works for me.
Mostly I blame social media for making us as parents feel the need to either one up each other or be the very best.
I also blame Pinterest.
But while you’re here, get that dog off my lawn! I’m going old lady on you on my soapbox.
First, I’d like to know what happened to my generation? When I was a kid, I was raised on drinking water from the hose, playing outside until it was too dark to see my hands in front of my face and when my mom would say listen, I’d listen. My childhood was pretty uneventful and I liked it that way.
When I envisioned myself having children, I was excited that I’d get to relive some of it just by letting them be kids.
But it seems to me like the people of my generation decided that their childhoods were really awful and need to do a 180 for their own childs’ sake.
I’m not sure if it’s because I’m a relatively young mother or am just laid back in nature, but I don’t get why parenting has become a sporting event. I kind of live my life where I wake up, do some stuff, keep the kids from killing themselves, discipline them when necessary and pat myself on the back for making it through the day. Maybe throw in a little fist bump.
What I can’t get is why kids are so sterilized these days. I mean that literally and figuratively. There was a survey that said that 3 of 5 kids are sent to school with hand sanitizer. There was another study that showed that kids who use hand sanitizer also have found traces of it in their urine. No, not because they eat it, but because the skin absorbs it and the body metabolizes it and sooner or later, these kids won’t be able to fight off the super bugs that are out there.
I tell my kids to eat dirt. Let their bodies do what they’re supposed to do, and if it gets bad enough, then we intervene. I don’t deny them care, I simply give them a chance to build their own immunity. There was an e-card floating around the internet for a while that said, “No, hun, Mommy’s a nurse, so you only go to the doctor if you’re dying.” It’s more true than you can imagine.
Kids simply aren’t kids anymore. They seem stressed out and overtaxed. There’s a kid I know that goes to Claire’s Tae Kwon Do classes who does three other activities AND school. He always seems tired and unfocused. Yet his parent sits back and barks at him if he doesn’t do a move correctly. Now, I know I don’t live their life and such, but any person standing around could plainly see that the poor kid wasn’t having fun.
Aren’t kids supposed to have fun?
Take Luca. He did TKD for a short time, but he started getting belly aches over the mere thought of going to class. We tried chugging on for another few weeks, but it was plain to see he was miserable, so we pulled him out. While I’m not one to let my kids quit, when he’s making himself physically sick over it, it’s simply not worth it. Plainly put, he wasn’t having fun. Three year olds are supposed to have fun.
A friend of mine told me, “I tell my kids before they go to school to be kind, be positive and try your best. What more could I ask for? I’m not looking for perfection, just a good kid.”
It’s almost as if some parents feel so gypped that they missed out on something specific in their childhood, that their kids HAVE TO DO IT. It is the parent’s own insecurities pushed on to their children and I have to say that sometimes it’s unfair.
One thing my mom got right (and there were a lot, I promise) was that she let Carly and I be kids. She let us be us and didn’t try to control our every move. So yes. I went through a phase where I looked like a boy and even got called sir (at the Declaration of Independence in DC! For shame DC security. FOR SHAME.) I wore oversize baggy tees and enjoyed getting dirty at the creek or just getting lost in the woods. While I may have looked a mess half the time, you bet I said please and thank you and minded my manners. When my mom would ask me to do something I’d do it. Sure, sometimes I’d roll my eyes or whathaveyou, but I respected her. Still do.
I demand respect from my children. It doesn’t come for free, though. I have to earn it. I give my kids boundaries and discipline and basic rules and we let life fill in the rest. Just today, Claire was acting defiant. I don’t really like that quality. It’s gross. You can demand to be heard without being a brat, but a brat she was, so I sent her to bed for nap time. I told her simply that when she gives me attitude, she’s tired and a nap should set her straight. She continued to carry on and I asked her if she was the kid or the adult. She gave me a smart mouth response that is totally not like her and so I calmly said, “Well then, since you know everything, you must be the adult. So you get to make your own dinner tonight, OK?”
That didn’t go over too well with her, but she’s napping now and we’ll get to have a lovely conversation about how not to act when she wakes up. I have to remember sometimes that she’s 5 and doesn’t know better, and it’s my job to teach her. I also had to realize that that’s not typical Claire. So I had to modify my parenting somewhat.
Often times we as adults forget what it was like to be a kid. That we had to learn everything that now as adults have known forever. So sometimes I have to step back and remind myself that kids are simple. They want boundaries but the sense of freedom, they want attention but not to be overly obsessed over and they want to be loved. It’s pretty simple when you break it down.
Life isn’t supposed to be so difficult.
So now, as I get ready to step off my soapbox, please know that I’m doing my very damn best to make sure my kids are functional, self sufficient, reliable human beings for the future. This is my life. This is my job. I like to think so far I’m doing an OK job, but I still have a very long way to go and who the hell knows what’s coming up on the horizon. All I can do is stick to my principles and, as my friend said above, try my very best.
And let my kids be kids while they still have the time.
This week I started (and finished) the kids’ bathroom reno. Nothing fancy, because let’s face it – it’s the kid’s bathroom. The bathroom used to be a bright blue with a blue and green striped wallpaper border and a carpenter grade vanity.
I could work with that.
The previous owners had left behind tons of paint. Among the totally awful colors of HELLO YELLOW, was a completely untouched gallon of cream. The color reminds me of the days when I used to drink coffee with my cream.
We also had leftover chocolate colored cabinet paint and handles that I bought too many of when I did the kitchen cabinets.
So far, my reno was going to be free.
But, of course, it wasn’t. That would have been awesome, but whatever.
I also was tired of having a towel rack that fit two towels on it. Let’s get real here, I have four kids. So to solve that, I planned on doing something with hooks. I also planned on framing out the giant constructor grade mirror.
Wednesday I started phase one: Paint the vanity.
Thursday I did phase two: paint the walls. That was three coats of fun. Totally took all morning because of the wallpaper border that I had to remove first.
Today, the kids and I went to Lowes for the wood to do the frame work of phases three and four.
Audrey was perfectly content sleeping in her car seat, so I decided to capitalize on that and make the cut for the hook wall.
I used a cheap stain grade piece of base moulding for that and bought four hooks to attach. I had glass letters from Michael’s that I hope eases the kids’ issues with identifying their own towels.
I stained that puppy a nice walnut stain, attached it to the wall, covered the nail holes with the hooks and called it a day.
It turned out pretty nice if I do say so myself.
Then I moved on to phase four. Audrey was still happy in her car seat, so I made the mirror frame with L brackets, stained it and (after she woke up and I fed her, and she subsequently went back to sleep) installed it.
Again. Kind of excited.
Next we’re going to install new flooring, because I’m 99% positive there is no protection between the vinyl roll out floor and the subfloor. I’m kind of scared what we’re going to find, but I’m more scared of falling through the floor at some point. From what my neighbor told me when she redid her bathroom floor (because we have identical twin houses,) the subfloor was almost completely rotted through. It’s not even about vanity at this point, it’s about safety. But darn – After I put down the cement board, we get to use this awesome ceramic tile that looks like wood planks.
And then, of course, I’ll get new rugs and stuff since the bright blue doesn’t really go with the scheme anymore, but that’s neither here nor there.
The kids are also going to make some art work for the wall next to the sink.
In three days, I gave us a nice, clean, organized intentional space. It looks like a normal person lives there, and not just someone who slapped a room together and called it a day.
I’m kind of excited.
But because you’re the dog, this is a bit belated. Sorry.
Sadie dog. We bought you on a Saturday. It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, Matt and I had just moved in together and we decided why not add to the fun and get a dog.
When we got to the shelter (yes, the ARL) we went straight back to the kennels to find a million dogs jumping up on their cages to get our attention. We saw a few that caught our eye, but we wanted to see all the shelter had to offer before we grew attached. I went to the far end where it seemed as if there were no dogs, but alas, there you were. Tiny and crumpled in a corner. You looked like you didn’t have any more fight left in you. You were brown, underweight and sad.
I called Matt over and said, “Come here! Look at this poor dog.”
You were covered in dirt. You had small pieces of your ears missing from what looked like bites, belt marks on your back and scabs all up and down your legs. You could read newsprint on your nose and you were severely underweight. And you were brown. You’re not a brown, dog Sadie. I know you’re color blind, but let’s get real here.
A volunteer quickly came over and said, “Oh, that one. She’s afraid of men. Only women volunteers can handle her.”
We were immediately conflicted. We didn’t want to adopt a dog that would be afraid of Matt. We wanted you to be safe and happy. So we asked the volunteer to let us try and see what could happen.
We went into the room and waited for them to bring you in to us. I was nervous. Something about you tugged at my heart strings. I really wanted to take care of you.
When you came in, you looked scared. You timidly sniffed my hand and backed away from Matt. Matt got down on his haunches and put his hands on his hips, in a noncommittal way. Then, you did the most amazing thing. You put your head through Matt’s arms as if you were looking for a hug and that was it. We looked at each other and said, “We’ll take her.”
It took you years to figure out how not to use the house as a toilet. I don’t know how many times I said, “Take her back! Take her baaaaack!”
But then you’d look at me with those Sadie-dog eyes and I’d be over it.
When Claire was born, you changed. You figured you had to be good or you’d be gone. You haven’t had an accident since (other than that one time you had a stomach bug and couldn’t help it) and you became more calm.
Sure, when people come over you get excited, and it frustrates me, but you’re just a puppy at heart and I can’t fault you for that.
So, last week at some point, you turned 9. You’ve been in our lives longer than any of our kids and even our marriage. (8 years!) And I love you.
Happy birthday, Sadie dog. Thank you for seeing beyond your fears from past abuse and giving us a chance. We’re not perfect, but have never and will never hurt you and you’ve made our life better by being in it. You make the kids happy and even put up with their shenanigans.
So, with all the odds against you from the beginning: abused, neglected and named Sweat Pea (they totally meant Sweet Pea, but you know, spelling wasn’t so high on their list,) we’re so glad you’re our Sadie-Dog.
“A dog has no use for fancy cars or big homes or designer clothes. Status symbol means nothing to him. A waterlogged stick will do just fine. A dog judges others not by their color or creed or class but by who they are inside. A dog doesn’t care if you are rich or poor, educated or illiterate, clever or dull. Give him your heart and he will give you his. It was really quite simple, and yet we humans, so much wiser and more sophisticated, have always had trouble figuring out what really counts and what does not. As I wrote that farewell column to Marley, I realized it was all right there in front of us, if only we opened our eyes. Sometimes it took a dog with bad breath, worse manners, and pure intentions to help us see.”
We had a very busy weekend. It started with Claire becoming a marathoner.
She worked very hard for that moment. She ran 25 miles in 1 mile increments for 3 months. She had fun, but most of all, she learned more about empathy and giving. Girl raised 2505 dollars for the ARL. I know, I know, I helped her and stuff, but honestly? I couldn’t have done it without her. Her excitement was contagious and that’s where the majority of the money came from – people excited because she was excited.
I mean, who can say no to a kid? And animals?
Claire was the third highest individual fundraiser for the ARL this year. I’m so proud.
The morning started with her getting on her clothes I had laid out the night before. She was up before the birds, that girl, and Matt and I were fully prepared for that. I braided her hair and put on her ARL tattoo and got her to eat a nice breakfast. By the time we were ready, my mom and dad were there and we were ready to rock and roll.
The running tutu is compliments of a running friend of mine. This woman is incredible. She runs an insane amount of marathons every year. I’m talking a lot. It’s unreal. She’s an inspiration.
So she thought it would be great for Claire to have a running tutu for her big day. She also made her a cape.
We held off having her wear the cape while running since there would be a lot of kids there and I was afraid that someone would accidently grab her cape and she’d get hurt. But that evening, she wore that cape all night with pride.
We made signs for her.
Come on, parents. Get with it. Signs are where it’s at.
Matt texted us to let us know when to expect to look for her. The race started at 10, but they went in waves because there were an incredible amount of kids running it.
Claire was in the very last wave.
According to Matt when she started to lose steam (because they had an hour and a half to kill before the race so Matt decided the best way to occupy the time would be to chase her around) she’d give high fives to the people on the side lines cheering the kids on. She even got high fives from EMTs and police officers.
That was the highlight of her day, apparently.
Never mind our amazing signs and such.
She almost got taken out by a sign there at the very end, but oh. my. gosh. That little tutu made her the cutest little ball of fluff to come running down the street that day.
I swear I’m not bias.
The person at the very end of the video who says, “Are you serious?” was asking me if that was my kid. She either now thinks I’m a teenage slut or just very good looking for my old age. I also nearly cried when she ran past.
Yah, yah, yah. I’m a mushy mom sometimes. So sue me.
At around 13 minutes and 1.2 miles, Claire became the youngest marathoner in the family.
I love my little marathoner.
I get it. I really do. You’re stubborn and you dream awfully big. However, and that’s a big however – HOWEVER, you know how when you get an idea in your head and you refuse to deviate? Perhaps next time you decide to run a half marathon 9 weeks after giving birth when the last time you ran anything more than 3 miles was when, oh I don’t know, THE FULL MARATHON YOU DID A YEAR PRIOR, perhaps you’ll consider not doing so.
Don’t get me wrong, I love your spirit and your can do attitude, but really, just no.
We hurt. Yes, yes we do. Our hips feel like they’re about to pop out of socket when we try to take stairs and I’m 90% certain you re-aggravated the fracture you had gotten on your foot back in the days of young. And let’s not even talk about the hamstrings and I’m guessing those are my calves, but I think I lost my knees somewhere on mile 11 and can’t feel much below where they once were.
But no biggie. We’ll be fine in a few days.
So yes, Cassie. You are in shape. You ran a half marathon with zero training in 2 hours and 10 minutes. With hills. Those were mean hills. Slow clap.
Just please. Train next time, OK? Because now you’ve proven to the world that, yes, you can run a half marathon on a whim. Good for you. You got your medal.
Now let’s go stretch.
Alright, people. That was a really crappy week.
That is, until I decided yesterday that I was going to make Thursday my bitch.
And make it my bitch, I did.
1. Yesterday my MIL insisted on watching the kids so I could run the Pittsburgh Half Marathon with Matt. So I hunted down a bib and now Sunday I’ll be running 13.1 miles. No biggie.
2. I finished up making one of the privacy screens after I went to Lowes with all the kids (with no tantrums!) and bought myself a circular saw.
Seriously, people, I’m creating myself quite the power tool arsenal. Go big or go home, I say.
There will be another privacy screen next to this one, and a third adjacent. It will create a small amount of privacy from the street, but most importantly, it will keep the kids from flinging themselves over the edge.
3. I stepped on the scale and realized that I was finally starting to see some progress in the postpartum weight loss department. It’s annoying when you work and work and see nothing. But then – even more than my weight, I finally looked in the mirror.
What a difference it makes when you finally see what’s actually in front of you, and I saw awesome progress. Nine weeks postpartum and I feel fantastic.
4. For the past few months I’ve been helping one of the gym members on her quest to become an RPM instructor. Yesterday she brought me cookies. I can’t remember the last time someone baked for me.
5. Sometimes it’s the little things. After teaching RPM yesterday, two of the members helped me corral all the kids to the car, and even carried some of my gym gear for me. While I’m perfectly capable of doing that on my own, it was so nice to have help, all without asking. Just because they wanted to.
Today, the good continued on. One of my friends, originally my mom’s friend, but she’s my friend, now, too, (wow that’s a lot of commas) made Claire a running tutu and cape for her big race tomorrow.
6. AAAAAND Claire’s new glasses came today!
This week is turning around, I’d say. Race weekend!