Notes on old.

Old.  It's my new four-letter word.  Sure it's only got three letters, but if you say it in my direction you might as well be an f-bomb dropping sailor.

Here are the reasons why:

The Tipper and I

It was in the car when I was first confronted with my growing chronological marker.  I was groovin' to KISS FM when a new song came on.  Always in a quest for a good running tune I was drawn to it's beat and turned up the radio.  I couldn't really hear all the lyrics so I made a note to myself to look it up on iTunes and listen before I bought.  And then, the chorus came on.  "Shush girl, shut your lips, do the Helen Keller and talk with your hips".  Do they even know who Helen Keller was? Ugh - I am so offended by this song!  And it's not the shut your lips use your hips part - I've listened to songs much worse than that and liked them.  It's the "Do the Helen Keller" line.  What?  I mean really - what?And you see, herein lies the problem, I am offended by a pop song!  What?  

Age Spots

In one week I injured my knee, gained some water weight, plucked two gray hairs and got a rash.  Maybe each of these, if separated by time, would not be a big deal.  But together it was enough for me to both cry in the shower AND vow that no husband of mine will ever be changing my diaper.  I'll have Dr. Death on my speed dial.

Senator Boxer* 

The use of the word Ma'am in my direction is becoming a daily occurrence.  If store really wanted to make a return buyer out of me they'd tell their staff to call anyone who looks less than 40 "Miss".  (*click here if you don't get that reference - and yeah, don't get me started on that!)

3.0

On that same note, maybe I do look older than thirty.  My cute Japanese brother told me yesterday, when he was told I was the big 3-0, said "You don't look 30" and for a moment I worried he'd say he thought I was older.

Tick, tock, THUMP, POUND:

My biological clock is pounding.  Nope, not ticking.  Pounding.   Neither of my two children were created because my bio clock told me it was time.  I wanted a baby - but there was no sudden URGE to have one.  There were alternative factors at (or not at) work.  But now  I see babies everywhere, except with me.  Everyone's having them, everyone's doin' it.  They're the new fall accessory and my retail store is closed!  Not to mention that in my youth making the decision to have a baby was as easy as flipping a coin.  Whether or not it should have been this easy is another conversation.  Now, as a wizened 30 year-old I cannot just say "because it feels right".  

Five and Four:

Nothing makes you feel older than noting the age of your children.  I'm sure my mother would agree.  Will starts Kindergarten in one month.  Kindergarten.  Will.  Me with a Kindergartner.  3rd grade, 6th grade, 12th grade - they'll all be here before I know it and I'll be sitting at this blog (if I remember my password then) crabbing about their age.  Not to mention that my baby, my BABY will be four in two months.  Four.  It doesn't seem like much when I type it, but when I hold him and feel his oh-so-not-a-baby body, my heart sinks.  It's going too fast.

Generation Gap Close:

Icons from my generation have started to die.  I hate to say it, it's only gonna get worse.  MJ dying was a real eye-opener for me this week and not just because of the reaction noted worldwide.  Parts of my childhood are set to the tune of his genius.  Parts of my ascension to adulthood are chronicled by his regression back to childhood. Thanks MJ, for the good, and the Bad.

There is no such thing...

There is no such thing as a stupid question.

Oh wait.  Yes there is.  One.  

"Are you pregnant?"

Actually most of the time it comes out as a statement, not a question.  As in the one my neighbor made to me tonight as I was walking, totally exhausted, carrying a sleeping child, while wearing my bathing suit.

She said "Oh, so you're pregnant."

We stopped to talk about her move (to the apartment above us) and the curiousness that stems from a move.   She stole a quick look at my belly and attempted to confirm her suspicion.

I guess my possible pregnancy has been the topic of conversation, along with my upcoming triathlon and whether or not I should do one while pregnant, between she and my other neighbor.

I like both of these ladies...but please.  COME ON!  I can think of so many other ways of figuring out if someone is pregnant or not without asking directly.  Like:  "So, you ever think of having more kids?"  or "Two boys, wanna have another and see if you can get a girl?"

Or, just don't ask.

But, if you do.  Do not, under any circumstances follow it up with the statement of "Oh, I'm sorry.  I didn't mean anything by it."

Yes you do.  You mean I look pregnant.  You mean that the six to nine miles a week I am running (not to mention the biking and swimming) aren't doing squat for the belly I acquired from two babies in two years, a year (or two) of less than stellar eating, and, let's face it, genetics.  I already know that.  Trust me, I already know it.  

It's ok that you thought it.  It's not ok that you asked it.  Keep the stupid questions to yourself.  

Tis a gift...

Dear Shell,

The last few days a strange phenomenon has occurred.  Life has been simple.  You have chosen simplicity, and in doing so, sanity.  That isn't to say that life hasn't been busy.  It has. Wonderfully busy.  Yet somehow you've managed to keep things simple and beautiful.  So here's a reminder of some of the things you done, sometimes on accident, and loved:

When you start being overwhelmed, slow down.  Take a few deep breaths.  Start with one step instead of looking at the big picture.  

Play with your kids.  Each evening you've stopped the "work" to play.  You do a good job of caring and educating them throughout the day - but you love to play.  And they need to see you do it.

Be outside.  It rained this week, and you played in it.  You threw your normal caution to the wind - not to mention your fear of messes.  The boys thought they'd won the jackpot to be outside IN the rain.  It was such a simple pleasure.

Speaking of messes - they clean up rather fast.  And the making of them often changes the mood of the entire family.  Make more messes.  

Put your nose into books more and less into the computer.  You went TV free for a reason. Remember what image you want the boys to see of you, and what you don't.

Dinners can be simple.  You've cooked each meal - even on the days when you wanted to just grab something.  The truth is that the boys won't remember what they are fed as much as they remember that we all sat down together.  And talked.  And that mom was happy during dinner.

Nothing has to be big...it just has to be.

And lastly, you love to run.  Yep, you do. Can you believe it?  I cannot either...but it's true.

Love,

Me

Breaking the wall

When I first started running, now almost six months ago, I never thought I could make it around the block.  

There is this street, just about 1/2 mile from us, where I used to run to and then run back.  I remember so vividly thinking "Shell, you just have to make it to Franklin."  My  heart would be racing, my mind a whirl of positive thought trying to push through negative energy.  I'd hit Franklin, feeling as though death was near.  Flipping back around I do it all over again just to make it home.  Some nights I'd get home and cry.  Cry because my legs hurt.  Cry because my pride hurt.  Cry because I was so ashamed of my body.  Cry because I never thought I'd make it past Franklin.

Last Saturday our TRI group got together.  We did a practice triathlon.  Yep, you read that right.  We wanted to see if we "got it".  Annie is about to start a busy summer - including our July 18th TRI date.  Autumn is getting ready to move for the summer (still close enough!).  And I just wanted to see if I could do it.

We met at a local university where they have free open lane swim.  We did our swim, bike and run all from that central location.  It hurt.  It was hard.  We had to choose the hardest 5k course in the entire state to run!  But it was doable.  In fact, I did it.  It took us 2.5 hours which isn't bad especially considering that our transition time was much longer than it will be on race day (we had to walk to our cars, put our bikes together, etc). 

Fast forward to this morning.  I've got my workout schedule posted up in my kitchen (with my food journal) as a reminder of what I should be doing each day.  Today was a 5/2 for me.  Five miles on the bike and 2 miles of run.   The transition between the bike and the run is the hardest for me and the one that gives me the most nightmares.  I loaded up the kids and bike. Dropped the boys off at preschool and unloaded my bike.  I've planned out a route right by their school that allows me to drop them off, bike, run, and get home to shower in time to head back and pick them up.  It's lovely.  It's easy (not the route, but the routine) and it's practical.

As I ran back to the car today I realized something.  I've broken through the wall.  Not the wall of physical pain - that still exists and I still have to really push myself.  But the confidence wall. And I cried.  Cried because I am no longer ashamed of my body.  It's doing some amazing things for me.  Cried because I finished the run and thought, gosh I could go farther.  Cried because I am doing something I never EVER thought I could do.

This, my friends, is huge.  

Click, tick, whir.

Right now I can hear three things.

The tick of the clock.  Irregular because it needs new batteries.

The whir of the fan above me.

And the click of my fingers on the keyboard.

The boys, all three of mine, are biking to the store to get ice cream for a late night snack.  

We spent two hours in the pool this afternoon.  The heat had gotten to a temperature where moods, mine especially, were effected.  And it's only May.

The boys, minus E, were thrilled to splash around.  Their love of swimming came back almost immediately after going in for the first time last week.  And since that first time we've been back in every day.  And here it is, Friday.  A whole week has whirred past.

Dinner was spent on the back porch.  Or slab.  Whatever you want to call it.  I bought a table cloth and some cute summery plates.  A first for our family to have summerware - and our first time eating out on the slab.  Both boys spent most of the time worrying about the flies and when a grasshopper showed up on the wall their focus turned quickly from steak to insect.  

Tonight, with them gone, I've allowed myself time of quiet.  This is unusual for me because I tend to crave noise.  I'll turn on NPR, iTunes, or even a movie just to fill the void.  And it's because, like on nights like this, the tick of the clock and the whir of the fan remind me of how fast time is passing.  

If I don't hear it I don't have to think about it.  If I don't stop and stand still, I won't see it moving past me.  Faster than me.

The summer will go by fast.  I stared at my calendar last night and realized what fun we have planned.  Fun means fast.  Nights like this will come and go.  Soon, W1 will be in Kindergarten and nights like this will be harder to find.  

And I know that I will miss this.  That even on the days where I'm ready to be done with my children, I still know I will miss this.  Terribly. 

Ah.  Too much silence.  I'm wishing them back from the store already.   

A Wild Safari

Last night, after a particularly long weekend, I decided to grab my current read and climb into the bathtub.

I pulled all the toys out of the tub, turned on the water, and crawled in.

About two pages into my book I stopped and looked around.  I was surrounded.  It was a wild safari in the bathroom.

The giraffe told me that my best friend is quite tall, and hot.  I told him to back off.

The hippo told me to stop being a stick in the mud.  He wouldn't tell me what about.

The rhino reminded me to pay bills.  Or the alligator would come after me.

And the whale commented on how she'd like to be my size.  It's all relative I told her.

It took me a while to realize that I was imagining things - whales don't belong in the safari!

Not Mr. Darcy

My literary life has had a good start this year.  So far I've read about thirty books.  And that is NOT counting the many books I read each night at the end of the evening to the cute, clean children snug in their beds.

One book has sat on my bookshelf for years, begging to be read.  I've resisted for years.  Mostly because it is considered one of the (if not the) ultimate chick books of all time. 

Pride & Prejudice

So for the record.  I've read it.  Rather I savored it.  Having known the characters all these years it was like spending a week at a spa with each of them, getting to know them all better and understanding all the missing pieces much more.

And for the record, the reason I love it so much is not Mr. Darcy.  It's Elizabeth Bennett.  Mr. Darcy is swell and his character is fascinating...and blah, blah, blah.  

For me the real romance was falling in love with Elizabeth through the pages.  Identifying so much with her character, the personal journey she goes through, and the harsh realizations she faces of family, self, and love.  

I'm inclined to believe that most women who read this novel fall more in love with Elizabeth than Mr. Darcy.  Which in unfortunate for all those men, including my own husband, who believe their wives to be smitten with Mr. Darcy.  

Now that the record is straight, where I'm concerned at least, I must continue in the improvement of my mind by more extensive reading.  Good thing the library has three books on hold for me now!

Psychology of a Run

There is a reason I wear headphones.  I know when I've run in groups of people that sometimes the others have wondered why, when good conversation is to be had, I've got headphones in.

Let me explain why.  My constant running partner is the evil genius who lives in my head, Shelina.  No, I'm don't have MPD.  I'm not schizophrenic.  

Shelina is this figment of my imagination - this part of me, embodied by a woman, who holds insane power over me.  She gets to hear all of my innermost workings. And she uses it to her advantage.  

Shelina came into my life as I was leaving the work place.  Unsure of my role as a mother and feeling the great loss (albeit by choice) of my identity of a career woman she slowly crept in with her self-consciousness, doubt, and insecurity.  Since then she has ruled supreme.  

So, if I run without my earphones Shelina's language of self-doubt fills my mind and every few steps, especially when push comes to shove, Shelina steps in ready to fill the void with notions of failure.  

Slowly but surely I am learning not to listen to her.  Slowly.  

In the meantime my music makes beats my body cannot ignore.  Kanye urges me to push it harder, faster, and become stronger. When Lady Gaga shouts out to use my muscle carve it out, work it hustle - well, that's what I do.   Robbie, Cascadia and even Miley Cyrus provide such solid beats that my feet cannot help but pick themselves up.  On top of that I round every corner thinking "What if ____ is standing there?"  I imagine someone from my TRI group, or E and the kids, or Amy and Sarah (my running missionaries) standing there cheering. 

And with each step the old Shelly returns.  And Shelina is fading in the dust of my confidence.  I even have moments where I am not sad about where I am now, what I look like now.  Rather I'm proud of where I am at.  And these are significant wins in the battle in myself.  

(PS - I hit mile 100 for the year! Suck on that Shelina!)