Upstairs

Oh no.

I can hear my neighbors.

No, not doing THAT.

Yelling at their kid.

"Lay down!" "Put that down!" "Be quiet!"

Which means I can be heard.

And I've been real short on patience with my kids this week.

And have yelled.

I don't want to be judged on what I've said to my kids the past few days. Because I'm not usually that kind of parent.

Perhaps it is horrible to say that not wanting to be heard is a reason for trying to be a better parent. Perhaps.

But mostly, it's a good reminder that who I am really am is who I want to be around all the time.

Even when I've lost patience....

Nerves

My nerves have got the better of me.

I just brushed my teeth for the 2nd time. In ten minutes. Because I forgot I had already. Then 1/2 way through spitting I remembered.

Leaving the workplace, one where I had a heavy emphasis on staff management, I looked forward to the day when I'd be back in the interview chair.

Having stayed at home now for almost five years has provided me with a better look at my strengths and weaknesses (if you prefer to call them that) as well as time to work on myself. These have geared me up for the discussion of why I'm qualified to return to my professional world someday.

For the first time in a long time I am facing an interview chair. In about forty minutes. I should be packing up my kids. Should be driving to drop them off. But no. My nerves have got me.

See, tonight isn't just any interview. It's not for a job. It's for a volunteer position. One that I've thought about and considered since April. Wanted to make sure I was strong enough for it. Could I face my fear of death and dying straight on? Hold it's hand even?

And what's got me nervous? Religion.

This is a hospital that is founded by a religion and run by a religion. Pictures of Jesus grace the hallways. One of my friends who worked there said one of the best things for him is that he can pray and ask for the spirit to be with him and it's not weird.

But see...for me...it kind of is. Not that what they believe is weird, because it isn't. More that they might think what I believe is weird. They might judge me on the basis of my, um, non-religion. They might reject me for it.

They can ask these questions. They can ask them in job interviews and they can certainly ask them in an interview where someone wants to volunteer to work with people at the end of this earthly journey.

And these are questions I haven't prepped five years for. I know I'm strong enough to do this job. I know that I'd bring a lot to the people I would work with as they make their peace. I don't know if I can fully answer a "What do you believe" question....

I hope I can answer them. With truth for me and validity for them.

A Fall First

I'm getting excited for Fall. I've always loved this season - the change in temperatures, the colors in nature, and the chance to pull out clothes from the closet that have been neglected for 1/2 a year.

As you know, if you know me at all, I'm a function over form kind of girl. I wear clothes that allow me to get down and play during the day..and if I look cute then it's a bonus. In short - I look like a stay-at-home-mom. Sometimes I don't mind...sometimes I do.

Now, I've never been into fashion. In fact, two weeks ago at a Girl's Night Out I won a copies of the latest Vogue and Marie Claire - I picked the stack because it came with Root Beer. I didn't even realize the magazines came with it and wasn't quite sure what to do with them. When someone asked - I readily traded them for a salad bowl and hot chocolate. Function.
Then I surprised myself. I bought a purple shirt. Two of them. Both from the clearance rack. I was thrilled for a little color in the line-up of my normal black, brown, white, and red collection.

And then I got a surprise. I look good in purple. And it's one of the Fall fashion colors - as I was told by the woman who traded her root beer for my fashion mags.

So today, for the very firsts time, I looked up the Pantone Fall 2009 Fashion Colors! Here they are in all their glory:

And do you know why I looked them up? To incorporate some into my wardrobe? To mix-match colors with my new purple shirt?

Oh please. I haven't changed that much. I'm going to used them in my digital design projects :) Function.

Now it's time to look up who these Pantone people are and why they get to pick the colors! What a job!

With great power...

The other day I caught up with an old friend. When it was my turn to talk about the news in my life I found myself speaking mostly about my running and triathlon training. Lately that has died down a bit...though I'm working to pick it back up again.

When I finally finished my ten minute long exclamation about running she said "wow. This has been life changing hasn't it."

Yes.

I have no doubt in ten years when I look back at my life I will include this (along with the births of my children, my wedding, my college years, Will's Celiac diagnosis, and the death of my grandpa) as life-changing.

Here is why:

I find myself saying no to things I haven't had strength to before. Like Diet Coke. Like negative thoughts in my head. Like staying in grungy clothes all day.

I find myself saying yes to things I haven't had strength to do before. Like 5ks and triathlons. Like being in pictures. Like talking to strangers without worrying about how I look. Like volunteering at a hospital with people who are dying.

Finding a power I didn't think I have has helped me find power in everything else.

And it's not that I'm power hungry...it's something other than that. It's wanting to take this strength and spread it around.

It's dying to allow myself to live slow. To ride my bike more with the kids strapped in the back. To craft the things I want for the people I love. To spend time, not money.

It's wanting to be strong enough to say "no" to all the little purchases and paying off the god-awful debt so money can go further, later.

It's wanting to be brave enough to saying "yes" to my Mom's offer to join her in Kenya next year for a humanitarian project even though I know once I go there, I won't be able to turn back to life as I know it now.

It's easy...

It's easy to look at what I don't have. Or what I could be. Or what I should be.

I injured my foot running last week. And it spurred up this tornado of emotions. Realizing that I'd have to take time off makes me think about how else to burn my calories which makes me think about the weight I have NOT lost, which makes me think of my clothes, which makes me think of the crappy running shoes I have, which makes me think.....

And yet, in the last few days as I've found myself drifting to that place little reminders (of how wonderful life is, of how much I do have, of what I am, and of who I'm striving to be) keep popping up.

It's always easy to be part of the tornado. To get swept up in the emotions and taken over by them.

So I'm stopping. I've planted my feet back firmly on the ground.

I'm grateful for that. For being able to stop

For reminders like THIS to stop. And reminders like THIS to keep going.

For days with just Walker. Playing cars on the carpet. Listening to his language, watching his hands. Oh, how he grows.

For evenings of solitude that occur without request.

For random YouTube videos that make me laugh or dance or both.

For cool tap water.

For realizing that I can walk or swim or bike even if I cannot run.

For new friends...something I have longed for and am finally allowing.

For me. In all my versions.

It is easy.

Wash, rinse, repeat...

There are moments when the monotony of my life frustrates the hell out of me. I've hesitated to post this because, like most things when written, they feel either (a) more overwhelming or (b) not such a big deal. Or both. And this is both.

Rise early, by myself.
Empty dishwasher.
Work. Usually a self created project.
Internet. Facebook. Perez. Online banking. Blogs.
Drop off spouse (who is most likely running late).
Breakfast. For the kids, homemade. For me, in a cup.
Make the beds. Dishes.
Clothes. For the kids. Me, maybe.
Make lunch. Prep for school.
Clean up toys.
Drop one boy off at school.
Errands, tasks, maybe an "adventure" to the library, or Costco, or some other place I where I can turn an errand into an adventure. The whole time trying to placate the other boy who cannot be happy without a new toy, or chocolate milk, or something else that I seem to always refuse.
Eat lunch.
Wonder if I'm a slacker since I don't post on my blogs...
Pick up the first boy. Try to placate him now too as we pass places I won't stop daily.
Read stories. Try to be a good mom. Try to put the boys first.
Make dinner
Pick up the spouse.
Eat dinner. Mostly together.
Dishes.
Clean-up.
Homework
Baths.
Bedtime for boys.
Run for me. Run for the spouse.
Clean-up.
Tire.
Push myself to stay up doing things I think I should do (email) and things I want to do (The Daily Show).
Bed. Read two pages of an intriguing book.
Sleep.

Wake, stretch, repeat.

The truth is that my life is full of things I love. My spouse. My kids. Running. Reading. New friends. Movies in the park. Bike rides with kids.

And while no one day is exactly the same, there is so much that is true from day to day to day. Some days, it just grates.

Even now, I have a child glued to my side, asking for things, grabbing at my iPod, the computer. "Mom, feed me." "Mom, listen to me." "Mom, he's bugging me." "Mom I need three Band-Aids." Anything. Everything.

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!)

The Haunting

The boys are at the grandparents.

E is in New York.

And I am here at the house relaxing and rejuvenating.

Or at least I am supposed to be.

My big goal was to get a good night of sleep. And I'm not sure why that is eluding me so skillfully.

I mean, I did ride ten miles on my bike and run a 5k yesterday. I thought for sure my body would knock me out.

Instead I woke up at 4:00am, as usual.

I did go back to sleep but was haunted in dreams by ghosts of people past. Not people who have passed. Rather people in my past.

Oh. I am tired of this. I am tired of being haunted by people and situations I cannot control.

The friends I am no longer close to.

The friends and family I cannot please.

Outside of the dreams I am torn between letting go of situations or continuing to try. The thing is, I am tired of being the only one who tries. And being blamed either way.

I don't know how to rid myself of these conflicting emotions...and the guilt.

I need an exorcism.

Flip-Floptimism

I've always considered myself a realist. That glass everyone is talking about - well for me it's neither 1/2 full or 1/2 empty. It's just there. Sitting on the counter. Needing to be put away or finished. And most likely it needs a coaster.

Then this morning, as I was walking back to my car, shivering, I realized something.

I'm much more of an optimist than previously believed to be.

See, every morning I put on a t-shirt and my favorite, old flip-flops and head out the door. No sweater. No good shoes. Definitely no socks.

Always hopeful that the day is going to be warm enough and bright enough to fill my flip-flop wishes. Always optimistic.

And even when it's just a little too cold - like it was this morning - I still don't change my shoes.

Episodic

The last couple of days I've delved deep into my drawer of movies to the TV show section.  For most of our marriage E and I have been TV free - which in our case means we own a TV but do not have it hooked up via any cable to any broadcasting.   We agreed to do this early in our marriage after, in our first apartment, we had cable (including HBO) for several months.  We learned that we are both easily addicted to TV.  Because of that we've turned to TV-on-DVD for any shows we hear are hits.  Our old library, in the downtown of a relatively urban city, had a plethora of TV shows on DVDs...so we really lucked out.  

Unlike the library our personal collection of movies - although supple - has gotten old.  On top of that I've been working on a bunch of projects lately and have found myself drawn to old (old is relative) TV shows we do have.  It's nice, for me, to have some noise on while I'm working on things and This American Life or my latest playlist don't always cut it. 

Anyway.  The show I've been watching of late is my old seasons of Friends.  I'm not particularly proud to admit this.  At one point in my life I adored this show.  Sitting in my apartment with Leslie and the-blond-Shelly, wondering if Ross was going to kiss Rachel this time.  Feeling so giddy when they got together.  Wondering why no one ever got Chandler.  At this point I find the humor a little too middlebrow, the laugh track obnoxious, and the whole duck/chick/monkey thing absurd.  I think our latest TV-on-DVD show, HIMYM*, has raised the bar a bit.  As have life experiences.  

Still, I watch it.  And for one really good reason.  It's episodic.  You can watch one episode and then watch another from another season without a lot of work.  The whole episode is so appealing to me.  See, in Friends each "friend" gets an episode, or episodes.  One show might be about Ross or Ross and Rachel.  Another about Phoebe and her insane singing.  Another about Chandler and the mess of women he dates.  Or Monica and the many way she's cleans (though I do love that).  You get my point.  It rotates.  

Things also end.  In Friends there are times when pivotal plot issues arise in one episode, maybe carry over for two or three other episodes.  MAYBE.  But more likely than not they serve their purpose in an episode and disappear.  Sometimes it even seems a little odd that the event or storyline was so quickly dealt with.

It's a nice break from life.  Life doesn't feel that way for me right now.  Right now it feels centered on a few specific characters and their trials, errors, adventures, and lives.  

This is my own problem - and quite frankly my own creation.  I don't have any other screenwriters - although E does get some editing rights.  Again, by my choice.  And I'm working on it.  But it just seems so big sometimes.  Like I really am not writing my script anymore.  Or rather that the plot lines I wrote so long ago, that I thought would disappear in an episode or two, are not.  And I feel lost in the plot line.

(*PS- given that HIMYM only has three seasons on DVD no one spill any spoiler beans here!)

Gained

Usually a gain isn't something we talk much of.  Unless you're pregnant.  Or on a wrestling team.

But tonight I gained.  1/2 mile.  

Turns out that route I've been running for the last two weeks isn't 3.0 miles.  It's 3.4-3.5.  

Yeah baby.

Sideways laugh...

For some reason learning that Mr. Duggar's  first name is Jim Bob has made me smile all day.   Could it have been anything but that?  

Eyebeams

In church on Sunday we discussed the concept of paying it forward. It's a premise of life I've always believed in but haven't always practiced well. Especially because I do little acts of, usually, random kindness rather that large acts of selflessness.

One thing that really stuck with me, particularly at this time in life, was a quote from Ralph Waldo Emerson collection of essays:

"Read the language of those wandering eye-beams. The heart knoweth."

I have struggled making friends since our move from Zion. I've wondered what I've done wrong, am I not dressed right, or why people don't seem to notice me. It has become such a self-involved activity - without really meaning to be one.

Hearing this reminded me that I see plenty of wandering eye-beams, people who look at me and maybe hope that I'll talk to them, but I remain so focused on hoping someone will talk to me that I see past it. And yet, my heart knows.

This week I'm going to try looking at people's eyes, meeting their gaze, and starting the conversations. Maybe this will provide what both of us are looking for...