Why I could hire my children out as birth control reason #1

Early morning Granola fight.

Half a Costco-sized box of granola.

And you don’t want to see the carnage under the crib.

I am a runner

I got talked into running a 5k in September. That’s what you get when you casually mention to your personal trainer (who is also a good friend) that a 5k is something you might want to do “someday.” The next thing you know, you’ve picked out a date and are in training. Holy cow. So I’m running a 5k in September and I’m in training for it. And it’s going well. I actually (gasp!) like it. This is big; I usually say that if I’m running I’d better have someone chasing me. Well, if someone ever chases me, I’ll be in shape to run away.

I work out on our treadmill, usually when J is sleeping and A comes out to play while I run. Yeah, the treadmill is in the garage while the basement is torn up. A word of warning: when your treadmill is in the garage and you work out during the hottest part of the day, it’s going to be hot. And Gatorade will never, ever taste so good. I usually hate Gatorade, tastes like seawater to me. I now fantasize about it while I run. And while I run I count the mice in the garage and make notes to fill the cracks with expandable foam. And I mentally list the songs I will have in my “running” playlist when I earn an iPod.

I never thought, in my wildest dreams, that I would be a runner. I was, at best, a walker. Pretty much a sofa spud. I look thin and fit, but I’m also 5’11” and can hide it well. But I’m sneaking into my mid-30s and I’ve noticed the morning creaks are getting creakier and the metabolism is looking down the road at the exit ramp. So it’s move it or lose it.

One of my motivators is this website and corresponding blog. I first found it when I was on a Weight Watchers email list after A was born and I was losing the baby weight. This woman is truly an inspiration. If I ever doubt myself, somehow her story creeps into my brain and I find myself pushing harder. I know that all things are possible.

So I run. Stairs are easier. When Tom and I go on our trip to Disney World next week (oh, we really need this vacation) the walking will be easy. And I plan to run the Bolder Boulder next year. No need to chase me. ; )

Memorial Day

Happy Memorial Day to you. Hopefully you’re enjoying your day off, having a beer and brat, and basically doing nothing.

But today is about remembering our soldiers, especially the fallen. So today I’m going to remember Tim.

I went to college with Tim. We were both music majors and in most of the same classes. He was a percussionist, a hell of a percussionist. I remember he and I taking the train home on the weekends and spending the time studying music theory, trying to make this foreign language of theory make sense. I remember him playing in drumline, leading the bass drums. I remember him in Wind Symphony, absolutely kicking butt on some of the music we performed. Tough stuff, lots of intense percussion.

Tim marched in drum corps. He marched in the Madison Scouts. To understand corps, you have to know that members spend the entire summer marching and playing across the country. They sleep on gym floors, travel on tour buses, live outside. Oh, and pay for the privilege. If you’ve never been to a drum corps show, you should go. They’re all over the country in the summer.

After college Tim won a spot in the Marine Drum and Bugle Corps. This is a big deal. As a musician, to win a spot in a military band is equivalent to a position in a major orchestra. There are very very few professional bands or wind ensembles, and the military is the best of the best. I auditioned for the Army Fife and Drum Corps (and would have won the spot, but it’s a long story why I didn’t complete the audition) and was invited to audition for the Marines (which I did, and decided to get married instead). I have several friends in military bands and I know how hard it is to get in. Tim got into the Drum and Bugle Corps. From there I guess he was introduced to helicopter flying and fell in love with it.

In May of 2003 Tim was one of the pilots of a helicopter that crashed in Baghdad, no survivors. I remember that it hit me pretty hard. Tom knew him too, and both of us were pretty shook up. I never thought I would have a friend who would be killed in a war. I think of him from time to time. There’s an actor who bears an uncanny resemblance to Tim. Or I hear a piece of music we played in college, or find his recital program in my files, or see the Marine Drum and Bugle Corps.

So today I remember Tim. And I honor other friends and family members in the armed forces. I may not agree with the current administration, but I support those who protect us, and I support their families. So today as you enjoy your beer and brat, raise a toast to those who made your day off possible.

Quit telling me to manage my #@$^$@%& stress!

I swear, the next person, doctor, or concerned friend who suggests that I need to better manage my stress is going to get kicked in the freakin’ teeth. I. Am. Trying. I get plenty of rest. I drink lots of water. I exercise every.damn.day. I’m on an anti-depressant. I have a bite guard so I don’t clench my teeth so tight at night that I shove a tooth into my sinus cavity. What more can I do? I can’t help an automatic response. When A is in my room at 6:15 in the morning and my eyes have been open for thirty seconds and he’s on his third question, my response is “stop. stop now. give me coffee. give me coffee now. and please go away. please go away NOW.” When it’s 8:00 am and the boys are screaming at each other over God knows what and my low blood pressure rises to normal and I start fantasizing over running away….

Can you tell school is out? It’s going to be a long, hot summer.

I can’t keep up. If I had 30 minutes head start in the morning that might help, but A is up by 5:30 some days. I can’t get ahead of him. Or J. He follows around his big brother and it’s monkey see, monkey do.

I’m feeling pissy today, is that obvious?

It gets better, right? Eventually I’ll quit fantasizing about running away or selling my kids on eBay? ‘Cause if not…whew…

Up, Up and Away

It was Balloonfest weekend here. Tom went crazy with the camera; I think he took somewhere in the neighborhood of 230 pictures. In two days. He needs to go through and pick the best. He took so many that are just gorgeous. I’ll print some off and frame them, hang them in the house. I love this one, it just seems so serene. Yes, this was from our backyard, courtesy of a semi-zoom lens, we are nowhere near this close to the mountains. And yes, we do know how lucky we are. Last year it was too windy for the balloons and our poor friends who showed up at 5:30 am for a balloon party got a wind party and potluck breakfast. This year, balloons! Woohoo!

Then, there is this balloon. It cracks me up, insert Caddyshack line here.

Nothing like an enormous gopher balloon on a golf course in the morning.

Have a great day!

IN OR OUT!!!!

Anyone have any experience with this? ‘Cause honestly, if I keep yelling at the boys to close the freakin’ screen door, I’m going to be known as “that shrew who lives in the house with the Cubs flag.”

Houston, we have a (rhubarb) problem…

It started off innocently enough in 2004. Three little rhubarb plants. Tom, bless his heart, went out and dug a big rhubarb patch, connected it to the drip line, the whole nine yards. This was a big deal for him, it was out of his comfort zone. He considered it a spiritual quest. Whatever. We didn’t think we’d be able to harvest any “manna from heaven” that year, but we were wrong. The rhubarb gods smiled on us and there was crisp.

Then the rhubarb gods got an evil glint in their eyes and rubbed their hands in glee. In 2005 the rhubarb and the roma tomatoes were in cahoots and tried to stage a violent coup. The rhubarb prevailed. The roma tomatoes, on the other side of the yard in a garden box, killed some grass and at the end of the season, were harvested and the greenery tossed. Rhubarb 1, roma tomatoes 0.

Now it is 2006 and apparently the rhubarb gods are in hysterics. There is still a freezer full of chopped rhubarb from the 2005 coup, it is only mid-May, and here is what the rhubarb gods have presented me with:

The rhubarb isn’t waiting for the roma tomatoes this year. The rhubarb got cocky and is staging the violent coup of my yard all by its delicious self. The romas, lonely and still in their pots from the nursery, sit on the back porch and pout. Don’t get too cocky, rhubarb. We all know what happened in 2004 when the mint tried to take over. Mmm…tea… 

Out of sorts

I’m not the world’s greatest housekeeper. I figure, if the health department isn’t at the door, threatening to take away the boys, I’m doing ok for this point in life. Basically, I’m a “place for everything and everthing in its place” kind of gal. I work hard to keep clutter to a minimum, to keep countertops clear, toys, if not off the floor, then at least out of major trafficways. So this basement refinish is killing me!!!!! It’s drywall week here at Chez NADM. Sawing, banging, dust freakin’ everywhere. Paper taped to the floor because they had to bring drywall in through the front door and it’s covered in dust and my floors are covered in dust and all the furniture in the living room is shoved over to one side to make a path and it’s still there and…

{Deep breath} It’s now several hours later and I feel a little better. If nothing else, I have most of the lights off so I don’t see all the crap. And, as a happy little bonus, I can enjoy the sunset that way. Only a few more weeks. Only a few more weeks. Only a few more weeks. If I keep saying it, I’ll stay sane. There is stuff all over the house, there is not one room that is not cluttered. The garage is probably dangerous, with everything stacked in there. The treadmill is in there too, so working out has the added benefit of an unintended sauna.

But the basement is coming together; we can really see the rooms now and how nice it’s going to look. Only a few more weeks…

Anti-Brit day!

And she’s having another one? Good grief.

Oh, for the love of GOD!!!

Really…

Brit Quits Kabbalah

She’s a piece of work, I tell you.