People I Want To Punch In The Face: Random Thoughts

In honor of Julian's first birthday....

PEOPLE I WANT TO PUNCH IN THE FACE

1) My husband (love you baby!) My husband is insisting that I grow out my cute short haircut, the one that garners constant attention and compliments. The style that requires no fuss, and makes me feel spunky and confident. I have had this cut for six years now, and apparently the man wants long hair again. Apparently all men want long hair. Christ. So now I am in the painfully slow process of growing this mop out. Right now it is still very short, but thick and puffy and unruly. I look terrible, and because my hair is still too short for clips I simply wear a hat all the time. Hats are fun, but it is getting a bit tiresome, and I feel a little
 like I'm in disguise. It's going to be a long freaking year of hair hell. Hubby-you owe me.

Hat 1

2) Myself. Yes, I make the list frequently. Why this time? Because I'm an absolute idiot with no self control who picked at the scabs on my brand new Las Vegas tattoo, leaving it looking gnarly and in desperate need of a touch up. What kind of a moron am I anyway? Am I four? I was specifically told not to pick at it. Now I'll pay the price. Dumb, Dumb, DUMBEST.

3) Candidates who apply for jobs for which they are completely unqualified. Look, I get it, it's a difficult economy and people are desperate for employment, but job descriptions list requirements for a reason. I'm not talking about an applicant with 3 years of experience instead of 5, I'm talking about people who apply lacking any of the relevant requirements. If a job requires a minimum of 5 years of event production experience and you have NEVER PRODUCED AN EVENT (outside of your kid's birthday parties) you are not getting the job. If you work as a Sandwich Artist at Subway you are not qualified to be a Creative Director at a PR agency. Get it?!

Hat 2

Hat 3

And now on with my day, which is actually quite a happy one. My little baby is one year old today and I can't wait to stuff his little face with cake!

My Birthday Boy

Dear Julian,

On May 30, 2011 I took your older brothers to the movies. We saw Kung Phu Panda II, and I downed a diet coke and a package of sour patch kids. I was dreadfully uncomfortable, but I had been so for weeks, so I thought nothing of it. Your arrival was scheduled for June 2nd, a c-section was planned, but I longed for you to select your own birthday, preferably in the month of May (birthstone is an emerald!) I was starting to lose hope, but that evening at around 9pm, I felt a true contraction. I was still not convinced. I had so many aches and sharp pains due to your position that I was skeptical, so I waited. At 12:30am on May 31, we finally decided it was time to head to the hospital.

We drove through dark deserted streets anticipating your arrival. My heart was pounding, my palms were sweaty, I was experiencing periodic agonizing contractions. It was time. Your time. We arrived at the hospital and were greeted with knowing smiles. We found our way to labor and delivery and I was immediately hooked up to monitors, which quickly confirmed that I was in fact, in labor. Over the next couple of hours I received IVs of fluid and pain medication. I was asked to fill out waivers and met with the anesthesiologist. The contractions came harder and more frequently and your father held my hand. "Breath" he told me over and over again. I didn't want to breath, I wanted it to be over! Finally just after 4am I was wheeled into surgery, your father by my side. There was tugging, and pulling and small talk amongst the doctors. Then finally, the tiny cries of my newborn and the doctors rushed to make sure you were okay. And you were, you were 6lbs 6 ounces of perfection. My perfect little baby boy.

One year later you are crawling, laughing, smiling, eating, climbing, hitting, laughing, playing, destroying, petting, tugging, and just plain delightful. Julian, you are a handful no doubt. Some days I'm so tired that a part of me forgets how lucky I am to be your mother, and perhaps that is just the nature of parenthood. This year has been exhausting and challenging  in ways I could not have imagined. But every single day as I nurse you to sleep, and I look into your gentle brown eyes I am reminded of your sweet nature. At one year old you are just as you should be, my perfect baby boy.

Happy Birthday Julian.

I love you.

Mommy

Funk

I was suppose to run six miles this weekend. I was suppose to feel great about my continued progress towards my half marathon. Instead, I am sitting on my tush with a swollen ankle and a bag of frozen potatoes, and I'm pissed. And depressed. And just down right grumpy.

Last Thursday I went for 3.75 mile run and was marveling at how my left foot seems to have totally recovered from the tendinitis I was experiencing, when I started to feel dull pain in my right ankle, the ankle I sprained back in early February. I didn't think too much of the discomfort, assuming at worst I might need a small insert for my right foot as well as my left. I finished my run and went about my day. A few hours later I noticed that my ankle was swelling just as it had when I sprained it. Crap. It's been swollen and sore ever since. Obviously I decided not to run this weekend, and I took it easy, iced it and dutifully took my ibprophen, to no avail, it is just as bad as it was on Thursday afternoon.

Now what? I know I will need to visit the podiatrist, and hopefully he will have something brilliant and encouraging to say outside of, "ice, rest, meds." I want him to give me a brace and tell me to get right back out there ASAP.

I don't want to lose ground. I have worked to hard to slip back now. I don't want to stop running, I don't want to start losing strength and muscle while going up a pant size.  I know that this is far from a tragedy, but it certainly has got in me in a funk.

Will I ever be a runner? 

Missing my twenty year

That is a picture of me my senior year of high school. I look at that photo now, and see a pretty young girl, but at the time I despised myself. High school was not a fun time for me, in fact it was downright miserable.

My mom, sister and I (on the right)

This weekend is my twenty year reunion in Madison Wisconsin. Needless to say, I decided not to go. When whispers of the event first started happening on Facebook, I truly thought I would attend. I haven't been back to Madison for six years and this would be a terrific excuse. But as plans were made and emails went back and forth referencing inside jokes about parties and dances I never attended, I began to change my mind. What was the point of going back?

I had few real friends in high school and most were not in my class. I had terrible self esteem and desperately wanted to fit in, but  never did. Not with the cool kids, not with the "bad" kids and not with the theater kids. I really was on my own. I have no idea why. I had a few boyfriends, but mostly pined away for an uninterested boy (you know who you are) and was riddled with angst. I strove for perfection, studying my ass off and starving myself to a pathetic 87 lbs. I was a hot mess.

But high school didn't last forever, and lucky for me, I changed.

I did make it back for my ten year reunion, which was sparsely attended. At my ten year I was out to prove something. While I went largely ignored during my four years at Madison West, I was now worth admiration. I was happy, well adjusted, had a decent job, a charming husband and was feeling better about my physical appearance then ever. I flat ironed my hair, put on a mini skirt and dragged my handsome man to the party. Nobody was impressed. Nobody cared. I saw a few old friends which was nice, but really I left feeling unfulfilled, let down. What had I expected? Did I want that evening to somehow make up for four lousy years?

We have all grown up. I have no doubt that I would have chatted with some very nice people at the reunion however, I simply didn't see the point in going back to reconnect with people I was never really connected with in the first place. I have decided to experience the twenty year extravaganza as I did my whole high school experience, watching from a far, a quiet observer.

Not ready for the birds & the bees

I found Evan on the floor of my bedroom surrounded by 30 or 40 tampons, most of them unwrapped, lying naked, shiny, white and sleek on my carpet.
"What are you doing?" I demanded.
"Unwrapping presents" Evan responded.
"Those are not toys! You are not to play with those. These are mommy's. " I said, exasperated as I started to rescue the few wrapped tampons, stuffing them back into the box. Then came the dreaded question.

"What are they?"
I struggled for the right words, then simply answered "tampons" as Zachary entered  the room and the conversation.
"What are tampons?" Zachary chimed in.
"They are for mommies" I responded, taking the conversation no place.

I was not ready to address the question, for how could I talk about tampons without a) scaring my kids and b) opening the door for more questions that I have no idea how to answer appropriately? My boys are not quite 4 and 7, aren't they too young to learn about the birds and the bees? How else can I explain about tampons without going there? I didn't know, so I deployed one of the greatest mommy tactics of all time. Distraction.

"Tampons are for mommies and you are too young to understand right now. When you are older I will explain. Now who want's ice cream?"

 The boys responded as I had hoped, they abandoned the mess of open feminine protection products and ran to the kitchen for a treat. Crisis averted. But for how long? Some of Zachary's school friends have already started talking about kissing girls and I even heard one utter the word boobs in my presence. It is only a matter of time before my innocent boy starts hearing and wondering about all kinds of things. But for now, I'm putting it off just a little bit longer, and finding a better spot for my "supplies."

What would you have done?

I know this much is true

My third baby. My sweet Ju Ju Bean. I know  that you don't have a baby book, but I started one, I had the best intentions. I realize your clothes rarely match, you never have shoes and you are frequently covered in dirt with yogurt crusted in your hair. It isn't that I don't care. No, we haven't taken a Music Together or Gymboree class, and we failed to get regular baby portraits, but it isn't because I do not love you. I do. Your naps are often interrupted or forgotten altogether, until we find you passed out in your stroller. I never made you homemade baby food, instead you get the bits and pieces of whatever your brothers leave behind, and a more than occasional french-fry. I turn a blind eye when I find you sucking on a (non -toxic) marker because at least you are not crying.

Oh Julian, you are just as sweet and adorable as your older siblings and I love you just as much, but your arrival has kicked my butt. This year has been the very hardest of my life, and thus I have less energy for making scrap books and pureed vegetables. Juggling play dates, soccer games and your brother's social calendars leaves less time for baby-focused activities but I swear,  I swear, that I have just as much room in my heart for you.

Julian covered in beets

Not blood. Just marker.

Julian covered in watermelon

So you are messy. So your clothes don't match, so  I haven't documented every second of your first year, but you are loved. That much I know is true.

My Life: Infertility

I lie on my back and stare at the florescent lights overhead. I'm wearing a hospital gown, naked from the waste down. Small talk. Latex gloves do their job, then depart. The nurse  whispers good luck, and shuts the door leaving me to wait. And wait. And wait. It was all that waiting, and all the hormones that nearly drove me to insanity. Two weeks. Then the cramps would come, and inevitably the blood and tears.

It took nine months of hormones, ultrasounds, shots, and "IUI" (inter-uterine insemination) to conceive my second son, Evan. Zachary was also a "fertility" baby, but it only took four months of clomid to create him.

Now I am a mother of three biological children that I carried to term. I cannot say with a straight face that I truly understand infertility. I have only had a bitter taste. I have experienced the envy of discovering yet another friend was expecting, I have wandered the isles of Babies R Us searching for shower gifts wondering when it would finally be our turn.  I have felt rage at the site of a scowling teen, belly bursting with life in my OBYN's waiting room. Not fair. Not fair. But of course, I don't REALLY know.

I have met plenty of women over the years who have truly had to deal with infertility. They have spent tens of thousands of dollars on treatments that never worked. They endured miscarriages and hopelessness. This was not my path. I have been lucky.

My third baby came naturally and, thus was a much different experience. I didn't take pills. I didn't monitor my ovulation. There was no probing, no sterile visit with a nurse. It just happened. A gift. A gift so many never receive. If my "brush" with infertility taught me anything, it is not to take that experience for granted.

While I was pregnant with Julian I had an acquaintance email me in response to some Facebook whining that I was doing regarding morning sickness. She told me that I was lucky to be pregnant and that I should never complain about it. She told me there were women who would give their right arm to be in my shoes. I recognized this to be true, but was also angry that I was suppose to deny myself an opportunity to publicly express my excitement, worry, fear and discomfort to spare the feelings of others. I needed the support of my friends and family through my pregnancy, just as I did through my infertility.

So many people are quiet about infertility. It's a secret. It's shameful. You don't talk about it, and thus, you don't get much needed support from the world around. I'll tell anyone my story. I'll tell them because I want them to know that they can tell me theirs as well, and that even though I am a mother of three crazy boys,  some part of me understands the struggle. I will never forget those months of trying and waiting. The roller coaster of emotions. Those months will always be a part of who I am as a woman and as a mother. It was not a happy experience, but I can honestly say I do believe it made me more empathetic, more understanding and eternally grateful for my little birds.

People I Want To Punch In The Face: Don't Call Me Corny

So the good news is, I never seem to run out of material for my People I Want To Punch In The Face series. The bad news is, I never seem to run out of material for my People I want To Punch In The Face series. I am an angry person. But perhaps it makes for good blogging.

This week:

#1: The "friend who referred to Getrealmama as my "corny little blog." Corny? Oh please don't call me corny. I realize that my writing here is hardly a piece of art, rarely thought provoking and only mildly amusing, but corny? Really? When I think of corny I think of all those flowery "inspirational" quotes about "Forever friends", Sister Love, the joys of motherhood, etc. I am not corny. I have been waiting for an apology, but this is also the person who told me that my tattoo would look much better if my arm wasn't so fat. Yeah, I know, I need new friends. Working on it.

#2: The damn Green Peace, Save The Children, Save The Whales, Save The World solicitors that stand on each side of the crosswalk on Lakeshore Avenue (and all over the country.) I walk by trying to motivate my kids to cross the street, which usually means dragging, pushing and bribing and then I have some 22 year old hipster yelling at me "Do you have a minute for the environment?" Does it look like I have a minute for the environment buddy? And lets just be honest, you don't want my minute, you want my checkbook. Can I please, please just cross the street in "peace?" Too much to ask?

3#: Anyone who ends their voice-mail greeting with "You make it a great day!" WTF? Maybe my grandma just died, my cat was run over by a car, my wallet was stolen or someone just told me I had fat arms. Make it a great day? Don't tell me what to do. Maybe I just want to wallow in self pity for crying out loud. Totally my right.

That's all I have time for today. More another time, promise.

A year ago

Julian turns one on May 31. One. An entire year has gone by. This picture was taken approximately one year ago. What a difference twelve months can make. At this time last year, I was ready to burst. I felt uncomfortable, impatient, nervous and excited. I was waiting.

When I look at this picture most of me thinks "Oh THANK GOD, never again!" I see how stretched my body was, I remember how hard it was to sleep and eat. These days when I get down about my current shape, I try to remember that my stomach did this THREE times. Not only did it carry three babies, but it also endured having it's muscles cut and stitched back together THREE times. Of course, at the end of the day I still wish I had abs of steel.

Although most of me is thankful that I will never experience the physical discomfort of pregnancy again, there is also a piece of me that cannot believe this phase of my life is over (which it is, 100%. Done. Doors closed.) At the risk of sounding truly corny, pregnancy is magical. Growing a baby, feeling it move, holding a newborn for the first time. Those moments will forever be some of the best of my life.

But now it's done. I am quickly becoming a mom to grade school children, and my last baby is just about one. I know the years will only come quicker and someday soon the boys will be all grown. 

Milestone

So I bet you are wondering, is she still running? The answer, yes. Yay me! I am actually quite proud of myself. I'll admit that at times I do get discouraged, my foot pain has slowed me down and scheduling conflicts prevent me from running quite as much as I would like to, however......

Just a little sweaty :)

Today I achieved a nice little mini-goal. I ran five miles. Not only did I run five miles, they were 9:43 minute miles. Okay I hear my running enthusiast readers cringing. This is hardly a major athletic accomplishment. Noted. But I have come a long way in a month! If I can get my foot issue under control who knows what I'll achieve... To be honest, I'm not setting my sites too high. I don't want to run a marathon. I want to run a half marathon. This summer. With my husband. Who is much, much faster than I am.

But before I get all depressed, I'm celebrating today's achievement and setting my next goal. 7 Miles. Just not tomorrow.

Lonely....

You wouldn't think that a woman with three kids and a loving husband would be lonely, right? Well sometimes, I am. I have always been an incredibly social person, and my social life has been lacking recently. It isn't that we aren't busy. It seems as if there is always something going on. Soccer games, birthday parties, school events. What I am missing is neighbors, girlfriends, community. Life in Oakland has been a little strange. When I moved to the bay area nearly three years ago I quickly made many new friends, but overtime those relationships have faded or changed. People have moved away. Our Mom's Night Out group disbanded. I moved to Oakland and had another baby, making a spur of the moment get together with another mom or family quite difficult. As silly as it may sound the trip from Oakland to Berkeley or San Francisco at rush hour with kids makes a get together highly-unlikely.

And here I am, wrapping up my work day in my home office and desperately wishing that there was someone I could invite over for a glass of wine and face to face conversation. I rack my brain, but come up empty handed. I have no one that fits that bill. In Denver when I wanted someone to hangout with, all I had to do was open my door. I had neighbors to chat with, drink wine with, rely on. Most of my best friends were within a mile away. Seeing them was easy.

So I need new friends right? Sure, just hook me up. If only it were that easy. I have found that making friends is a lot like what I imagine dating might be like. You meet someone, think you may have a connection, exchange numbers and have a first "date." The first date is awkward, you make small talk and see if you have anything in common. Is this is someone I can imagine spending more time with? Will she fit in with my family? Will she judge me for my messy house, the fact that I can drink more than one glass of wine, or that I allow my kids to watch TV? Most of the people I have met have been just fine, but the friendships rarely ever go anywhere, I have had a lot of second "dates" that never made it to three.

And now I'm tired. I don't really feel like making new friends. I think what I need is a Match.com or eharmony for girlfriends. Before I meet any of my potential "mates" I should have them take the following quiz:

1. True or False: I enjoy spending time away from my kids. 
2. Multiple Choice: Your idea of a good girls night out is: a) Scrapbooking b) going to a poetry slam c) going to a vegan restaurant and drinking tea d) getting fancy and going out for cocktails 
3. When out with your girlfriends you enjoy talking about: a) Your inner child b) Your new BMW c) how gifted your two year old is d) The Real Housewives of New York 
4. True or False: You often find yourself complaining about how difficult it is to balance managing your full time nanny, your volunteer work, your personal trainer sessions, the weekly grocery shopping and overseeing your kitchen remodel.
5. Your idea of a fun shopping trip is: a) Toys R Us! b) Costco c) Hobby Lobby d) Boutiques/consignment shops and Macy's! 
6. Our families are getting together you a) plan a craft for the kids, prepare organic snacks, and spend the whole time entertaining your children b) let the kids run wild, order pizza, drink some beers and chat with me.

Can you guess the answers to my questions? If you answer them correctly and live in Oakland, you have a new BFF....
  

Lessons Learned While Camping

We took the boys to Bodega Bay for some camping this previous weekend. Don't faint. The campground met all of my standards. Car camping, clean bathrooms with flush toilets, no big bugs and a liquor store and coffee shop a few minutes away. We were not exactly "roughing" it.  This was our first time in a tent since Zachary was born. We went with a couple of friends, so in fact we actually had three 12 month old babies, one three year old, two six year old boys, a seven year old girl and only four adults. Yes, you read that correctly. Overall the experience was better than I had anticipated, and in fact we are actually contemplating future adventures. 

A few lessons learned while camping:

1. Camp some place warm.
2. If you do not camp some place warm at least bring a hat and socks for the baby. (Oops.)
3. If your parenting skills are not quite up to par, make sure you invite a better parent to go with you. (We failed to bring sippy cups, baby blankets and a number of other must-haves for Julian, however lucky for us the mom of twin one year old boys was very prepared!) 
4. Go with someone who enjoys cooking on a campfire. Because I just want to sit and drink beer. 
5. Be sure to bring enough beer. Running out is not an option.
6. There is nothing better then the smell of bacon cooking on a campfire. 
7. Remember to bring more than enough bacon just *in case* the Chef Extraordinaire drops an entire plate of meaty deliciousness in the dirt. 
8. Camping is the perfect time for red meat. Lots of red meat. 
9. Set expectations with husband about camping romance in advance. Sharing a tent with a dog and a baby in sub zero temperatures = no camping romance. Isn't that obvious? 
10. Do not go camping on a holiday that involves pampering. There will be no pampering while camping. I had to forgo sleeping in, breakfast in bed and a shower on Mother's Day morning. Not my ideal. 

So there you have it folks. We survived camping, learned some lessons and are willing to try it again.

Hats off (or not) to 500!

Blog entry number 500. 500! I can't believe I have written that much crap. Yeah, a lot of it has been crap, but I have mostly enjoyed it. Blogging has been a good outlet for me. I have been snarky, cranky, sentimental, boring, and bazaar. There has been some truly bad writing, and some better efforts, but most importantly it has been fun.

So much has changed since my very first post in the summer of 2009.When I started this Getrealmama, Zachary was Evan's age. Evan was a baby. We lived in sunny Denver. Now, everything is different. Of course the children have continued to grow, we moved to California, and we added another Kargas boy to the mix. Circumstances have changed. I have changed. A lot. In ways that I cannot even put into words yet. It is a cliche, but life is a journey. This blog is living proof. It is not fantastically popular as I had once hoped, but it has served another purpose. An opportunity to express myself, to save my pictures, to meet a community in cyberspace. It's been fun, and I thank each and everyone of you who have taken the time to follow me and read my silly posts.

So hats off to 500! Or not. You may have noticed by my recent pictures that I am wearing A LOT of hats. Why? Another hair crisis! Yes, we went through this about a year ago. I have decided (again) that  now it is time for me  to grow out my short haircut. I want to wear a ponytail, go blond and feel girly.  But damn, growing out hair from this length is HARD. It's going to take forever. I am only a few weeks in, and I have helmet hair. Or mushroom head. Big and poofy on top. Not cute. Hats are a must. I'm  developing quite the hat collection. This is going to be a long year.

Here is to another 500 posts!!Stick with me. It keeps getting better. Right? Right. ;)

Get Ready For Mother's Day

Dear Kargas Boys,

Last year, we did not have a successful Mother's Day. No, even after I prepared a neat little list of what was required of the holiday, you failed me. FAILED ME. In case you forgot, I was nine months pregnant and planned a lovely weekend to Monterrey. We went to the aquarium, stayed at a hotel with a pool and took you to Chili's. It was a disaster. There was fighting, so much fighting. Instead of "I love you" I was told that I was hated. We ate crappy food and got up early. It was bad.

History will not repeat itself. Understand? This year you will abide by the following rules:

• No fighting
• No telling mommy you hate her, or that you wish she were dead.
• No terrible hotel continental breakfast
• No card with a single word: Pirate. I want a card with a whole paragraph about how much you love me.
• You will give me flowers
• We will have seafood for dinner. 
• I will sleep in past 7am
• Bonus for a massage                

How easy is that? JUST DO IT.

Mommy

P.S. I love you!!

What Happens In Vegas

"Time flies when you're having fun." The saying is absolutely true. My weekend of Vegas was amazing, but far too short.

What we didn't do:

• Go clubbing (sorry, we were in bed before the hot spots really got going)
• See a show
• Have a fancy-pants meal. 
• Win a lot of money
• Lose a lot of money
• Black out

What we did do:

•  Partied like rock stars (okay, soft rock, think Chicago) in our room. We drank champagne, put on fashion shows and helped each other achieve the right "look" for the evening.
• Talked for hours by the pool while sipping $15 pina coladas and working on our tans.
• Got fantastic (expensive) massages at the beautiful Wynn spa. 
• Got inked. Well I did. Three birds, for my three boys. 
• Danced to cheesy music at the New York, New York piano bar. 
• Got dressed to kill, then went out, and talked to nobody but each other, and loved every second of it. 

I am so blessed to have my best friend Shannon, and to have a husband who supported me in taking this much needed get away. It's a weekend I won't ever forget! Thank you Shannon, Love you!

People I Want To Punch In The Face: Middle of the night rant

It's been a tough week, and thus, the snark is back full force, sponsoring another addition of People I Want to Punch In The Face.

1) The half a dozen or so parents who, upon hearing that I will be leaving my entire family for a two night girls trip to Las Vegas, have looked at me with dismay and uttered some variation of the following: "I could never do that! I would miss my kids too much!" WTF? I don't know if there is some sort of mama-love chip missing in me, but short of the fact that I am going to be forced to spend precious vacation time with my breast pump, I don't think I will wish my children were with me for a single second. The last time that I woke up in the morning and didn't have to attend to the needs, tears and tantrums of someone else has been over a year. I highly doubt that when I'm sitting with my friend drinking a latte by the pool that  I will be wishing I was refereeing the daily breakfast table battle between my boys.

2) People who think that a path/sidewalk was made for them alone and meander slowly four across, oblivious to the world around them. Inevitably this forces  runners or anyone walking at a reasonable pace to go off the path, usually around a garbage can and over a gigantic mud puddle to get past them. Hello? How many times does this happen in your walk around the lake before you realize you are a nuisance? Seriously. Get the hell out of the way.

3) Cheez-It's. Yes I realize that a snack doesn't have a face to punch, however someone somewhere is responsible for this irresistible guilty pleasure. I don't know why I like them so much. Honestly, there just not that great right? Right? Certainly not worth their calorie count, totally devoid of any nutritional value, and yet, I am addicted.  Every week I contemplate not buying another box, but inevitably one or two always seem to make it into my grocery cart. I tell myself that they are for the kids, but I think I polish off most of the package myself. Today I nearly lost it with my son's play date who insisted on finishing off "our" Cheez-It's. I tried to convince him to eat an apple or a banana, but he refused and actually requested to take home a Ziplock bag full of MY CHEEZ-IT'S to his brother. Now we are fresh out. I'll be forced to eat something healthy. Stupid kid. (No, this post is not sponsored by Kellogg's, I swear to God)

Okay it's 1:30am. Rant is over. Good night.

My Life: Falling In Love

I have decided to do a random series of memorable moments from my life so far. They are mostly for me, and more of a diary than anything else. You might find them boring. I will label these posts "My Life." Feel free to skip them! 

I met him in October, 1992. I was an eighteen year old freshman at the University of Wisconsin. I had no intention of meeting a husband, yet that is just what I did. It was not love at first sight, but our dates were so much fun and the conversation came so easily that we just kept seeing each other. The fall turned to cold winter. There were parties, movies, study dates and snowy walks around the campus. He liked me even when my nose was red from the cold and my hair was full of static electricity. I liked him even when he showed up at my dorm, wasted in the middle of the night just so that he could pass out next to me.  I hung out with his friends. He met my parents. He convinced me to eat a gyro, and I introduced him to jogging. We parted ways for the summer, not knowing what the next semester would bring. I braced myself for the breakup. It never came.

It was a visit in the summer of 1993 that sealed the deal. I remember the weekend I truly fell in love. David had gone back to the twin cities for the summer, but drove to Madison for the weekend just to be with me. I planned out every second of the trip. I didn't want him to be bored. I shouldn't have worried so much.  I took him to Imperial Gardens, my favorite Chinese restaurant. We saw Jurassic Park in the theater. We took a day trip to Devils Lake and hiked around the water. I remember sitting next to him on a boulder watching the sky get dark as a storm brewed over the lake. The air was thick with humidity, but held the excitement of an inevitable storm. I felt completely happy. We drove home in thunder and lightning with the tornado sirens wailing. At home we found my (worried)  mother waiting for us, dinner on the table, which was set exactly how I instructed her. After the weather calmed  we went to a party and had a few drinks, but quickly decided that we would rather spend our time alone. We walked home under starlight. He held my hand all the way.  That night before bed I turned to him and without a trace of fear whispered "I love you" for the very first time. He responded with a kiss.

 I was only eighteen, but the rest is history.

Motivation

Yes, I am still running, although it feels at times like the universe is fighting me at every turn. I bought new shoes. After my first time out with them the outside of my left arch hurt like mad. I exchanged the new shoes, and still the foot hurts. I have decided to push through the pain. Don't argue with me. I will not lose my momentum. Last Saturday I made it out 3.85 miles. I was quiet pleased with myself. Stop it. You're laughing at me. I realize that is a far cry from my facebooking friends who regularly log 12 miles, but I'm getting better!

I have plenty of internal motivation these days. It has been a thrill to get back out there, and I swear to God, I am already seeing results. My legs look stronger, I'm getting some tone back, and I love it. I have also found motivation in my Nike GPS app. It tracks my route and pace, (10 min 30sec/mile, slow, but not as bad as I expected) and at the end Tracy Morgan or Lance Armstrong congratulate me on my efforts. I also got a couple cute new T-Shirts. One shirt says "run" with a rainbow, and I think it makes me look hard-core. The other one has a picture of Wonder Woman. Since I am now almost at 4 miles I must be Wonder Woman. With my new shirts  I feel cute when I run, which is motivating.  Yes, I do realize that I'm easy to motivate.

However, now I'm freaking sick. I have a sore throat, a runny nose and I'm beat. I absolutely must recover before my girls trip to Vegas this weekend, and thus, I will not run today. I probably won't run tomorrow either. I'm upset. I have worked hard to get to the point where I want to run almost everyday, and I am afraid of sliding back to my routine of laziness. It would be easy to do......