All Systems Ready

Exactly one month from today I will be running a half-marathon.

And I am right on track.

Laura, Jackie and I ran 8 miles today. It was cold and I learned to suck down runner’s goo (thoroughly disgusting, but invigorating.)

I have properly fitted running shoes. I was informed by the sales associate that my foot measures one size bigger than it did before I had Samantha. AND, in addition, being that I’m somewhat of a rookie runner, I learned to wear shoes 1 to 1.5 sizes bigger than my regular size to accommodate swelling feet and prevent black toenails and blisters. Who knew? So after being informed that I needed shoes 2 sizes larger than what I was expecting, my jaw dropped, and I exclaimed, “do you even make them that big”??? Ha.

I am working hard to reduce the treats in my life. I relapsed somewhat over Valentine’s Day weekend...okay, and my Mom's birthday, but how can you resist this blueberry-lemon cake with lemon cream cheese frosting I made for her? So scrumptious, I keep salivating for the blueberry-lemon combo in my dreams. I think I'll make myself one after the half-marathon. If you know what's good for you, you'll try it.

My thyroid condition has been cleared. So glad I experienced radioactivity for the fun of it.

I brushed off the old college hightops (knew they'd come in handy again), and play basketball on Wednesday nights. Good speed training. We won’t talk about our record, but my skills are all coming back to me.

4 weeks to go.

I’ll be ready.

Going Dutch

The Bowcuts decided to take a little Valentine’s Day family adventure to the National Gallery of Art. Brian has been wanting to see an exhibit of Dutch landscapes—a bit of a nostalgia tour of his two years living there as a missionary for our church. The girls are always up for any adventure involving the Metro, so away we went (the child in the blue coat does not belong to us--he/she just happened to make the picture).We navigated through the museum, past the nude sculptures, which surprisingly did not elicit any comments from the 5-year old, and found our exhibit. Three minutes into looking at paintings, we realized what a mistake it was to have the kids tag along for this one. Ella wanted to know how many of these we were going to look at, Samantha screamed wanting to get out of the stroller and when we did let her out she took off like she owned the place.

Still not a terrifically adept walker, she’d crash into people, fall down in front of people trying to study the artwork —you get the idea.

I enjoy art museums, but I’m not really sure what the connection is between needing it to be relatively quiet while looking at art. Is it out of reverence for the masterpieces? Or is it like when you’re looking for an address in the car and you have to turn the radio down so you can concentrate? Anyway, quiet we were not, dirty looks were a plenty, and so I booked it out of the exhibit hall with the kids to leave Brian and other viewers in peace with their landscapes. After Brian had his fill, I did return with Ella, who promised to be well-behaved. I gave her the task of counting the number of windmills she saw in the paintings, which kept her occupied—if only I had thought of that before.

So although it was a nice idea, the museum defeated us. I didn't get to hit the Ansel Adams exhibit, so I'll have to go back childless for that. Instead, we headed to the National Building Museum where they have a children's play zone. (It never ceases to amaze me how Ella, who can play outside for hours on end, climb over every surface of our house, and not ever sit still in her seat, will endlessly complain about a little walking through the city.) It’s a very impressive building, and had lots of room for running.

And the play zone appropriately consisted of lots of things to build with—great for a 5-year old who likes to build things and an 18-month old who likes to knock things down.

After returning home, Ella was the first to notice a flower delivery at our front door. Tulips from my Valentine. A Dutch gem that he loves to give, and I love to receive.

“Tulips for two lips” is our pact.

And to top off the day, my parents watched the kids so we could go out to dinner. Although this would have been an opportunity to carry out the day's theme, the cuisine was instead Mexican, and he paid.

Which made me think, "going dutch" is just not applicable in a marriage. Whether it's paying for dinner, doing the laundry, bringing home the bacon, mowing the lawn--every "man" for himself is not an option. It's a partnership in every way, shape and form.

So I declare that in this house, "going dutch" means Brian taking Jana to Holland. Maybe next Valentine's Day.

Two Steps Forward...One Step Back

On Saturday, as we were rounding the kids up to leave my parents' house after dinner, I told Ella to "hurry and get her panties on" because we had to get home. As I hurried on to go grab something, I could tell out of the corner of my eye that Ella wasn't moving. I turned to look at her and she was grinning from ear to ear. She started laughing uncontrollably...just the sort of thing a five-year old would find hilarious. "Mom! You should have said get my shoes on, and you told me to get my panties on!"

And so I did.

I wonder how many times a day I mis-speak either because I'm doing too many things at one time or because I'm thinking about something else while simultaneously speaking. (Clarification: the panty comment was from me multi-tasking, not because I was thinking about panties!)

It made me remember how my mother so often called us by the wrong names. I was called "Jen" probably as many times as she actually called me "Jana". When she called me "David" or "Andrew", I knew her mind was really somewhere else. We figured out rather quickly to target my Mom with requests for things that were usually "off-limits"--like watching tv on a school day, being done with piano practicing after 5 minutes, or grabbing money for the ice cream truck before dinner-- while she was reading a book or an article. She'd usually just nod her head and mmm-hmmm so we'd leave her alone--that was as much "yes" as we needed.

At least Ella finds humor in my errors. And that's worth something, right? What five-year old wouldn't laugh when I tell her to "turn off her violin" after her favorite tv show or to "finish her lunch" at breakfast. Or me telling her to get her coat on thirty seconds after I zipped it up myself. I feel a little silly talking about motherhood-induced lunacy when I only have two kids under my wing. I mean, it's certainly got to intensify with more offspring, right?

So in my defense, for those of you who don't, or no longer have young children in the house, you have to know that every day is a whirlwind. It's just the way it is. Making ANYTHING happen (making phone calls, cleaning, preparing meals, music practice, organizing, doing laundry, shopping...etc, etc, etc) requires significantly more effort because you're simulaneously: cleaning up messes so you can function, wiping noses and bottoms, keeping them out of stuff they shouldn't be in, searching for things they lost or hid from you, soothing and preventing injuries and of course, trying to enrich and entertain them.

I find when getting anything done, it's always two steps forward, one step back at our house.

For Example:

I may get dinner made, but I quite often have to step over the girls multiple times in the process and then pick up all of the drawer contents that were dumped out, afterwards.

I may get the girls dressed, but will have to search for articles of clothing in the process. A pair of Samantha's church shoes were discovered in a drawer of the buffet last night.

I may actually get around to putting make-up on that day, but will have to allow Samantha to carry, load and unload the contents of my make-up bag several times afterwards.

I may get a shower in that day, but I have to re-roll the toilet paper and pick up the contents that were dumped out from under the sink afterwards.

I may get to talk on the phone, but will be distracted by the children calling my name, locked behind the gate so they leave me alone long enough to talk (really, is there any other way?)

I may get to plan a menu, but will have to pick up the contents of the recipe book shelf afterwards.

So...Ella and (later) Samantha may deem me distracted and loony because I can't keep their names straight and instruct them to put panties on instead of shoes, but in my mind, I'm perfectly justified.