Puss In Loo

She instills fear into the very core of my being. She is Kezzy, my aunt's kitty-cat.

Kezzy likes to hide in wait until I enter the bathroom, at which point she races through the door ahead of me and takes up her post in front of the toilet. The first time she did this I just shoved her aside so I could get down to business. (Fail.) The second time she pulled this trick I'd learned what it means to have kitty-kitty in the bathroom with me, and I reconsidered just how badly I needed to go. Perhaps digging a trough outside and squatting would be in my best interest instead.

See, Kezzy likes to torment you while you're on the pot. Oh, it starts out nice enough. She rubs up against your legs and purrs. You think she's trying to befriend you, albeit in an unconventional way. But this is simply to give you a false sense of security so that you'll loosen up and let your drawers drop a little lower to the floor, thus giving her more fleshy surface area to attack.

She thinks it's quite funny to try and hop up in your lap, and when that fails ('cause there's no freakin' way I'm letting a cat sit in my lap while I'm using the facilities) she likes to use your bare legs as a scratching post. Yeah, I know she's just "playing", but it feels a little less like fun, and more like sadism to me. I mean, how brilliant is this cat? She catches you partially clothed with no way to escape! My only hope is to pee as fast as humanly possible, and to not make any frantic motions with the toilet paper, thus inciting kitty's pounce instinct.

Then, like a psycho lover, she'll nuzzle her head against you like nothing ever happened. But at this point you're toast, because she is about to bite...your...hand.

Love bites. Or should I say, "love bites."

My favorite time was when I thought I'd made it into the bathroom alone, only to discover after I'd shut and locked the door that Kezzy was already in the bathroom. Waiting. Seriously, I might have nightmares.

She may look like this:

But this is what's in her heart:

For now, my strategy is to avoid drinking liquids at any cost. But eventually I'll be forced to cross my legs tight and dance. So at that point I'm just praying that Kezzy will already be deep in sleep somewhere so that I can pee in peace. Maybe, like, at 2:00am that can happen.

One can only hope....

Dumb Bumpkin

My feet hurt.

Yesterday we had an adventure in the Big City. Traffic. Masses of humanity. Exorbitant parking fees. Shopping. Fashion. And there's no better way to feel like a country bumpkin than to tool around a major metropolis.

So, in an effort to feel less like a country bumpkin, and more like a city-dweller, I chose to tool around in a pair of my younger (more fashionable) sister's three-inch heels. At least, it felt like they were three inches. They might have been two and a half....I wouldn't know, because I never wear heels. (That should have been my first red flag.)

"They're comfortable!" She assured me, smiling as she handed them over.

Mmmm-hmmm. Looking back on her comment, I'm sure what she meant is that they are more comfortable than these:

http://crazy-funny-pictures-insane-high-heels-shoes.funnyimages12.no-ip.org/?q=Crazy%20Funny%20Pictures%20Insane%20High%20Heels%20Shoes

 

 

 

But only slightly. (Or maybe she just hadn't anticipated that I would choose to wear them for miles.)

Here is where my pride took over. You see, my head told me, "Wear a pair of comfy walking shoes ya big dork!" But my heart said, "Everyone, and I mean every single person, will laugh you right off the sidewalk if you wear comfy walking shoes. Even the transients will laugh!"

My mother and aunt advised against my decision, but I assured them that I could endure the pain for the sake of fashion. So I did.

And by the end of the night, my feet felt like this:

http://6tolerancesallyngxinhui.blogspot.com/2007/07/china-bans-foot-bindings.html

 

 

But, hey, at least I didn't look like a tourist! Until I realized...this is Seattle. Not New York. Not Hollywood. Not Paris. Not Rio. And almost everyone was in comfy walking shoes.

Dang.

It's okay, though, nothing a little rest, ice and elevation won't cure. But the thick-headedness? There is no cure for that.

Duct Tape Cures All

Drive the truck to the Oregon coast-- it seemed like a benign enough idea. Ten hours in a small cab with hubby, two antsy kids and an ancient dog whose breath smells like rotten fish. Luggage packed in the truck bed in Rubbermaid bins, alongside an organ and bumper pool table-- to be dropped off in Beaverton with relatives on the way. Um, why did we think this was a good idea? Why?

We were on the road not fifteen minutes before the hubster had to pull over and adjust the tarp we'd haphazardly thrown over the whole lot. Then another ten minutes before he decided to just give up and pull the worthless tarp off altogether. Unfortunately, upon removing the tarp, lids began to fly off the Rubbermaid bins as we drove. Stop truck. Retrieve lids from highway. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

But it wasn't until one of the sleeping bags flew onto the highway that hubby really lost it. Oh wait, I think I have a picture of that. Yes, here it is:

The kids would be happy to tell you what he said, I'm sure. :)

"We're not moving until we can duct tape these lids on!" Hubby announced on the shoulder of I-90, tossing the errant sleeping bag back into a bin.

"Do we have any duct tape?" I asked.

"No. We have to buy it."

I looked around me. Nothing but barren fields. "Sooooo...are you going to conjure a store out of thin air?"

I'd stumped him. So, we decided to put the tarp back on until we once again entered civilization, since duct tape does not exist in the wild.

By the time the store was reached our tarp was in shreds, and so was hubby's sanity. But a quick stop into the hardware department for duct tape reinstated order, and we were able to continue on our merry way. Duct tape even ensured our dog's rancid mouth stayed shut, and the kids' arms and legs kept to themselves the entire way! And when they complained, a little duct tape over their mouths restored peace and quiet. Lovely!

Actually, after the purchase of duct tape, the trip went wonderfully smooth. Hey, I guess taking the truck wasn't such a bad idea after all!

U2 360 6.4.11

No, that's not my bank account number, it's the name and date of the U2 tour we (my two sisters and all the hubbies) had the pleasure of attending last night. And let me tell you, after a day of traveling, shopping, eating and concert-going, I'm exhausted. Not feeling sorry for me? Oh, alright, I suppose that's fair enough-- even though I may be permanently deaf. (Hmmmm, now you feel a little bad, don't you? What? I can't hear you.)

But it wasn't just the concert that made the day entertaining. Getting there was a feat as well. My brother-in-law let us borrow their GPS system, and hubby didn't always get along so well with it. He's just too ADHD for such an efficient gadget, I think. We made a lot of premature turns, which had the added benefit of providing us with a more scenic route. ("Now this is a cute little neighborhood, isn't it? Okay, then, we're turning back onto the main road-- on we go!") But I think hubby really appreciated all the backseat driving we offered while he learned the ropes, as was evidenced when he lovingly yelled, "shut-up!" over and over when we all clamored to direct his path, voices raised in unity together. What can I say? Our helpfulness was a gift!

Meandering around the big city, once we eventually arrived, was an adventure as well. The weather was fantastic and people were out in droves. After finding a parking lot that didn't require us to take out a second mortgage, we abandoned the car and set out on foot. Almost all of us had a destination shopping spot we wanted to visit, so we headed toward my little sister's top pick: American Apparel. Those of you my age or a bit older will understand when I say that American Apparel's 80's theme was cringe-worthy. (T will try to defend it as "cool", but c'mon, those of us who lived through that era know there's a good reason to keep its fashion in the past.) Everything from high-waisted, taper-leg, pleated pants to cropped belly shirts and neon fingernail polish. My older sister and I couldn't wait to step out of the store and return to the 21st century.

Then onto dinner before the big show! What's the one kind of food that you should perhaps try to avoid while traveling as a group a long distance in a car? (Especially because a few in our party had been struggling with gastrointestinal issues.) If you said Mexican food then your thoughts are my thoughts exactly. But, that's precisely what we ate. Big, huge burritos. Beans, beans, the musical fruit.... (We did make sure to institute a no farting rule on the car trip home, which was honored by all-- at least, those of us who were conscious.)

But the concert? Wow. From the first chest-vibrating bass beats of Lenny Kravitz to the final haunting refrain of U2's "Moment of Surrender", I couldn't remove the look of awe plastered to my face. Even with the drunk middle-aged couple in front of us dirty dancing and sucking face the whole time, I was completely mesmerized by the band. (Well, okay, I did stare at the couple for a few moments, I mean, we all did. They were like a train wreck you wanted to, but couldn't, look away from. Sure, we were glad they seemed to have had such a, errr, healthy love life, but all that gyrating was enough to make one dizzy!)

After the show we headed home once again, stopping for a "quick" post concert meal at Dennys first (nothing but gourmet for our troop!). We thought eating might help us stay awake for the trip home (hey, we promised our mother we'd at least try for the sake of the driver). But, alas, most of us conked out within the first 15 minutes. Obviously, though, we made it home safely.

My final analysis?

6 tickets to see U2: $672

Gas, parking, and food for the journey: $250

Seeing Lenny Kravitz and U2 live at the highest grossing concert tour in history: Priceless (or $922-- however you want to do the math-- but the point is this: worth every penny).

Cruise Or Bust!

Our family just returned from a lovely 7 day Alaskan cruise. And when I say family, I mean parents, grandparents, siblings-- let me tell ya, we were not an easy bunch to accommodate at dinnertime. It's a bit depressing coming home, however. I mean, a cruise is a mommy's dream come true! And as I was thinking about why it's so hard to adjust back into real life, I came up with 10 reasons. So without further adieu....

1. I am currently without a good steward. Nobody made my bed or placed fresh towels in my bathroom for me this morning, and that truly bummed me out. If this is a position you'd be interested in filling, please let me know!

2. There is no breakfast or lunch buffet at my house, and if there was one, I'd be responsible to prepare all the food and then clean up afterwards. And frankly, that sort of defeats the whole purpose. Besides, without a "washy, washy, happy, happy, smiley, smiley" girl standing at the entrance ready to sanitize my hands before eating, I just don't think I could enjoy myself.

3. Since returning, I have yet to be given an activity schedule informing me of all the fun and free entertainment that's available all day long. I mean, I have a TV and all, but once you've seen the live version of "Dancing with the Stars" (and your sister and brother-in-law were two of the contestants) somehow TV just doesn't cut it anymore....

4. If I go out to eat, I will now have to pay for the meal. No more ordering appetizers, multiple entrees just to try 'em, or as many desserts as I can toss back before the kids become restless and want to leave (sheesh, let me finish my coconut souffle!). And, heck, speaking of the kids, they are so relegated back to the kids' menu from now on (where steak and lobster are not even an option).

5. I'm no longer within a minute's walking distance to multiple family members. I now actually have to get in my car and drive to their houses if I want to see them. That hasn't happened yet, by the way-- it's just too much work!

6. There is no chocolaholic's bar anywhere in sight. None! Of course, this could actually be an advantage seeing as I now have several extra pounds to lose.... (Probably due in part to the dessert buffet....) Yeah, I don't think having access to sweets 24/7 would benefit my current weight-loss goals at all really.

7. I probably won't see Ruby Jane in a dress again until prom night. But, hey, I may just institute a "formal night" at home every once in a while! Because doesn't food taste even better when you're all gussied up?

8. My town isn't nearly as charming as Juneau, Skagway, Ketchican or Victoria are. I can't just meander down the boarded sidewalks and pet horses I see along the way. Our sidewalks are made of dumb ol' concrete, and if I want to pet a horse, I'd have to drive out to the country and pay for the privilege.

9. I, like, have to work, volunteer, and take care of a house again. Amazing how fast you can get used to not having to do a darn thing all day. Want to head up to the lounge to watch a friendly game of Who Wants to Be a Gazillionaire? Go ahead! How about take a dip in a jacuzzi while drifting by snowcapped mountains? Do it! Feel like a midnight snack? There's always a restaurant open! Head out dancing at 11:00? Simply call your mom to come and watch the kiddos-- she's just down the hall (as is the nightclub)! Or take a jog on a treadmill while looking out at sea-- and you don't even have to set an incline because the boat rocks so much it inclines and declines for you about every 10 seconds. Spontaneous game of Farkle? Meet me in the game room in one minute! Gone! All of it's gone! I'm, gasp, a responsible adult again!

10. My kids are bored now. The sports court at my house is called the "backyard", and apparently since there are dog poop land mines to avoid, not to mention no ocean view, the appeal just isn't there. No kids' crew, either. I tried to send the kiddos to their rooms today saying, "go see what's happening at the kids' club!" but they weren't buying it. I guess it's just not the same without an activities director to entertain them....

Actually, I came up with a much longer list, but you get the gist....

You know, though, it's just as well that these things come to an end. I mean, how much would I weigh if I lived on a cruise ship all the time?! I shudder to think. Besides, now I have happy memories, and perhaps something to look forward to in the future. 'Cause, um, we're doing this again, right? Right?

A Move To Remember

A couple words to describe the 4 day, 36-mile Glacier hike the men folk recently returned from: exhausting, draining, challenging.... And I'm not describing the men's experience, by the way. I'm talking about all of us ladies who had to stay home and care for the young'ns while they were gone. A description of a simple walk around the block with all four children will provide a suitable analogy to our entire 4 day experience, I believe.

First of all, just getting out the door had its own array of problems. From going on an all-out manhunt for lost shoes and then forcing a reluctant walker out the door, to explaining to the tween in the group that the reason she didn't get to take ice cream along (like the other 3 children) was that she chose pie earlier instead. (Sometimes basic logic that, on the surface, seems abundantly clear is easily corrupted in the complex brains of adolescent first-born girls-- I won't name any names specifically.) But eventually we all got outside-- which, in my humble opinion, is the best place to start a walk.

Once outside, we began to move. Now, please don't mistake the verb "move" for "walk". We were doing no such thing. In fact, I'm not sure what exactly we were doing, but it closely resembled some sort of interpretive dance. There were children romping around all over the place, and trying to get them to form a cohesive walking unit was like trying to organize a litter of kittens. (Ever tried to herd cats? There's a reason you never hear stories of lonely shepherd boys with their flock of felines.) But eventually we were able to guide the movement in one general direction.

Of course, the minute the children saw a big excavator (I can't believe I just spelled that right on the first try-- yay me!) moving earth a block away, they made a beeline right for it. And on the way, Mister managed to drool most of his fudgesicle down the front of his naked belly (my sister had wisely stripped him for such an eventuality). Ah, but I haven't adequately described the fudgesicle carnage here. Ever seen horror movie covers at the video store? You know, the kind where blood is dripping rivulets down the body of some hapless victim? (Now there's something for you to dream about tonight!) Well, Mister looked remarkably like a character from one of those movies. It was almost embarrassing to be within 20-feet of him, actually. That, and the fact that he played in whatever dirt he could manage to escape into when his mother lost hold of him-- well, let's just say that mess doesn't even begin to describe it.

When the children's excavator curiosity was adequately satiated, we once again began our slight "movement" down the street. We'd lose a kid here or there in a construction site (one of the many in my parents' neighborhood), have to manage my very obnoxious dog (who feels as though the mere sight of another animal is cause for foaming at the mouth), console crying children (I can't even remember about what) and sometimes have to stop to admire somebody's lawnmower (don't ask). But eventually we made it around one entire block! It was a feat to be admired-- and it only took about a half hour! Not even joking. Wish I was, but I'm not.

So, who was more worn out after their 4 day excursion? I think it might be a toss-up.

It's A Sign

While on vacation we spent a lot of time in the car. Like, 20-plus hours. Yeah, we weren't messing around. But a girl's got to entertain herself on such a long road trip. So when I wasn't answering the many calls of, "I'm hungry!" or "are we there yet?" or "I have to PEE!", I kept my eye out for interesting stuff on the road.

My main objective was to finish collecting license plates for our 50-state scavenger hunt. (Only 3 more states to go! Come on Rhode Island, show thyself!) But along the way I also noticed several signs with various errors or funny catchphrases. It wasn't until the end of our trip that I actually started to write them down, though-- and by then, alas, I was only able to collect two. But they strike my quirky funny-bone, so I figured I'd share them with you!

1. "Kinder enrollment now open."

This was a relief to see. I've never been a fan of "mean enrollment" at elementary schools. I hope this gentler method of enrolling children for school catches on everywhere!

2. "Welcome to Cloverdale, Oregon's best kept...."

I mean, this place is so secret they can't even say! Shhhhhhh-- don't tell anyone you heard it here!

Okay, maybe I'm the only one who was even remotely amused by these.... Ah well, there's no accounting for taste!

MLS: Big Babies FC

Hubby and I drove across the state to an MLS game on Saturday (Major League Soccer, for you ignoramuses-- love you!). I'd never been to one before-- what a complete blast!

And very interesting, too.... I got an education of sorts. My first mistake was to assume that we could grab a bite to eat inside the stadium and not get fleeced while doing so. No such luck. When I tell you that the 12 ounce soda we purchased cost $4 does your heart skip a beat? Mine did! And if I mention the fact that a little (like, small frozen entree size) container of Pad Thai set us back $10 does that bring a tear to your eye? It did mine! So, $14 dollars later we were both still hungry but too darn cheap to buy anything else. (Note to self: bring lunch and eat in the car next time!)

I also learned that you have to accustom your ear to the strange new ways the English language is used at these events. Like the guy selling beer and drinks up and down the aisles. He attracted customers by shouting "Coho beer my hot l'monade!" I finally figured out he was selling cold beer and Mike's Hard Lemonade-- and the suckers who bought it were shelling out money from their kids' college savings accounts in order to afford it. Then there were the crowd's cheers. I never quite figured out what "SO-HO SO-NO!" meant, but apparently everyone else was on board because it was a very popular chant (I guess I missed that memo).

But the most interesting thing to me was witnessing the dramatic performances of the soccer players after they were fouled in one way or another. They must have all had to attend acting school before they signed their contracts-- either that or MLS guys (or, actually, just soccer players in general) are the biggest babies on earth. It was extremely amusing to watch, however. I kid you not, if any player laid a hand on another-- or gave just a bit of a shove-- the offended player would immediately throw himself on the ground and commence writhing and rolling around in feigned agony until the sports med folks flew out onto the field to save the day. A short chat later, that player would miraculously hop to their feet and run around again until it was another guy's turn to fall to the ground. I started dreaming up new names for the teams that were more apropos-- like, L.A. Whiners FC, Toronto Drama Queens FC, Houston Wittle Bitty Babies FC, Seattle Boo Boos FC, or the DC United Pansies FC.

Which then got me to thinking; a team of soccer mamas would not engage in such ridiculous frivolity. Can you imagine a bunch of ladies who've given birth flinching at a little push and throwing themselves on the turf? Wouldn't happen! When you've shoved the equivalent of a bowling ball out of your nether regions suddenly your pain tolerance goes through the roof. Besides, moms have to deal with enough engineered drama from their kids-- no way would they create it on their own.

Yet, despite the exorbitant food costs, the vendors speaking in tongues, and the silly antics of the players, I can honestly say I haven't had so much fun at a sporting event since....well, ever. And next time we go, I'm hoping to drag some of you along with us. We can hold up signs that read, "Rub Some Dirt On It!" or "Save The Drama For Your Mama!" or "Quit Whining You Big Babies!" or "Which One Of You Filthy Rich Pros Is Gonna Pay For My Freakin' Expensive Lunch?". Hey, I'd bet we'd get on TV....

Pardon Me, My Internal GPS Is Busted

I have no sense of direction. Zip. Zilch. Nada. In fact, 9 times out of 10 I will choose the wrong way if given a chance. I call it "directional dyslexia"-- and I have a very severe case.

Last night I went out with my mom. I met her at the mall for dinner. (I know how to get to the mall from my house.) Afterwards we ran back to my house to refrigerate the leftovers before heading off to the movie theater. (I know how to get to the movie theater, too.) But after the movie was over I had to drive back to the mall to drop my mom off at her car. Hmmm, going to the mall from the movie theater was a new experience for me.

I could hear the caution siren blaring in my head. "Warning! Warning! Internal compass was broken at birth! Do not attempt to direct yourself to the intended location! You will get lost! It doesn't matter that it's five minutes away-- that has no bearing whatsoever on your ability to find it!"

I've learned to listen to that little alarm over the years. So I turned to my mom and asked, "Uh, do I go right or left?" She paused a moment and then said something to the extent of, "you're kidding, right?" No. No, I'm not kidding. I would have to sit here for the next ten minutes trying in vain to reconstruct a map in my head in order to have even a faint idea of which way to turn-- and even then I'd probably be wrong. "Right," she finally told me. We got to the next intersection and I recognized that it was the street we needed to be on to get to the mall, but again, I could not even remotely guess which direction to go. Mom bailed me out again, even more baffled now that we were less than 2 minutes away from the mall. "I worry about you," she confessed.

Give me directions and I can follow them. A map? I can read it! But relying on my own sense of direction? Well, it's a little hard to rely on something that does not exist. I'm probably a good candidate for having some sort of tracking device surgically attached to my body-- just in case I ever wander off somewhere and never return.

So, just keep that in mind if someday you choose me to be your traveling companion to...anywhere. I will get us lost. I am 100% sure of that.

Well, That Was Fun!

Today my sister and I thought it would be a good idea to gather up the kiddos and head to a local elementary school to take advantage of the free lunch program they offer all summer long. The idea had all the right ingredients to render it great: free food, good company, entertained children.... But, unbeknownst to us, all the forces of the universe were plotting against us today, and our fun adventure turned into what can only be described as a series of unfortunate events. But we learned a lot from our experiences-- lessons that I am happy to pass on to those of you who might also be thinking of heading off to get some free lunch at a local elementary school one of these days. Settle in people!

Lesson 1: If it's 96 degrees out, take your air-conditioned car instead of trying to walk the 1.25 miles to the school with 4 children. Walking sucks.

Lesson 2: If you're idiotic enough to walk anyway, don't wear uncomfortable flip-flops-- and make sure your children aren't wearing them either. That makes walking suck even worse.

Lesson 3: Take all the kiddos potty before heading out, because a mile and a quarter is a long time to have to hold it-- and the whining gets annoying after a while.

Lesson 4: Make sure you ate breakfast that morning-- because walking in uncomfortable flip-flops on a 96 degree day with an empty stomach is a real drag.

Lesson 5: Always consult Google Maps to find out the best route to take before walking to a school you've never been to from your house before. (With four children on a 96 degree day.) Because wrong turns are not "adventurous", they're from the devil.

Lesson 6: Confirm the operation hours of the lunch program before leaving your house, because nothing is worse than finally arriving at the school; hot, tired, hungry and cranky, only to be told that lunch ended 5 minutes ago. (And, no, they can't give you anything from the tray full of food you can see in the background being carted away-- that would be against the rules. Thank you, Lord, that we didn't break any rules!)

Lesson 7: If you don't stop halfway through your trek to apply the sunscreen you'd forgotten to slather on your children before you left, you won't be 5 minutes late and miss lunch.

Lesson 8: Call your hubby to come pick you up so you won't have to make the miserable trip back home on foot.

Lesson 9: Bring a cell phone with you. Don't assume your sister has hers. She doesn't. She thought you had yours. But you didn't! Neither of you dummies brought your stupid cell phones with you. So when you wanted to call your hubby and beg for a ride home so you could feed your hot, tired, hungry, cranky brood, you won't be able to. This bears repeating: bring a cell phone!

Lesson 10: Don't believe the crabby lunch-lady, the one who wouldn't bend the rules an inch to give your children any of the food that was clearly available, when she says there is no phone that you may use. That lady is a big dumb dodo-head. Instead, go behind her back and use the phone to call your hubby when she is not looking, because, technically you asked one of the teenagers in the school if it was okay and they said "yes". Take that, big dumb dodo-head lady!

Lesson 11: While you're waiting for your hubby to rescue you, don't have everyone go outside to see if he's arrived yet or else the doors will lock behind you and you'll be stuck outside in the painful heat instead of luxuriating in the air-conditioned indoors.

Lesson 12: Don't let your sister park behind your car when she goes to your house. If you do, your hubby won't be able to get in his car and rescue you from the terrible day you're having. He'll have to ride his bike to the school, get the keys from your sister, ride his bike back home, transfer her two carseats into his car (because her car won't seat 7 passengers), move her car out of the way, then drive his car over to the school to pick you all up. He will then exact a promise from you to provide a certain type of "thank-you" later that night in exchange for his heroics, no matter how hot, tired and grumpy you are. But you'd vow anything because you are eternally grateful to be riding in an air-conditioned vehicle.

Lesson 13: If your hubby suggests that you all go get pizza to make up for the lunch that never was, make sure someone in the group actually has a wallet. The pizza, unlike the school lunch, is not free.

Lesson 14: Go home, get your wallet, and then go get the pizza before everyone (including the mothers) begin to cry.

Lesson 15: Take a nap. You deserve it!

I hope that my experiences today will make a positive impact on your own choices the next time you think up a "great" idea. I'm here to help, people. Here to help.

Vanity Strikes Again-- And It Hurts

I went for a little jog outside yesterday because the weather was so stupendous (which has been rare this spring).  I wasn't planning on being out very long (I'm not that kind of runner-- geez, I don't live for pounding the pavement) and I certainly didn't plan on challenging myself with any hills, at least not any big ones.  In short, it was to be an obligatory jog.  Truthfully, most of my jogs are obligatory-- it's rare I wake up and say, "Gee, I'd really like to go out for a run!".  It's more of a compulsion I can't explain....

Anyway, I decided to deliver LM to Kindergarten and then take off from there.  There's a cemetery nearby the school that's delightful to run in.  (Really!  It's one of my favorite spots!)  But to get there from the school requires some jaywalking (or else it turns into a rather roundabout route that I had no intention of wasting my time with).  But, wouldn't you know that a cop was perusing the school area just at the moment I was about to conduct my illegal maneuver?  He was right in front of me, no less.  Well, I wasn't about to jaywalk under the watchful eye of an officer.  (Besides, what if he ticketed me, and one thing led to another and the stash of contraband dishwashing detergent was discovered under my kitchen sink at home??  Yikes, it's best that I just mind my Ps and Qs around law enforcement officials, I think.)  Well, by continuing on my merry (legal) way I ended up even more out of range of the cemetery.  So scratch that idea!  I decided instead to see where this new direction took me.  And where did this new direction take me, you ask?  Why, into an extremely hilly area, of course!  Have I ever mentioned how much I absolutely abhor running up hills?  Now, downhill, that's fun.  You can run downhill forever and not break a sweat-- even if you've never gone jogging in your entire life.  In fact, if you wake up one day and decide suddenly you'd like to become a runner, I recommend you find a nice long hill, run down it, and call it a day.  Not only will you feel impressed with yourself for getting out there, you will have completed your task so successfully you'll be on a high for the rest of the day.

Sorry.  Derailed.  So, I kept getting farther and farther away from where I wanted to be-- due largely to the fact that whenever I had the option of going uphill or downhill, I chose down.  There is a little running phrase that kept popping into my mind as I was making these choices, however.  "What goes down, must come up."  Suddenly, in light of that knowledge, the downhills didn't seem so fun anymore.  But by then I'd reached a nice flat area and was jogging happily (well, as happily as one can be while jogging, that is) and wondering how I was going to make it back to my car without having to run back up any hills.  

The conclusion I came to was this: I would simply run the rest of my alloted time on these lovely flat roads, and then I would walk uphill back to the school.  Yes!  I'm brilliant!  But as I turned the corner of the street I was on, I came face-to-face with a ginormous hill (with there being no second option other than turning around and heading back the same way I came).  I considered doing just that, until I saw that I had an audience.  A yard full of young lawn maintenance guys were hard at work mowing, trimming, fertilizing and what-have-you.  Seriously, there must have been a half a dozen of them just at this one house.  And what made it even worse was that they all appeared to be well-built with rustic good looks.  (I can say these things because hubby doesn't read the blog.  But just in case: Hubby is the most ridiculously handsome and well-built man of them all!  There-- covered.) 

Anyway, most of you ladies would agree with me that lawn maintenance guys are right up there with construction types-- a girl has to keep a stiff upper lip while passing by.  But I wasn't just passing by, I was running by.  And there was no way I was going to stop and walk up that hill-- not with twelve hunky eyes monitoring my progress!  So, I did what any self-respecting girl in my situation would have done-- I charged on full-speed ahead.  Eat my dust, suckers!  Ha!

Let's just say that by the time I reached the top I was second guessing my vanity-induced decision-- mostly due to the fact I couldn't breathe.  I was sucking in air hard and hoping against hope I was far enough away from the guys that they couldn't hear me and thus ruin all my effort.  And wouldn't you know that when I crested the hill I discovered another cop (the same one?) driving by?  I wanted to shake my fist at him and yell that this was all his darn fault!  If I could have just jaywalked where I wanted to I wouldn't have gotten into this god-forsaken neighborhood with the maniacal hills and hunky yard crew.  Darn him!  

But, by that point, I didn't have far to go.  And I was at the end of my alloted running time so I finished off with a cool-down walk.  Heck, I needed to recover.  See, I told you I'm just a lowly recreational runner.  Nothing impressive here.  (And I can prove it by the ever-expanding rolls that are developing around my middle, and the booty that I have to forcibly squeeze into my jeans every morning.  Although, those are due more to the fact that I discovered bulk candy at WinCo than anything else....)

Oh, vanity, I have you to thank for my sore petushky this morning.  What a wonderful reminder to me that I am a hopeless creature.  Hopeless, hopeless, hopeless.

So Much For Exercising!

Today was the last Saturday of the training clinic for our city's big race (remember, the one I posted about last month?).  Hubby decided it would be fun if we went and participated as an entire family.  And since I was looking for an excuse not to have to run seven hilly miles this morning, I heartily endorsed this idea knowing the kids would force us to cut it short.  But I figured Ruby Jane and I could at least have a lovely jog together while hubby and LM brought up the rear.  But, as usual, my best laid plans are...well, dumb.

LM surprised us by starting out at a sprint.  We could hardly keep up, partly for laughing at his unique running form, partly because he's a freakin' Speedy Gonzales.  (Picture this: you know how Russian soldiers march with their legs all stiff and unbendy-like?  LM's form is akin to that style, but a bit more flexible and at about quadruple speed.  And his arms flop like wet noodles at his sides.  Also, he appears to be drunk.  He's not, of course, but he swerves all over the road like an intoxicated blind man.)  It's hard to breathe properly while you're snorting giggles out your nose, but we soon found out that LM provided many unscheduled rest stops along the way where we could catch our breath.  It went something like this: sprint, stop, pick flowers, walk, jog, sprint, stop, back up, point at something not there, jog, stop, whimper, sprint...well, you get the point.  

Amazingly, this unique running strategy actually had us passing folks on the trail.  And LM, being one of the most uninhibited creatures on the face of the planet, was compelled to talk to (or at) the runners, walkers and bikers we encountered.  At one point we saw two elderly gentlemen jogging toward us on the other side of the trail.  LM pointed to them and told us excitedly (like he would had he caught sight of a Spotted Owl) "Hey, look!  Men!"  Yes, sweetheart, men are just one of the many fascinating creatures to be seen while out here in the wilderness.  The men smiled and waved at LM, which pleased him to no end.  

Finally, we reached our turnaround point where there were water tables set up.  Two ladies who were going to be continuing on the full distance took the opportunity to first rest on a rock nearby.  LM walked up to them and asked, "Are you restin'?"  When they nodded he responded, "Oh.  I need to go poop!"  They smiled and nodded again, probably thinking that sounded like a pretty good idea at the moment.  Fortunately, there was a bathroom about fifty feet down the trail which LM spotted and yelled, "Is that the pooper?"  What a delicate way of speaking he has!

I looked at hubby pleadingly, and he understood my silent request.  "You and Ruby Jane go on ahead, LM and I will catch up."  Oh, thank goodness!  Ruby and I started jogging back toward the trail head, relieved to be free of our strange pacer.  

Hubby and LM took a shortcut back and arrived at our car about the same time Ruby and I did.  All in all, it took us about an hour to cover less than 4 miles.  Yes, an hour.  I'll just chalk it up to "family time" instead of "exercise", I guess.  At least everyone had fun-- LM especially.  As we piled in the car he sighed, "that was the best day of my life!"  Oh, LM, if only....

Keepin' Me Humble

This is the third year that I've participated in a free training clinic for my city's internationally renowned 12K race (which is part of the professionals' circuit).  It's a 7-week clinic which starts with a mile the first week, and adds an additional mile every week thereafter.  All types show up to train, but the majority of participants are...not in great shape, to say the least.  Or, so it would appear at first glance-- but appearances can be deceiving....  I'm reminded of this every year.  

The clinic begins with a guest speaker.  Usually a nurse, a physical therapist or an elite runner.  I skip these.  They're all the same.  "Drink lots of water", "always warm-up", "stretch well", "watch your heart rate", blah blah blah.  I'm always amazed at how 7 different people can come up with 15 minutes of new material for rookie runners every week.  After these enlightening presentations is the 15-minute warm-up, led by an extremely exuberant aerobics instructor.  I've learned to skip this as well.  It's humiliating.  Pretty much I just show up for the running nowadays, although I come slightly early to do a bit of hopping, bouncing and stretching on my own.  (And while doing so makes me look like a certifiable nerd, I'm never alone in this.)  

This week was the 2-mile course.  I situated myself at the front of the pack (hundreds strong) since most of the clinic consists of walkers and walk/joggers whose paces vary from snail to sloth.  If you get caught behind that group you're done for-- they come mainly for the social aspect and think nothing of stretching their little posses to an impassable 4-wide on the trail.  And I'm embarrassed to say that sometimes I get a little smug standing there at the front-- but fear not, a good dose of humility always awaits me down the road.  

So anyway, the gun went off and I began my leisurely pace.  I like to describe it as a very uncompetitive "loo-ti-doo-ti-doo" speed.  I'm out there to have fun and get a little exercise, not to win my age bracket or anything.  But then something happens.  I start to notice people with white hair gliding past me with ease.  Then, without fail, a pair of joggers who exceed my weight by no less than 100 pounds each will trot past.  Even small children tear by me without so much as a huff and a puff.  

At first I tell myself it doesn't matter.  To each their own!  But by the time the 4th granny has plowed by me I begin to unconsciously pick up my pace.  I start to create little goals for myself.  I select a person who I want to pass, then I set my sights on their behinds until I overtake their position.  Initially this game of cat-and-mouse sends a little thrill through me.  But after I begin to realize that the majority of people I am passing are either octogenarians, morbidly obese, or in strollers, I'm brought down a notch...or two.  In fact, sometimes the people I choose to pass are walking.  Walking!  (Although I console myself with the prospect that perhaps I am lapping these walkers, but I never know for sure.)

Then as I cross the finish line-- panting-- I see all the hard-bodied 20 and 30-somethings lounging around with nary a drop of sweat on their brow, like they've been waiting all day for the rest of us to finish.  I do my best to suck it in and slow my breathing, nodding cooly to the "elite".  But it's no use pretending.  I am what I am; just a lowly recreational runner carrying a bit of extra junk in my trunk.  (I like to think it serves to entertain those who run behind me.)  

And that's how I will spend every Saturday morning until May.  But with each passing week, I move from snotty jogger to very humble, exhausted wretch (week 7 is a killer-- with hills that can make a grown man cry).  But by then nobody cares who's walking, jogging or running, who's old or young, who's flabby or tone.  We all become sufficiently humbled to note the accomplishment of anyone who manages to cross the finish line.  Or am I mistaking humility for nausea?  Either way, nobody cares.