Triathlon for Lilah, let's do this.

It's been a while, but I am still trying to find a way to fit writing into my everyday lifestyle. As I narrate in my mind throughout the day, I often run out of time before my head hits the pillow and I'm done. Of course it doesn't help that I'm all about picking up the knitting needles whenever I have a spare moment. I often wait until I finish a row before I tend to a Grace in need. *bad-mommy disclaimer: if my child is in serious need, there is no hesitation when I toss aside the knitting and tend to her latest head collision with furniture, which happens at least twice a day as she is mastering her baby-ninja walking skills (silent, quick, and oh so dangerous).*

Recently I stayed in the passenger seat of the car to finish knitting a row after Rob and Grace had exited the car. He stood outside the window looking at me and commented, "I hope I'm never in a life or death situation while you're knitting, because I don't believe you would be able to stop in order to save me." Well having never faced that conundrum dear husband, there is no need to speculate what my actions would be. Although secretly, I think he may be right.

There is momming throughout the day, knitting, the running of the AMC, playdates, Gymboree, random shopping trips, teaching knitting at the yarn barn, of course the Facebooking, and more recently fitness endeavours. More specifically, there has been running, biking and swimming because I AM going to do this mini-Lilah-appropriate triathlon. Call me crazy, but I'm tackling this off my bucket list because life is for living, not for cramming when you think you're dying, sorry Tim McGraw.

The first few runs around the Navy base have been interesting. Having a great shuffle of running tunes on the iphone has been invaluable...except for these few incidents:

• When first getting going, I get all into my music and want to dance while running.I can't help it, I'm an extrovert. Bad idea. Especially while I'm stopped waiting to cross the street and I think this is an appropriate time to boogie. This girl dancing on the corner of Oglethorpe and Sunset on a Saturday morning is really not the entertainment the customers of the Farmer's' market expect. So I'm sorry Rihanna, sometimes please DO stop the music.


• One evening I attempted to utilize the gym in order to try biking and then a light jog. Another BAD IDEA. It only ended up with me flicking off the TV when the Michael Vic was shown. This while bored out of my mind and getting my crotchy bits all smooshed uncomfortably is NOT a good time. Trying to get in a light jog on the treadmill did not help either. Once my iphone flew off the back and then me after, I had to agree with Scissor Sister, I didn't feel like dancing, at all.
• Although a good motivator, I am leaving my itunes unplayed from now on while athleticizing about the neighborhood.

If I am about to embark on a perilous journey to triathlon success, there is no better inspiration than to have my sidekick, Grace along for the ride. So I am currently searching for a fabulous jogging stroller. And by fabulous I mean a BOB Revolution or a BabyJogger City Classic (hint hint if you have one still in great condition.) For now our good friend Merryn is letting us borrow a well-loved but still in great condition Schwinn jogging stroller. It does veer to the left a bit and the sunshade is a joke, but it is a monster stroller and we're kicking ass and taking names all about Normaltown on a daily basis.

I'm going to do this. It will be a success, or at least some entertaining tales as I attempt some training. So far here are the hard, fast rules of the road (er, sidewalk):

1. During these morning jogs I am also taking it upon myself to be the change I wish to see in the world. I say "hello" or "good morning" to everyone. Regardless if you are black, white, pink, a toothless wonder smoking a butt outside Athens Regional waiting on the bus, or a sorostitute taking the walk of shame down Milledge, I treat you all the same my friends. A smile and a greeting for everyone. President Obama, yes we can!
2. Around mile 2 my left shoe starts squeaking. It is the orthopedic insert rubbing up against the Nike shoe bits that makes this noise. Sadly enough I have very flat, wide, jumbo feet. A nine & half wide to be exact (one can even make farty noises with the if I can get the suction just right with a bare foot). My feet the podiatric equivalent the offspring of Shaq + Bilbo Baggins might possess. I'm sorry this doesn't paint a pretty picture, but I manage to hobble onward.
3. It is hot as balls right now in Georgia! I need to get out before 10am otherwise sometime during my run I begin to get hot and disoriented all about my head. I don't think this bodes well or safe for poor Grace held hostage in the jogger.
4. Other people running inspire me. Don't be surprised when you trot by if I try to high-five you. It is motivating and right in so many ways.
5. If you are driving by, please feel free to honk, wave madly, and cheer me on. I may veer poor G into a utility pole, but the ego boost is so worth it!

the never ending morning...

It all began the night before (Thursday) when neighbor-friend got me all excited about Triathlon. Being of a stature built more for comfort than for speed, I had always assumed that a triathlon was composed of the standard Ironman distances. Clearly not for me. However I was introduced to the notion that there are varying lengths including but not limited to a "Lilah-length" triathlon. I Googled well into the eleven o' clock hour all jacked up and excited for a shorter yet reasonable escapade into the world of athleticism, endorphins, and all that fabulous junk.

I turned in to bed a little after 11:00pm and proceeded to roll and toss and fidget myself unsuccessfully to sleep until about midnight. Having Rob breathing loudly beside me of course did not help. When the acquisition of sleep becomes too difficult I believe in taking a break and then trying again. Thus I trotted my wonderful self into the living where I parked my tush in the man-chair to knit while enjoying a bit of the "Sex & the City: the Movie". Because really, could a midnight break get any better than my beloved pastime and four of my favorite fabu-lebrities? I got my fix and crawled into bed a little after 1:00am for some well-prepared for slumber.

Shortly after 1:14am the Gracie alarm goes off. There were no initial worries, she occasionally needs a little help back to sleep and I'm more than happy to oblige because she's my baby and that's what this mom does. Only she sounded horrible. There was mucho congestion all about her nose area. I rocked her, she cried, and we rocked some more. And more. And more. I finally put her down asleep and she woke instantly, crying of course. The diaper was changed, more rocking. She was put down in the crib again and woke instantly, again. We tried a bottle, and of course more rocking. I got her in the bed and to sleep around 2:45am and then retired to my spot of intended slumber only to hear her wake up, crying. This proceeded until 4:00am. I cannot remember how or why she finally gives in, I only remember that she did.

Amazing Grace woke up at her usual 7:30am, of course. Fan-flipping-tastic. I am not joking when I say I cannot function on approximately four hours of sleep. Six hours is a REQUIREMENT but a good seven to eight is what I prefer. I stumbled into the living room to find Rob watching Sport Center while eating his breakfast (normal morning behavior for the Rob) but I then found there were no clean bottles in our kitchen (note: in our family, bottle cleaning is Rob's job, period). Sputtering something about having to teach a class full of Navy Supply Corps Officers shortly, I brusquely interrupted that I didn't care if President Obama was waiting for him, he would not be leaving the house without some clean bottle in it.

Amazingly enough I was then awake enough to notice that Sesame Street was a re-run (it may be public broadcasting, but Grace and I are so over the "hat-wearing contest" episode, my friends). I also found time to cut my nails, because I sport shorty-short mom nails. I believe this look is both stealth and efficient in eliminating the space I can get baby-bodily-bits trapped up in there. I snuck a quick shower and updated my Facebook status (my priorities are clearly questionable). We were then on the road a mere five minutes late to the appointment I was able to clinch with the pediatrician.

En route, a very rude man cut me off from the FAR RIGHT LANE to get into the left turning lane at about 15/mph. Overtired Lilah-instinct utilized not just the breaks but the newly mom-iquered middle finger as well. Go me. Generously enough, my ipod shuffled us up some ABBA and I was instantly uplifted and found my second wind.

After checking in at the pediatrician's office, I brought Grace to the bathroom to change her out of her pajamas and soiled diapery mess. Shortly thereafter, one of the office nurses knocked at the door and announced they were ready to see us (clearly NOT because we had to wait over an hour for the doctor in the exam room). I rapidly tried to cram our stuff into the diaper bag while slinging 23lb Grace onto my sweaty hip in one felled swoop. When exiting the bathroom, the door sprung back unexpectedly into my poor child's head. Awesome. Grace was shrieking and the whole waiting room gave me "that look" as we marched shamefully to the exam room.

In the end we left with the cold we arrived with, no more, no less. I'm a good mom, and despite the head injury, I got us there and back safely. Getting her checked out turned out to be a complete waste of time, but mommy-instinct let me know it was the thing to do. Friday was the longest morning I could remember. Probably because it was an adventure packed 12 hours I was able to experience every single one of. Then again I am a mom, and I love it.

Starbucks etiquette

This morning on our trip through the Starbucks drive-thru I had a large order. Four drinks to be exact. One for Amy (my pretty, and dedicated co-coordinator at Athens Mothers Center), one for me, one for Rob (to soften the blow of spending monies on overpriced sweet caffeine-y goodness), and of course the errant bottle of water I can never get myself to drink.

The barista-boy at the window was so cute and witty it made me smile. But when I politely asked for a drink-tray for my numerous beverages he informed me he had given the last one to the lady in front of me because her kids wanted one to play with. Excuse me? I find it a complete breach of etiquette to request a drink tray when:

1. You don't need one.
2. I do.
3. You are in front of me and take the last one.

He and another member of the Epps Bridge Starbucks Brigade began peering curiously through my open window when they spotted Grace in the back seat. I unrolled the back window so they could get a better look and fully appreciate the adorability of my daughter. However, darling Grace had a scowl on her face.

Barrista-boy: "What a skeptical looking child you have there."

Me: "Yeah, she can't believe we didn't get drink-tray either."

stimulating the economy, one trip the Clinique counter at a time

Events from yesterday, Thursday, July 30th.

It all started yesterday morning when I received an email I assumed was spam but was truly legit. A 30%-off coupon for the GAP, Old Navy, BR, etc. was patiently waiting for me in my inbox. It had a bar code at the bottom and did not require me to fill out any random survey or forward to a gazillion friends to be activated. However it did encourage me to forward in efforts to share the savings (which of course I generously did). Included in the forward was husband Rob's email in efforts to "plant the seed" for the savings we would incur upon my utilizing aforementioned discount.

Rob came home for lunch and I discretely mentioned my need for more "me" clothes and that I was planning an upcoming venture to the mall during his basketball game that evening. I had the upper hand because a) he likes to have free time, and if it infringes upon time he is usually home with us, I can usually spend that block of time in retail therapy, and b) I had so innocently planted the idea in his subconscious by the coupon-gram via email.

The husband is not new to my tactics, and thus had some ammunition. In efforts to thwart the spend-o-thon he was foreseeing, he suggested that I pay for half of the collateral-checking-account damage with funds from the yarn barn I earn through teaching the world to knit. Well-played, Mr. Kalloch. However, he can pry my spending credit from my cold dead hands because there are a set of Addi-Click needles arriving to that store any day now with my name written all over them. Quickly I combated with the notion of "I'm saving for the double stroller of my dreams," because I will obviously need one with us trying for a second child. Let us be truthful, we all know he will not take spending upwards of $700 for baby-wheels lightly. (For the record, I have NO intention on contributing toward this expenditure because clearly what's mine is mine, and his is OURS.) He rolled his eyes and kept his stance.

"You'll spend $90 or so and have no remorse, but if I make you fund half, I know you'll keep your spending within limits," he expressed (truthfully).

I responded with a smile, nod, and eye-roll (my trademark non-committal response).

In the end I spent a little over $80, and halved NONE of it.

1. It was less that the $90 he had so blatantly stated prior to the shopping.
2. Only one item at the GAP was purchased for me, and the other four for Grace, so that doesn't count. ( I am shamelessly addicted to baby clothes, BTW)
3. Items bought at the Clinique counter are makeup. Translation, a "need" which falls into the category of things our handsome breadwinner provides for his wonderful family.
4. Stimulating the economy is part of our patriotic duty, and I love this country.

End of story. (insert Lilah-grin here)

tv is for rotting mommy's brain

While watching a few moments of the Today show this morning, Grace was glued to the screen. (As "glued" as a one-year-old can be from her toddler coral where she can Circ du Gracie without Katrina-ing the house. Sorry, I digress.) What's the deal with the little ones and the tube? It is clearly frowned upon by experts (non-parent experts in my opinion) that TV is "bad" for kids, delays some sort of important development blah, violence TV bad blah blah, blah blah increases chances of ADD, blah blah blah.

I get it. TV= bad for baby. Trying to be a decent mother, I like to limit the amount of televised crack Grace consumes. It's hard, even for those of us parents who care. When you just want a minute to use to bathroom facilities alone without worrying, the TV works great. I'm OK with her checking out a few commercials pertaining to erectile dysfunction if it means she's not digging through the trash in search of some errant piggy-flu virus. When does "just a little bit" of television turn into "better stock up on your Aderol and hide your guns" level of watching?? I'm guessing it's a fine line, and I'm pretty sure it's one I am toeing daily.

At the present moment while I'm sitting comfortably in Rob's recliner (his man-chair that I outwardly loath but secretly love). The television is off while Grace is playing contentedly in her prison yard. I'm blogging because I have been thinking and ranting about how I need to get blogging for way too long now. Maybe I'll take advantage of the "independent play" that I've become so dependent on to change out of my pajamas and brush my teeth. Or I could go stalking on Facebook....

Grace, the explorer

Me: "Grace, it's a little hard to clean the house with you crawling all into trouble and harassing the dogs."

Grace: "Mom, I'm an explorer. You can't hold me back, it's time to let me go."

Me: "Alright Sacajawea, but let's stick to the living room and forget the Northwest passage. By the way their names are Suzie & Peanut, not Lewis & Clark, and I'm pretty sure they're not interested in following you, so stop screaming at them."

Grace: "Daa."