tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31179881148151211612024-02-06T20:22:49.563-08:00Unsolicited AdviceWisdom and wit well hidden among ramblings on running, parenthood, life, and zombies.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710701805683512821noreply@blogger.comBlogger84125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3117988114815121161.post-36054788721814548962017-04-26T20:52:00.003-07:002017-04-27T06:32:41.621-07:00News!I feel narcissistic writing this post. It may be because it's a whole lot of words that are almost all about me. Probably, I'm still feeling guilty for having this thought since not posting in over 2 years, "My newer friends don't even know what a good writer I am!" My motives for writing this are not all self-centered, though. I genuinely believe that it's important for me to explain the change I'm making. First, though, let me tell you what's happened since I last wrote on this site. No. There is too much. Let me sum up.<br />
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<ul>
<li>We moved to a wonderful new neighborhood that was just what we had in mind when we were house shopping. Now we have 4 times the number of bathrooms we used to. Other than having 4 times zero maids to help with the cleaning, it's all dreamy.</li>
<li>The kids got bigger and smarter. </li>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin66KRVe8uXeEypqMxfXH0nSOdSQjUfkt0goT-hQ46Z4a5GzZcHDbIScD010kPVJL_Ah7CcSICxEBIyQiWPmL38HDeN5QJaH6UMH5m2yL4ZSeZXw6W4l51n7jwE6d1X_D2fYPsbaxnCAI/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin66KRVe8uXeEypqMxfXH0nSOdSQjUfkt0goT-hQ46Z4a5GzZcHDbIScD010kPVJL_Ah7CcSICxEBIyQiWPmL38HDeN5QJaH6UMH5m2yL4ZSeZXw6W4l51n7jwE6d1X_D2fYPsbaxnCAI/s320/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="304" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption">This little Cupcake just turned 5</td></tr>
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<li><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFjcSaJAGcyQTyJ64hKg5EQAJcBSRKlLw0pmPOt-Bh53BKj9zWdViUtQNXTp9Jy4v0Yq4n8E5bKyCRk5OLDrhPayg2PltbpVRlVOLtsYVysgk6_-TztBnZPrbqhwnd2HlbrD7Tr1aZDh4/s1600/IMG_4815.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFjcSaJAGcyQTyJ64hKg5EQAJcBSRKlLw0pmPOt-Bh53BKj9zWdViUtQNXTp9Jy4v0Yq4n8E5bKyCRk5OLDrhPayg2PltbpVRlVOLtsYVysgk6_-TztBnZPrbqhwnd2HlbrD7Tr1aZDh4/s320/IMG_4815.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption">Our Rip Claw is in double digits! (The bike only lasted a day)</td></tr>
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</li>
<li>We adopted a cat! Minerva is loved so dearly, we've even become the weirdos (<i>I</i> can say it because we're included) who walk their cats.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQLHp4jvR5G28hrunob4CeHPwWJPORPHT_jxTxc541iN2I1j7LygqYPfFBtieyosnCPeFFbCscxMQVgSPsSxdtkgCrup42x25aFx3ztto_ajIOT1eYBHDkJx2wyESxj2AWYXOq9CPH0uM/s1600/IMG_4820.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQLHp4jvR5G28hrunob4CeHPwWJPORPHT_jxTxc541iN2I1j7LygqYPfFBtieyosnCPeFFbCscxMQVgSPsSxdtkgCrup42x25aFx3ztto_ajIOT1eYBHDkJx2wyESxj2AWYXOq9CPH0uM/s320/IMG_4820.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I've continued to work as a substitute teacher, and I'm pretty good at it. I know being the best substitute teacher is kinda like being the best fantasy football player- great! Nobody cares!- but it means I get to work whenever I want and the schedule flexibility is excellent. </div>
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<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Running has continued with some ups and downs, some injuries, recoveries, a medal here or there, successes and failures. I still love pounding out the miles, even though I haven't achieved anything extraordinary...</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTUEJP4npH6W8dP6Oe6BoBB1RtwxaVOj4CjdPLoP7CneCpTezoazDA5xBN7WwtWQvPfEKJVLOfqkFpIGDy1YzA69NfH97AlAiHVYE1bPaZcFvHlP0tNbStCb-MKnuu_nbccx1jIiKjGsQ/s1600/IMG_3190.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTUEJP4npH6W8dP6Oe6BoBB1RtwxaVOj4CjdPLoP7CneCpTezoazDA5xBN7WwtWQvPfEKJVLOfqkFpIGDy1YzA69NfH97AlAiHVYE1bPaZcFvHlP0tNbStCb-MKnuu_nbccx1jIiKjGsQ/s320/IMG_3190.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...unlike these dear friends and family members who ran the Boston Marathon this year</td></tr>
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Of course, the past couple of years haven't been all sunshine and roses, but things are generally excellent 'round here. </li>
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There, now that you're caught up and have fallen (back) in love with my blog, it's time for the reason that drove me to break out the rusty old typing fingers here: I'm going to school to become a paralegal. What's that? You're slightly taken aback but generally feel like that announcement was anticlimactic? Let me try to change your mind. See, it all started at book club. </div>
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My (<i>I </i>can call it mine because I started it) book club began about 7 years ago. We take turns selecting books to read, and discuss them while stuffing ourselves with scrumptious snacks. We have a pretty amazing mix of ladies, and our book choices are diverse and (usually) excellent. "<i>The Count of Monte Cristo</i>" was my personal favorite novel and everyone (yes, you too) should read it. "<i>The Omnivore's Dilemma</i>" was my most recent choice, and reading it changed my eating habits for the better. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9W43LDOlgpygCfgwKEUkRXjUFfIjdiYdC8JVml-EW511PqPkae4qw8TmH5kZp890o-GUpk9411c3GERp0eelB5H3_HSdoOz9_U6tBnejG6IqQoRojwWaXZJOZ4qIDxUs1ZqtsFip3yaA/s1600/IMG_2915.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9W43LDOlgpygCfgwKEUkRXjUFfIjdiYdC8JVml-EW511PqPkae4qw8TmH5kZp890o-GUpk9411c3GERp0eelB5H3_HSdoOz9_U6tBnejG6IqQoRojwWaXZJOZ4qIDxUs1ZqtsFip3yaA/s320/IMG_2915.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If you've read "The Omnivore's Dilemma," the chocolate souffle/McDonald's fries combo makes sense.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj-JpIi-pbalFuJsVkI_XOVGjibBsQHg3bgYXE9KZ9vEopQtMfHRUMhW3CPTxLdUn__ibylhT7El14aG4HXdk05rmKE9MxwjiQCmuMUy5CJ5hT7rWgQgSNvEHFrYJ6E0WCwd88KDl-DnM/s1600/FullSizeRender+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj-JpIi-pbalFuJsVkI_XOVGjibBsQHg3bgYXE9KZ9vEopQtMfHRUMhW3CPTxLdUn__ibylhT7El14aG4HXdk05rmKE9MxwjiQCmuMUy5CJ5hT7rWgQgSNvEHFrYJ6E0WCwd88KDl-DnM/s320/FullSizeRender+%25281%2529.jpg" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Count's quote made it onto my shelf of favorites.</td></tr>
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It was this book, though, that changed not just my habits or the order of my favorite novels, but life as I live: <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Just-Mercy-Story-Justice-Redemption/dp/081298496X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1493257360&sr=8-1&keywords=just+mercy+bryan+stevenson">Just Mercy by Bryan Stevenson.</a> Yes, that link takes you to Amazon so you can go ahead and buy it right now. On the <a href="http://eji.org/">website</a> for the foundation the author started years ago, the book is described as follows: "A powerful true story about the potential for mercy to redeem us, and a <a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=clarion+call+definition&source=lnms&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwj7uZjTwsPTAhUSdiYKHSTtAUsQ_AUIBSgA&biw=1600&bih=794&dpr=1">clarion call</a> to fix our broken system of justice..." (I linked the definition for that term because I couldn't have given it to you without looking it up myself.)<br />
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I don't usually consider myself to be super suggestible or gullible. I certainly can't remember any other time when a book changed the course of my life. When I watched <a href="https://www.netflix.com/title/80000770">Making a Murderer </a>, for example, I understood that there was more to the story than viewers were shown. I know that the show was edited to be entertaining and provocative, so even though it made me lose some faith in our justice system, I made myself remember that I was really presented with just one side of the story. </div>
<div>
After reading "<i>Just Mercy</i>", though, I came to understand the brokenness of our justice system is not simply a matter of opinion. It is a matter of fact that we can choose to see or remain blind to. The truth is, justice in our country is not blind. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLsvFPJvZHGoFy2i32Wh4jZBcfFT9cGK2W72OG_Woi3leB2UG_kx8SJ9p7BAOnYKBcTpTv2fnNW6AwBqGIzLXuo6DpLT10Z2ebSQVL4zLKlv8My7GraOQlhlH9eJyEG2_c1VXAn8CpzvE/s1600/justice.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLsvFPJvZHGoFy2i32Wh4jZBcfFT9cGK2W72OG_Woi3leB2UG_kx8SJ9p7BAOnYKBcTpTv2fnNW6AwBqGIzLXuo6DpLT10Z2ebSQVL4zLKlv8My7GraOQlhlH9eJyEG2_c1VXAn8CpzvE/s1600/justice.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Somehow, she can still see color through that blindfold.</td></tr>
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Criminals get away with it. Innocent people go to jail. People with dark skin are treated differently than those who are white. Poor people are taken advantage of. Children live in prisons for the rest of their lives after mistakes that they would almost certainly never make as adults. People with mental illness are abused and imprisoned instead of being treated or hospitalized. At the root of our justice system we don't find balance or impartiality; we find bias, greed, and sometimes mind-blowing unfairness. </div>
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I don't expect to become The Paralegal who Fixes Everything (Although if that is what I become, I would like a cooler, superheroish name. Princess of Justice. The Everything Fixer [who is pretty besides]. Sup-arale-Gal. We can work on it.). I don't presume that I'll ever truly fix anything that has been so broken about our legal system since its inception. I know, though, that I cannot turn away from the horror. I cannot step over the screaming, seething, hideous mess of wrongness and go on as if it's not there. Even realizing that I cannot name a single paralegal who has ever done anything memorable, I know for sure that I have to be part of the solution. I have to do everything within my power to right the wrongs.</div>
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So, at the ripe old age of closer-to-40-than-30, holding my 13-year-old, unused Bachelor's degree, driving my newish car away from the dream home that I own with my dream man, leaving my sweet, talented children in the care of others, I will go to <a href="https://www.seminolestate.edu/">school</a>. I mention my age, home, etc. because when I went on campus to purchase my books ($680! Ouch!) and get my ID card, I realized how very different I am from the typical state college student. It makes me nervous to think about being the oldest in class. Or the only mom. Or the only one who has no idea how to dress like an adult who is in college and will constantly feel the need to justify her clothing choices to random strangers. Because of my previous college experience, I have met a lot of the requirements for graduating with an A.S. degree in Legal Studies, and I should be finished by this time next year. After that, I would like to work for a non-profit law office, offering help to those who can't afford to buy their way out of legal trouble. I want to assure you that I'll let you know how it goes, but in all honesty, you may have to wait for news of the crowning of Queen Paralegal after I do my world changing stuff. Want to help the cause without going the career/life change route? Donate to the <a href="http://eji.org/">Equal Justice Initiative. </a> Or at least, wish me luck with writing WAY more often than once every 2.5 years.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfYx2n8EluVqgCKQaQw0prIZFqpG0c5u1EzVIrLG5QyJsyzdeHMJl85fKlBu76qIaDxFNymITrLsUQa7EOI85Gf4IYIQ_3_FB2sOoWRRF15ld9DJTgDj7PozQELD4oHjcnmjFGqqzDRr8/s1600/IMG_5421.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfYx2n8EluVqgCKQaQw0prIZFqpG0c5u1EzVIrLG5QyJsyzdeHMJl85fKlBu76qIaDxFNymITrLsUQa7EOI85Gf4IYIQ_3_FB2sOoWRRF15ld9DJTgDj7PozQELD4oHjcnmjFGqqzDRr8/s320/IMG_5421.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Student discounts on ice cream and tacos? Yes, please!<br />
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<b><i>Seriously, though. What do grown-ups who aren't the teacher wear to school?</i></b><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710701805683512821noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3117988114815121161.post-30602207799421644462014-10-07T18:52:00.001-07:002014-10-07T18:52:35.234-07:00Things I H@!&Hey there! Remember me?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbASgI2kXDi6umvxnrc-hQdtSdDhvzkJ63woIHSZb5xAUgmrVn7gDagI6xawXFnhg_-e_Dqu9t_kunhd97q5fvl_RnsnfubHvp75lK-NJHXQmPsLWRnLS-lowwifc_lGmPYAL2em6WX4E/s1600/20140922_174637.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbASgI2kXDi6umvxnrc-hQdtSdDhvzkJ63woIHSZb5xAUgmrVn7gDagI6xawXFnhg_-e_Dqu9t_kunhd97q5fvl_RnsnfubHvp75lK-NJHXQmPsLWRnLS-lowwifc_lGmPYAL2em6WX4E/s1600/20140922_174637.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stealing snuggles from my napless Cupcake.</td></tr>
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Here's a blog post! It's about things that I hate. <br />
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I bleeped the "H" word in the title because hate is not a word we generally use in our house, and although he doesn't read my posts, Rip Claw does often see the titles. Hate falls into the same category as stupid, dumb, ugly, idiot, kill (only taboo in the context of people, not bugs), fart, and butt. When Rip Claw was very small, I noticed that I was cringing every time I heard children use those words. The dissonance between the young child's voice and the ugly words being said was unnerving, and I didn't like it. (By the by, there are no pretty words to use in place of 'fart'. We say 'stinker' or sometimes, 'boom boom', but I fully realize that those are also cringe-worthy.) I'm not one who curses, generally. See, I've become so used to being around my children, that even when I can't control the urge to use profanity, it comes out like, "FrickaflickinspintaGAHduffaflun." I tend to agree with <a href="http://mattgemmell.com/profanity/">this blogger, Matt Gemmell,</a>on the subject of profanity, in that sometimes, its use is just. plain. right. Therefore, Thing I Hate #1 is that <u style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Rick Grimes said "screwing."</u><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiemFPAeddNvM0XJxVWcIWCf5GklIK8kbe7hzJIMvpbjR99M6tP2rTkPpmJK4djjCpGrsnonCe0kiKyuHulpTipdrdNHjGujH3G1kufPZuahZCS3mYrqg7KGu0ZaPfWZMEqbd7oAKiGXqw/s1600/the-walking-dead-season-4-finale-rick.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiemFPAeddNvM0XJxVWcIWCf5GklIK8kbe7hzJIMvpbjR99M6tP2rTkPpmJK4djjCpGrsnonCe0kiKyuHulpTipdrdNHjGujH3G1kufPZuahZCS3mYrqg7KGu0ZaPfWZMEqbd7oAKiGXqw/s1600/the-walking-dead-season-4-finale-rick.jpg" height="133" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.sheknows.com/entertainment/articles/1033971/the-walking-dead-finale-season-4-episode-16">source</a></td></tr>
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***SPOILER ALERT***<br />
So, we're to believe that the same guy who just ripped someone's throat out with his teeth after surviving unimaginable horrors like filth, starvation, dehydration, loss, fear, injuries, hallucinations, killing people, killing the same people again, infidelity, and the complete breakdown of the world as he knew it is not the kind of guy to say "fucking" when he and his friends are imprisoned by cannibals? I hate that the rules regarding what can be broadcast on television are stupid. I would wager an awful lot of money that every single person who watches The Walking Dead has heard the f-word on more than one occasion. I would also wager that anyone who knows anything would agree that certain characters are more believable, in books, television, and movies, if they use profanity. If people, even some who don't generally use those words themselves, are watching shows like this one, with so much violence, gore, drama, suspense, and mental anguish, they will not be offended by hearing the <i>right</i> word used for the situation. Even if that word happens to carry a hefty penalty from the FCC.<br />
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I've been working as a substitute teacher for an entire 6 months, so I'm a bit of an expert when it comes to education.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDZR4-C6d8CR4_zH41Ujs8Z9GvByzUWzF8HYm47YX7TatPmLFU7BcWqueirBcnp3d_h5GBrMwndEVYfUOvbdCoGyYk9iQ44PAn-Gw7sS-_D-yczLMBEWIZ1HzfiNfQxD6Px9JsSBJ1pQs/s1600/daddy+pig.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDZR4-C6d8CR4_zH41Ujs8Z9GvByzUWzF8HYm47YX7TatPmLFU7BcWqueirBcnp3d_h5GBrMwndEVYfUOvbdCoGyYk9iQ44PAn-Gw7sS-_D-yczLMBEWIZ1HzfiNfQxD6Px9JsSBJ1pQs/s1600/daddy+pig.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Like Daddy Pig, I'm a bit of an expert at many things.</td></tr>
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I bet you think that now I'm going to say that I hate <a href="http://www.corestandards.org/">Common Core State Standards</a>. I don't. I'm actually rather rabidly in favor of the program, but that's a subject for another post. In fact, I hate something about our education system that doesn't really have anything to do with me, personally, or my children, specifically. Thing I Hate #2 is that <b><i><u>p</u></i></b><u style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">ara-professionals are paid less than $8.50/hour.</u> To be fair, they have the potential to earn almost $10.50/hour after earning a 2-year degree and working in the field for several years. This fact literally makes me feel nauseous. <br />
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Many of the substitute jobs I have worked lately have been in classrooms with special needs children. Some of the kids have Emotional/Behavioral Disorders, some have been diagnosed with disorders on the Autism spectrum, some have learning difficulties because of physical problems or Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. All of the classes have one teacher, one or two paraprofessionals, and access via radio to a trained behavioral specialist. In my relatively limited time working in these non-traditional classes, I have seen the para-professionals abused, both physically and verbally, I've seen them change the diapers of an elementary-aged child, I've seen them keep calm while being screamed at, while one child chews his shirt to shreds, another tries to run away, and a third and fourth are about to come to blows. I've seen them teach the most difficult kids and reach them in ways that most people wouldn't think possible. In short, the para-professionals have really difficult jobs. They go far above and well beyond what is written in their job description. And according to <a href="http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-srv/special/national/county-rental-wages/index.html">this Washington Post article</a>, they make about $5 less per hour than they need to in order to pay rent for a 1-bedroom apartment. If you aren't sickened by that, please let me know.<br />
<br />
Remember when the majority of my blog posts were about <a href="http://knowitallmrs.blogspot.com/2013_07_01_archive.html">running</a>? <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwfeHdFK9cj5ij1PpAjo4Gt8oeQop1DBnjZQVi93zP-m4WNldcSOc5R5SJB2zdRxDVCCM8GTgJaUmcKZEm8RTJNjnq-XHyyMUSZjXD-6amkIB8ieFlEcJhMMxnErF1AtyFingxw9UtxoE/s1600/Aust+&+Mama+5k.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwfeHdFK9cj5ij1PpAjo4Gt8oeQop1DBnjZQVi93zP-m4WNldcSOc5R5SJB2zdRxDVCCM8GTgJaUmcKZEm8RTJNjnq-XHyyMUSZjXD-6amkIB8ieFlEcJhMMxnErF1AtyFingxw9UtxoE/s1600/Aust+&+Mama+5k.jpg" height="320" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me & Rip Claw finishing a Christmas Eve 5k last year.</td></tr>
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<br />
Lately, I've written more <a href="http://knowitallmrs.blogspot.com/2014/09/three-weddings-and-funeral.html">funeral/obituary recaps</a> than I've written <a href="http://knowitallmrs.blogspot.com/2013/07/brownies-cheesecake-homemade-ice-cream.html">race recaps</a>, and this is largely due to Thing I Hate #3. <u style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Leg pain from Topamax</u>. Well, probably from Topamax. Possibly. Whatever the cause, (I blame the Topamax, which I was taking to prevent migraine headaches for a little over a month.) I have leg pain. It has caused me to have many more rest days over the past couple of months than I would like, and I can't seem to get rid of it. Noticing gradual improvement = Good. Running 1 day every couple of weeks = I'M GOING SCREWING CRAZY! <br />
<br />
<br />
<b><i>What do you hate? Just one thing, for now.</i></b><br />
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<b><i><br /></i></b>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710701805683512821noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3117988114815121161.post-23084096846039741242014-09-06T08:56:00.002-07:002014-09-06T08:56:36.823-07:00Three Weddings and a FuneralA strange thing happened last week. I learned that a dear woman passed away at the age of only 45, and then spent hours in a group chat message on Facebook, occasionally crying-- from laughter. The next day, I attended her funeral service, and left with a light heart and a smile on my face. Now, before you start calling me Chuckles Inappropriate or Jerky McAwfullyrude (both names you can save for <a href="http://www.news-journalonline.com/article/20140826/NEWS/140829537/0/search?tc=ar">this guy</a> who, I'm so glad to say, was the <a href="http://knowitallmrs.blogspot.com/2014/04/war-huunh-what-is-it-good-for.html">guy I punched for giving me a wet willie</a> years ago) please let me explain. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-6L1vciHe_bMq3QSRiTx3zZbHsI8Wozwkpcg-_RZkjVmgM2cEDaayXk2pHi3jbSL-4ip-seB-p3HcrA2TYZ_OwccNrNqjpvXsrWZq2lRlTvjl6WAQUPN3_hWxrg_hvG3Y9KApr-jRhwA/s1600/Dee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-6L1vciHe_bMq3QSRiTx3zZbHsI8Wozwkpcg-_RZkjVmgM2cEDaayXk2pHi3jbSL-4ip-seB-p3HcrA2TYZ_OwccNrNqjpvXsrWZq2lRlTvjl6WAQUPN3_hWxrg_hvG3Y9KApr-jRhwA/s1600/Dee.jpg" height="320" width="219" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Deresha "Dee"</td></tr>
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Dee was my manager for the 5 years that I worked at Hops Restaurant, Bar & Brewery starting in 2001. She was a really good boss, but more than that, she was a caring, generous, kind, funny, direct, hard-working person. I cannot recall a time when she was late to work or missed a shift. She was a single mom of three daughters, and yet still managed to be utterly dependable as an employee, which is very rare, from my experience. She was promoted to General Manager of the restaurant, and worked diligently to ensure quality food and service every single day until the bankrupt parent company closed our doors for good. I remember her being really good at staying <i>just enough</i> involved in the personal lives of those of us who worked for her. She always knew who was dating whom, who was mad and why, who was having problems at home, so nothing we did ever seemed to surprise her. However, unlike <strike>every other</strike> almost every other restaurant manager I've known, she didn't cross the line. Her relationships with her employees were always appropriate; she didn't hang out with us outside of work or blur the lines between boss & friend. Dee was remarkably forgiving, except of laziness. She had a fantastic sense of humor, a sharp wit, and was a true, rabid fan of <a href="http://www.wwe.com/shows/raw">wrestling.</a><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7ajuMJIjcWcdzMQ9oB_lsu8ARciSqtyA1Z9mQzxTIm-jxhycfRzmmEqbH9Alak4g2Hvfo2JRAFTz140MY8WND5GxaRXSEc1UOPnPB5W0Dun8nMz86qFOqBQYWPSKQ7NTjuuC33NKUBks/s1600/wrestling.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7ajuMJIjcWcdzMQ9oB_lsu8ARciSqtyA1Z9mQzxTIm-jxhycfRzmmEqbH9Alak4g2Hvfo2JRAFTz140MY8WND5GxaRXSEc1UOPnPB5W0Dun8nMz86qFOqBQYWPSKQ7NTjuuC33NKUBks/s1600/wrestling.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This picture makes me wonder if there are things I enjoy that are as mind-boggling to others as wrestling is to me. I just don't get it.</td></tr>
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After a friend broke the news of her death to me, I sent a message on Facebook to a few other Hops friends with a link to her online obituary. Within a few minutes, several of us on the group message contacted other former co-workers and added them to the conversation. By the end of the day, there were more than 30 people chatting, reminiscing, sharing stories about Dee, and remembering all the time we spent together. The activity sidebar on my page was filled with old friends becoming Facebook friends, having just found each other after years. The Facebook conversation even included updates about former coworkers who don't have Facebook accounts, but who were thought of and phoned by friends who had been silent for months or years. It was a truly happy, fun, LOL conversation, and one unlike any I've had before. <br />
<br />
I was glad to be able to attend her funeral service, and saw there the Hops kitchen manager and his wife. I have no idea what the average number of funerals attended is for someone my age, but I would venture to guess that the 6 or 7 services I've been to is pretty normal. Every funeral is different, of course, but Dee's was different in new-to-me ways. Her family and many other attendees wore all white, for one thing. The change from dark attire was not mentioned, but I feel that they must have chosen to wear white in order to remember that they were celebrating her life and focusing not on grief, but on her peace and freedom from pain and sickness. One of Dee's daughters sang a beautiful solo, unaccompanied by any music or fanfare. I got goosebumps when she broke into tears in the middle of the song and the crowd picked up singing right where she had left off. Her voice was passionate and rich and I could have listened to song after song. A granddaughter of Dee's, about age 7, wrote and recited a short poem that was completely heartfelt and managed to be funny without being the least bit disrespectful. Others stood and spoke about Dee, reflecting on her love for God and family, her stubbornness, wit, kindness, and strength. More than one person remarked on how she never complained of pain or suffering, despite having been wheelchair bound or bedridden for 4 years before her death. It was a beautiful service, and a loving remembrance of an influential woman.<br />
<br />
By my count, Hops produced three weddings, six bridesmaids, six children, and hundreds of lasting, true friendships. Working at Hops may have also been the catalyst for a few divorces and some criminal activity, but I chose not to count those. I realize that Dee was not Hops in a literal sense, but for those of us that worked with her there, there's no talking about one without the other. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTkUO_oLHqq_YPPmkg_tWrRW6dWr4D_iIk1RxRqYKXNZGvIc59jalYR12gmIgoVxpYnHLj7TqPKjqh3qGYZoj0FQUj7cTQM3pXhmOxPw4HUPOCiu-UilBlF76K2kKEaxodFXOwOwOtKbY/s1600/mike_rhiannon223.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTkUO_oLHqq_YPPmkg_tWrRW6dWr4D_iIk1RxRqYKXNZGvIc59jalYR12gmIgoVxpYnHLj7TqPKjqh3qGYZoj0FQUj7cTQM3pXhmOxPw4HUPOCiu-UilBlF76K2kKEaxodFXOwOwOtKbY/s1600/mike_rhiannon223.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Former Hops employees have circled heads. Just sometimes, though.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyjE2EmyuOqibTERyg91GHemow-nfOYmLinaLxqoyMF4WqOWncNNha2wWyEXvK6RKugcihmIyN7FOzpTrZqzlJXStwMV8AdSGlt8nzcC5qg-cH_B_Ay42r_ogY_xHq3F65c5s2rhb2_0g/s1600/jess+&+zach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyjE2EmyuOqibTERyg91GHemow-nfOYmLinaLxqoyMF4WqOWncNNha2wWyEXvK6RKugcihmIyN7FOzpTrZqzlJXStwMV8AdSGlt8nzcC5qg-cH_B_Ay42r_ogY_xHq3F65c5s2rhb2_0g/s1600/jess+&+zach.jpg" height="232" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Met each other and her maid of honor at Hops. Incidentally, Dee died owing me $100 for a bet I won about whether or not these two would stay together.</td></tr>
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I realized something rather profound about Dee. She changed the world. She was born about 20 miles from where she lived and died, and her time was relatively short. She worked in restaurants all her adult life. She didn't earn a doctorate degree or run for political office or donate gobs of money to charities. She didn't travel the world, invent new technologies, or cure disease. Yet, she changed the lives of so many people who knew her, and she used the talents and gifts she had to make her world better. Obviously, I can only speak of her life changing influence for myself, but I can attest that she challenged me, encouraged me, made me work hard, and ultimately helped make me who I am today. She had the unique gift of being able to give someone advice in a roundabout way that made the person think they knew what they should do all along. She could also seem mean and sharp tongued. As one of my friends put it, "I always thought she was mad or hated me, but then she would secretly be doing something nice for me behind my back." Dee didn't want credit for her kindness, and she was too good of a manager to be sweet all the time. She did what needed to be done, and complaining about the hard things or applauding herself for the remarkable kindnesses were both a waste of time.<br />
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Speaking of wasting time, she would probably have stopped reading this post wayyyyy up there, and rolled her eyes about my going on and on for so long. The thing is, it's hard to say good-bye when there's so much else to say. I'll conclude with this: <a href="http://knowitallmrs.blogspot.com/2014/06/stranger-searching.html">Helen</a> would have wanted random acts of kindness done in her memory. I believe Dee would want us to get to work, and to work hard at everything, no matter how insignificant it might seem. You might not realize whose world you're changing, just by being in it. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710701805683512821noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3117988114815121161.post-65966529150157784062014-08-07T06:46:00.000-07:002014-08-07T06:46:27.594-07:00Losing WordsI have 4 blog posts queued up, waiting to be finished. One tells about Rip Claw, and how we finally finished the lengthy process of gifted testing and enrolled him in the program at a new school. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGw-P8lR-XLFOmOhAVq0G8ZlX5_8oW26iVnkD4z8VMe014u5vb3U96OJi_Cju91NM4QjWjdGrA16aCWuCwWIEzhjrkbPYtjOrwhww6u38ABVFfCVk-9GRRFEEUAeLEOTTHzS9YMTo9RAE/s1600/20140327_141514.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGw-P8lR-XLFOmOhAVq0G8ZlX5_8oW26iVnkD4z8VMe014u5vb3U96OJi_Cju91NM4QjWjdGrA16aCWuCwWIEzhjrkbPYtjOrwhww6u38ABVFfCVk-9GRRFEEUAeLEOTTHzS9YMTo9RAE/s1600/20140327_141514.jpg" height="291" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Genius!<br />
Well, Gifted, anyway. </td></tr>
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He'll start later this month, and we have high hopes that he'll enjoy 2nd grade in a way that he was not able to enjoy kindergarten or first grade. In another post, I excitedly started to share my Summer Reading list (<a href="http://sueperryauthor.com/2014/07/27/you-could-be-having-more-fun/">#1- Nica of Los Angeles by Sue Perry</a> [Bonus! If you want to solve the vague mystery of my real first name, check out the dedication page. That's me!] #2-#5 Connie Willis' time travel series starting with Doomsday Book and ending with <a href="http://www.amazon.com/All-Clear-Connie-Willis/dp/0553592882/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1407349983&sr=8-1&keywords=connie+willis+all+clear">All Clear</a>. #6- <a href="http://www.amazon.com/One-Summer-America-Bill-Bryson/dp/0767919416/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1407350306&sr=1-1&keywords=one+summer+bill+bryson">One Summer by Bill Bryson</a> which I know I mentioned before, but still haven't been able to talk to anyone about, so I'm pushing it on you again. Read it!) by rambling on about a dream I had where the ocean turned into buildings. Two posts are mostly about my running, but also about racing, Facebook, training, life, job searching, migraines, blogging and cheesecake.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0NSZ2KcT2XaMuoJj2kga01jcbniC-59lb5QVrFMNIpwAZC6tKHDSKBPPIThtSwtOfmUuUP4Cdxmjb9z65id8wG3hCccU7tdEMzVsOsNfLCReEktDkZMuB7_IM7wVBmjoQLIkzo1EqXo4/s1600/20140720_183318.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0NSZ2KcT2XaMuoJj2kga01jcbniC-59lb5QVrFMNIpwAZC6tKHDSKBPPIThtSwtOfmUuUP4Cdxmjb9z65id8wG3hCccU7tdEMzVsOsNfLCReEktDkZMuB7_IM7wVBmjoQLIkzo1EqXo4/s1600/20140720_183318.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Homemade cheesecakes with from-scratch caramel sauce and fresh, real whipped cream might deserve their own post.</td></tr>
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<br />
The one thing they all have in common is that they all end right around here.<br />
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<br />
Not this time! See? You keep scrolling, there are more words.<br />
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The problem, of late, is something like writer's block. Oh, and I kind-of hate running. Also, I forget things like I'm a highly paid executive at Forget Me, Inc. I've been sleeping poorly and making bad choices, like this shirt set that I recently purchased for myself (yes, with real, U.S. dollars).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGauwChq5gJ8ltJrj3hnJP-PDyv1khUyVWudGgNNwLs3cgUKWYrjWAV43RPV4yVMJtSXrVDdog3TSvxhDLEDHVKa60uM2OjLcsqIQQxIy_wiM5KH1Be-WxqHzxTG8TRm3-e27QHu7x7yI/s1600/20140806_202711.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGauwChq5gJ8ltJrj3hnJP-PDyv1khUyVWudGgNNwLs3cgUKWYrjWAV43RPV4yVMJtSXrVDdog3TSvxhDLEDHVKa60uM2OjLcsqIQQxIy_wiM5KH1Be-WxqHzxTG8TRm3-e27QHu7x7yI/s1600/20140806_202711.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hot pink lace bandeau with strappy, gauzy, grape colored tank.</td></tr>
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The day after ordering the shirt set online, I remembered that I'm 38-nearly 40!, laughed aloud, and decided that I would be sending it back. <i style="font-weight: bold;">7 FULL DAYS LATER </i>I remembered that I'm only 35, but that doesn't justify my owning anything in these colors, made of these fabrics, or cut in these styles, and still planned to send the items back. Today, the items were delivered. Tomorrow, they will be returned, with my apologies.<br />
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I do have a reason, or at least a theory, to explain all this nonsense. Drugs. Specifically, Topamax, the prophylactic medication prescribed by my new neurologist, Dr. T, early last month to reduce the number of headaches and migraines I get from somewhere in between godawful and shocking to a more normal number. Both Dr. T and my good pharmacist friend, Dr. B, informed me that, much like with any medication, this one comes with some potential side effects. (Dr. T actually said that the main side effect would be that all my fingernails would be painted the same color, but that's because I visited him on the 3rd of July after painting some of my nails red, some blue, and leaving one unpainted for the Independence Day festivities to come. I think it bothered him a whole awful lot. Funny thing is, I don't think I had painted my nails at all for about 6 years prior to that day.) Tingling in the hands, feet, and maybe around the mouth, is a common one. Also, feeling a mental fogginess or spacing out. "You may have trouble saying the words you want to say; feel a sense of disconnection." The 10-page paper that came with the prescription also mentioned depression, suicidal thoughts ("call your healthcare provider right away, but do not stop taking this medication suddenly, as that can cause an increase in suicidal tendencies"), and the usual "rare but serious..."<br />
<br />
After almost a week on the medication, I started feeling tingling in my hands and feet. No big deal. Dr. T had said the tingling would go away after the medicine built up in my body and I got used to it, which was one of the reasons he gave me a titration schedule (yeah, I know words like that 'cause I have a pharmacist for a friend) to let it build up slowly. About two weeks after, I noticed the tingling all the time, especially while exercising, and my running started to suffer. My pace kept climbing, which really isn't that big of a deal during these hot, humid Florida summers, but I started describing every run with words like "blah" or "blech" or "barf." And really meaning it, because I was really dreading every one of them, even though they were <a href="http://runrocknroll.competitor.com/savannah">marathon training</a> runs and I had an incentive set up for myself for finishing a month's worth of them.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis9xBTzw1Y7iRld5eiFkS14i-TWAg-N3bSWzO6VqRUuDIQVwrWkyIf5A-iyE5OR7O6Kwh8tRN3dxYksdA5sz5nvUsXB89ZcphJpJp4SYBBknbDM2MOsEMbXs6ErB6X-YBLsJw7dERycIM/s1600/dolmades_09.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis9xBTzw1Y7iRld5eiFkS14i-TWAg-N3bSWzO6VqRUuDIQVwrWkyIf5A-iyE5OR7O6Kwh8tRN3dxYksdA5sz5nvUsXB89ZcphJpJp4SYBBknbDM2MOsEMbXs6ErB6X-YBLsJw7dERycIM/s1600/dolmades_09.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Greek food. I love it desperately. Charming hates it almost as much. What could make for a better personal treat for a month of marathon training?</td></tr>
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After just over 4 weeks on the medication, I had my first experience with the word loss side effect. I expected it to feel like the word was on the tip of my tongue. No. I lost the word 'lowered.' When I say I lost it, I mean it was as if it had never before existed in my life. Drs. T & B both mentioned a disconnection, and I'm sure that's because other people on this medication have experienced exactly what I felt. It was as if one small part of my brain was whispering <span style="font-size: xx-small;">"lowered" </span>and the rest of my brain and body were just laughing and taunting, like, "Ha! You think that's a word? No. Don't use that. Nope. Won't work. Can't do it. Don't even try. Not a word. Never heard it. You're thinking of ______." And then I think I actually saw a big sad face in my head, because I couldn't think of a word. Eventually, within what felt like 20 minutes but was probably 20 seconds, I came up with the word 'lowered' and it was the right word, but it was as if my brain had been disconnected from the rest of me. I couldn't make myself use the word 'lowered.' Later that same day, I said to still-football-obsessed Rip Claw, "Did you know the Giants and Bulls are playing the Pro Bowl game this week?" I knew I meant the Bills, not the Bulls, and I knew I meant the Hall of Fame game, not the Pro Bowl, but I couldn't say the right words.</div>
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A few days later, I started putting together all the pieces. It's hard, when your brain doesn't work, to figure things out, but eventually, I did it. Unfinished blog posts. Hating running. Hating Facebook more than ever. Un-returned phone calls. Looking forward to sitting on the couch. Throwing the iPod in a bowl of rice for a week rather than figuring it out that I accidentally set it on repeat. Letting Rip Claw watch Spongebob for a sickening amount of time. Letting Cupcake memorize the "Go Potty Go" DVD from the library, yet letting her Never Potty Never. Realizing that many of my text message responses are "I don't care" or "whatever." Not studying any fantasy football or doing any mock drafts even though the real drafts are coming up in just a couple of weeks. </div>
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I knew my college degree in Psychology would come in handy someday. I've got the anhedonia! Okay, so that's not usually a term used with an exclamation point. It means I've lost interest in things that I used to care about. It's another side effect. Now, listen. Before you start to worry, I'll have you know, I was screened by a nurse just the other day. I was told to answer, over the past 2 weeks, how many days I had felt a bunch of things like hopeless, failure, fatigue, etc., 0, 3, 5, 7, or 14. I kept wanting to answer 1 or 4 or 8 or 6 or 57. Is that weird? But, she wasn't worried. I'm not clinically depressed. And strange nurses don't want to confirm whether or not you're just anhedonic, or if that's actually a word. I have had ZERO-as in NOT ONE suicidal thought. I've lost my words. Literally, that one time, when lowered was gone, and for the past month, when I couldn't make them come out and make sense on the ol' blog. <br />
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Now, you may be wondering why running, having been an almost constant source of joy, drenching my brain with powerful endorphins, is not helping me through this tough mental battle. Well, it seems like I'm just in a perfect storm of awful, lately. All my runs in July and August, except for half of two, were solo. Sickeningly hot. Maddeningly slow. That's not fun, but it's still running. However, I managed to do something to some part of my body somewhere along the way, and now I have plenty of time to reminisce and appreciate all of those terrible runs while I sit on the couch in excruciating pain. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6XfBeIfhE6mWT1eNE5-7PhPBipUkUrgufyPrmtpCSayhHmd5VeqjnwOTXWA5YOidnX27ICLu2EdFPDlOTcS8ElSbEi09H49QsCLEAK0LbJmSh7vPnh1wcqQ_h1ZJX1q8I44rXg57wu6k/s1600/human-anatomy-muscles-of-the-leg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6XfBeIfhE6mWT1eNE5-7PhPBipUkUrgufyPrmtpCSayhHmd5VeqjnwOTXWA5YOidnX27ICLu2EdFPDlOTcS8ElSbEi09H49QsCLEAK0LbJmSh7vPnh1wcqQ_h1ZJX1q8I44rXg57wu6k/s1600/human-anatomy-muscles-of-the-leg.jpg" height="320" width="271" /></a></div>
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X-rays were negative, there's nothing wrong with my joints. Doppler ultrasound showed nothing wrong with my circulation and no clots (<a href="http://knowitallmrs.blogspot.com/2014/05/glad-i-wore-good-underpants.html">I wore good underpants again, don't worry</a>) in this leg, blood work showed no sign of infection or rheumatism or whatever else they were checking for. The therapeutic masseuse concentrated her efforts on the Obturateur externe, Adductor and Quad muscles (Did you know there were four of them? I responded like she said everyone does to that information "Oh, duh."). She also worked on evening out my noticeably uneven hips. Result seems to be that now I'm limping straighter than before. <br />
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Time for the good news! I haven't had a headache in over a week! I'm still taking the Topamax for that reason, and because I don't think it's the fault of the medicine that I can't move my leg. Pretty soon, I'll know if it can prevent my hormone-triggered, debilitating migraines. I would gladly lose many more words to be rid of those for good.<br />
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I feel like I should leave you with a helpful piece of unsolicited advice, since that's kinda why I'm here. So, I'll recommend that you do side planks instead of forward planks. If you're like me, you hate them with a vehemence because they're really hard to do. That's because those muscles are weak. You know what?You'll never regret getting stronger. <br />
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<b><i>Please share a bit of good news!</i></b><br />
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<b><i>Greek food- love it or hate it?</i></b></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710701805683512821noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3117988114815121161.post-41533401929260599482014-07-02T19:03:00.000-07:002014-07-02T19:03:05.127-07:00A Good Run<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">*It isn't all about running, Sha. Promise*</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Ujj_-QhJB98_wTbWcYar5lhVju8ld00tux9yvB7nVQWUCc3lVUwEPgYUZ60eqlQ4eS85YGjIa-Kcd0-sUM-H0ZEULVTPwnlpLoQlp9DecluLqtwZ9UmK8y3e8Wh6JAa36vhggqfVY8w/s1600/citrus+grove+silver.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Ujj_-QhJB98_wTbWcYar5lhVju8ld00tux9yvB7nVQWUCc3lVUwEPgYUZ60eqlQ4eS85YGjIa-Kcd0-sUM-H0ZEULVTPwnlpLoQlp9DecluLqtwZ9UmK8y3e8Wh6JAa36vhggqfVY8w/s1600/citrus+grove+silver.jpg" /></a></div>
This was one. There have been others, too. I remember quite clearly how it felt each time I ran and didn't ever want to stop. It's easier to remember the good runs when I'm sitting on the couch typing on the laptop than when I'm out in the sweltering heat and suffocating humidity, panting and huffing and cursing at myself in my head for moving like a slug. At those times, and there have been a lot of them lately, it's hard to remember ever having run before, and hard to imagine why anyone would purposely subject herself to such hardship. <br />
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Let me try to explain these feelings for those of you who aren't already silently shouting, "Amen, sister!" Running is hard. Just because you're wearing athletic clothes and you know you're burning calories doesn't mean you feel thin. The knowledge that getting your heart to pump faster is a good thing doesn't make it <i>feel </i>good when it seems your chest is going to explode from exertion. Sweating is totally natural and necessary. It's also a really grody feeling to have your clothes sticking to you and to have to wipe the salt crust off of your phone's screen after using it because of the sweat that dried on your face. But then, there are times after a run when you feel like this:</div>
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Or like this:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDV1rAewE4dpbKdWZ2QYvecGnQm2Es-dsC5x_fQwpPOWz6PgjaRDYQyDnT4XgngqE3c5V-FOZycIU86fsWF6odR704o7qIU3_zRJt3RheRmygVNXPMHnQmF_8yisUAOCDBKMNsFoxRq70/s1600/chrissie+wins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDV1rAewE4dpbKdWZ2QYvecGnQm2Es-dsC5x_fQwpPOWz6PgjaRDYQyDnT4XgngqE3c5V-FOZycIU86fsWF6odR704o7qIU3_zRJt3RheRmygVNXPMHnQmF_8yisUAOCDBKMNsFoxRq70/s1600/chrissie+wins.jpg" height="192" width="320" /></a></div>
Which is basically, like this:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwJFdppBatrsdxigf4IqD50RcCb2SAWxGdjpjeCBK_CLnAiVobUiVrmxB5fku4QHc9MCNbMMYHwFlhySjdk2rYORsfH4SG9J3Kc2n-OOJHHmXlGRKwMWtOtaLVv8f2g3VU_9Qlp6JJ3zo/s1600/on+top+of+the+world.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwJFdppBatrsdxigf4IqD50RcCb2SAWxGdjpjeCBK_CLnAiVobUiVrmxB5fku4QHc9MCNbMMYHwFlhySjdk2rYORsfH4SG9J3Kc2n-OOJHHmXlGRKwMWtOtaLVv8f2g3VU_9Qlp6JJ3zo/s1600/on+top+of+the+world.jpg" height="275" width="320" /></a></div>
Much like (I've read) a drug addict continues searching for that feeling they remember from the first time they got high, part of the reason that I (we) continue to run is in search of the overwhelming euphoria of a good run. The happy news is that good runs are attained more often and in a much healthier, less law-breaking way than heroin highs. <br />
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I haven't run many miles, lately, and the miles I have run have not been the most pleasant. Although I got good news when I talked to a real doctor for a second opinion about my <a href="http://knowitallmrs.blogspot.com/2014/05/glad-i-wore-good-underpants.html">circulation issues</a>, I have been dealing with ever-worsening pain in my left ankle that I think is a tendon thing. I've had a lot of rest days, hoping to ease the pain and be ready to start marathon training July 6th. All that rest has made me crabby and flabby and generally unpleasant. I've remembered, though, one of the cool things about running. Even the bad runs are at least a little bit good. Cardiovascular exercise = Good. Outside in fresh air = Good. Time alone with thoughts = Good. So, the running, even with the nagging injuries and reduction in miles and maddening slowness, we'll call it good. But that isn't the only reason I titled this post the way I did. <br />
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I've been at this stay-at-home-mom/homemaker/unemployed worker gig for a little over 2 years now, give or take a few substitute teaching job assignments. It has definitely been a good run. I've been able to volunteer at races, at Rip Claw's school, and at our church. I helped raise a lot of money and put on fun, educational events as a PTA board member. I'm a regular yoga class attendee. I have time to write blog posts and follow people on Twitter and keep up with friends on Facebook. I read books. I cook healthy(ish), delicious meals. Sometimes, I even clean. Best of all, I get to spend almost all their waking hours with my kids. I feel that I can't overstate how blessed and thankful I am for Charming; for his hard work and commitment to taking care of our family financially. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLBAR5L7oMYUoxt9g-lKjGZQ-zWDBBrDiblvX9Psuk-MDIT7NjyBDC9hJjbU-AijumhYaFySwR2MwXiEirqHAWaNMkkuXXvHzmuX5uw_U4-onePWii9BAuzFIJYWBUiU3uuI7hdA8694Q/s1600/20140301_170738.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLBAR5L7oMYUoxt9g-lKjGZQ-zWDBBrDiblvX9Psuk-MDIT7NjyBDC9hJjbU-AijumhYaFySwR2MwXiEirqHAWaNMkkuXXvHzmuX5uw_U4-onePWii9BAuzFIJYWBUiU3uuI7hdA8694Q/s1600/20140301_170738.jpg" height="320" width="131" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's a shadow, not a hole in the top of his head.</td></tr>
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Now, the time has come for this good run to end, though. If I don't get a paying job, then we can't realistically think about moving from our teeny house into a normal-sized one. If I don't get a <i>well-</i>paying job, then we can't realistically think about moving into <strike>my</strike> our dream house.<br />
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It may seem strange, but a part of me wants to go back to the working world for reasons completely separate from financial gain. Am I a terrible SAHM for feeling somewhat unfulfilled by my job as a mother? I treasure my time with the children. I learn from them, I teach them, I laugh with them, and I know that ultimately, they're going to grow into successful, happy adults largely because of (in spite of?) me. However, I feel like I have a lot to offer aside from being a parent. I also feel like the value of what I have to offer the world at large is depreciating the longer I stay at home. Sometimes, it's hard to see the difference between enjoying a good run and enjoying the comfort of a familiar rut. I realized that I'm in the latter position when I noticed a trend in the jobs I was hoping to get. The one thing they all had in common was me, at home. Hard work pays off. Smart work pays off. Laziness does not pay off. Great ideas, without action, do not pay off. Yes, there are people who get paid to write blog posts about running and mothering and such. There are people who get paid to read and review books. There are even people who get paid to come up with ideas far less excellent than ideas I've had. I've come to terms with the fact that I am not one of those people. It would basically be the same thing if I said my dream job was to play the lottery. So, yeah. My dream job is to change the world, be intellectually challenged and stimulated, earn enough money to move to a house with more than one bathroom, and still spend almost every waking moment with my children. But until there's an opening in <i>that</i> field, I'll probably return to where I had my last good run--tending bar.<br />
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<b><i>Wanna hire me?</i></b><br />
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<b><i>Your last good run? </i></b><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710701805683512821noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3117988114815121161.post-67472220649472438132014-06-19T19:50:00.000-07:002014-06-19T19:54:18.085-07:00Just The TipsI like giving advice. I especially like giving advice when I don't have to see anyone rolling their eyes, doing the exact opposite of what I've suggested, or worse, ignoring me. You've probably noticed, though, that my blog posts tend to be heavier on the fluff and lighter on the advice. That is, until this one! Here we go with all advice, no fluff. Okay, so it'll probably be, like 90/10 advice to fluff. Maybe 80/20. Just pay attention!<br />
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<li><u style="font-weight: bold;">ADD CRUNCH</u> to your ice cream. Cold, sweet, creamy treats are better with a bit of a bite. Honey roasted peanuts are a favorite on almost every flavor other than mint, but you will also enjoy crushed graham crackers, cookies, chocolate-covered pretzels, M & M's (Or, as Cupcake calls them, "LMNs." She's been singing a lot of alphabet song, lately.), plain pretzels, dry roasted peanuts, and any kind of sweet baking morsel. </li>
<li><u style="font-weight: bold;">BE KIND</u> always. Do you seriously think you'll ever regret being kind to someone? Even if they don't deserve, notice, or appreciate your kindness, you still did the right thing. If not for your own sake, do it for <a href="http://knowitallmrs.blogspot.com/2014/06/stranger-searching.html">Helen</a>. </li>
<li><u style="font-weight: bold;">BE GRATEFUL</u> and dwell on your gratitude. I've given myself two Summer Projects to complete. One is to toilet train Cupcake, the other is to make sure Rip Claw understands how grateful he should be for his blessings. He gets rewarded with a star for writing at least 5 days a week in his Big Book of Thanks. I realized that in order to feel gratitude for what he does have, he has to be able to see and understand what it means to have not. I've taken to telling him about something mildly horrible each day in order to drive home the message that he's got it good. Sunday, I showed him a newspaper picture of a street in Iraq where dozens of men walked with rifles held high, having just volunteered to help stop the rebel terrorists from killing innocent people. Thursday, I told him about how people used to have to go to stores to shop for things, and if they couldn't find what they wanted, they would have to use a phone book to call another store. Then, if they ordered something through the mail, it might take a month to arrive.</li>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">School has been out for 2 weeks, and already he's writing letters backward and forming sentences like "in do'nt go tso stores" Love it.</td></tr>
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<li><u style="font-weight: bold;">EAT A CALZONE</u> made like I make them. Recipe available upon request. I'm not including it because it would bring my fluff percentage up to at least 30.</li>
<li><u style="font-weight: bold;">READ</u> because reading is awesome. I recently finished <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Invention-Wings-Sue-Monk-Kidd/dp/0670024783/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1403228968&sr=1-1&keywords=the+invention+of+wings">The Invention of Wings</a> by Sue Monk Kidd and loved it. I'm now in the midst of a library copy of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/One-Summer-America-Bill-Bryson/dp/0767919408/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1403229088&sr=1-1&keywords=one+summer+america+1927">One Summer</a> by Bill Bryson, and I'm seriously considering buying a copy for Charming to read at the same time so that I'll have someone to talk about it to. I know the author wasn't in America, in 1927, experiencing all that was happening, but the book reads like you're being told a first-hand account of really cool historical events. If you've read it, please let me know so that I can talk to you about it instead of blurting out things like, "Prohibition was the <i>worst</i>!" and "Wow. Babe Ruth." at random times.</li>
<li><u style="font-weight: bold;">THINK OUTSIDE THE RED</u> when it comes to fries. I feel that I may have failed newcomers here by not posting my <a href="http://knowitallmrs.blogspot.com/2013/01/fries-and-foremost.html">fry dipping advice</a> all the time. </li>
<li><u style="font-weight: bold;">EXERCISE.</u> I don't have to tell you that, though, right? There's really no excuse not to.</li>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I don't know who Bill Phillips is, but he's right. <br />
I also don't know if I could eat a doughnut that large, but if it's blueberry cake, I might like to try.</td></tr>
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<li><u style="font-weight: bold;">GIVE IN</u> to your quirks. I only recently stopped making excuses for mine, and I must say, it has been quite freeing. I stack the papers neatly just before I put them in the shredder. I color coordinate my to-do list based on how much I like or hate the task. "Make phone calls" is in orange, because making phone calls is the worst, and orange is the worst color post-it I have. It bothers me when the two sides of the dishwasher racks are unevenly weighted, like the left side is going to tease the right side for having to work harder. Everybody has their quirks, and the sooner we all admit them, the sooner we can find others with whom to commiserate.</li>
<li><u style="font-weight: bold;">SMILE</u> at someone. One thing I love about being a mostly-stay-at-home-mom is the absence of customers and co-workers telling me to smile. I smile a lot, because I'm a happy person. When I'm not smiling, it's usually because I'm not a complete idiot walking around with a toothy grin spread across my face to hide the absence of intelligent thoughts. When someone tells me to smile, I immediately want to scowl and kick them in the teeth. However, I'm telling you to do it because when you give someone a friendly smile, it's really hard for them not to smile back. Here, I'll even give you some help!</li>
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So, how do you think I did? Nowhere close to 90/10, eh? </div>
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<b><i>Care to share any of your quirks?</i></b></div>
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<b><i>Calzones. Just a friendly reminder that my recipe is available.</i></b></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710701805683512821noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3117988114815121161.post-36184041962707962312014-06-13T19:03:00.000-07:002014-06-14T05:56:45.448-07:00Stranger SearchingI did something Thursday that I have never done before. I clipped an obituary from the newspaper and hung it on my refrigerator. I also think I fell slightly in love with a total stranger who died peacefully in her sleep on June 7, 2014. I don't think I'm alone in my mildly obsessive habit of scanning the obituaries for the ages of the deceased, hoping they're all older than my grandparents, way older than my parents, and way, way older than me. If I happen upon a young person's obituary, I then (obviously) try my hardest to investigate the cause of death to ensure that either they died of unnatural, rare causes, or that they were probably unhappy anyway. You know, if they don't leave behind any children or a grieving spouse and they're picture is from their high school yearbook but they graduated in the '70's, I feel better somehow. Helen's obituary didn't list her age in bold, so I had to pause to look for her date of birth, and I'm so glad I did.<br />
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<i>"Wife, mother, church lady, gramma-- GRAMMARIAN? That's it! That's how I want to be remembered!" </i> I was going to stretch the truth a bit and say that my first impulse was to chuckle, or even guffaw at the idea of having "grammarian" listed in my obituary, but, yeah. That was my first thought. As I read on, I had to deal with the nagging memories of all my grammar errors. It was kinda like a quick <i>Christmas Carol</i>-esque sequence, where I was quickly, silently haunted by comma splices and quotation marks placed before periods, all "Whooooooooo"ing and "BOO"ing in my brain.<br />
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I did actually chuckle aloud when I read this part:<br />
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Is there any more important war to fight? I wish I could have been one of Helen's soldiers. Suddenly, I realized that I wasn't being an annoying nerd when I correct people's use of apostrophes or gently tell them to lose, not loose, an 'o' when they have lost something. I've been fighting! I've been fighting with strength and honor for what I know is right. <br />
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Helen and I didn't have much else in common. She grew up in Ohio, I've always lived in Florida. She was a devoted Episcopalian, I'm a not-every-Sunday-goer Baptist church member. She majored in English Literature, I in Psychology. She traveled extensively and was a member of a knitting guild, I don't have a passport and couldn't knit a hat for a newborn if the newborn's life depended on it. (I would wad up the yarn and place it gently on the newborn's head, of course, to keep it warm enough.)<br />
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Hers was an obituary that made me happy to read, especially when I got to the end.<br />
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<i>"Isn't that just so Helen,"</i> I thought immediately. Keep in mind, I never met this woman or her family, but simply by reading about her long life (they didn't put in her date of birth, but she was married for 63 years, so I know she had to be old enough) I felt sure that she would have loved for random acts of kindness to be done in her memory. <br />
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So, here I am, trying to figure out which stranger and how to act kindly to them. I wish I could give someone a lot of money, but we didn't budget for Helen's life-changing obituary when we were planning where our funds would go this month. I thought about complimenting a girl at the gym today. She ran on a noticeable incline at 7 mph on the treadmill, and then got on the elliptical for a while, and I was really impressed by her double cardio. But I didn't know if telling her, "Wow! I noticed you did cardio twice!" would come out as a compliment. I thought about baking cookies for my favorite supermarket employees, but they're not really strangers; I see most of them 3 or 4 times a week. I also thought about letting some other drivers have my right of way, but I really hate it when other people do that. (It isn't a favor for you to wave me and 3 other drivers ahead at a 4-way stop sign. Just put your hand back on the steering wheel and take your turn.) I'll come up with something, though, rest assured. Or, I should say, rest in peace. <br />
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Goodbye, Helen. Your soldiers will keep up the good fight.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710701805683512821noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3117988114815121161.post-48623136335255663622014-05-28T18:36:00.001-07:002014-05-28T18:36:30.514-07:00Holiday OverhaulWhile you may know that I'm a big fan of <a href="http://knowitallmrs.blogspot.com/2014/05/the-bliss-of-being-selfish.html">holidays</a> and <a href="http://knowitallmrs.blogspot.com/2013/07/party-time-excellent.html">celebrating</a>, you may not know that certain holidays annoy me. Or maybe I'm a grouch, too easily annoyed. The thing is, I just don't like doing the same things everyone is supposed to do on specific days because some people decided a long time ago that we should all choose a day to do those things. That last sentence is one of those that only makes sense in my head, isn't it? What I mean is, I kinda hate conforming. I don't like making resolutions on January 1st. I don't like sharing the things for which I'm thankful on the last Thursday in November. I don't like remembering fallen service members only on a Monday in May and November. And I <i>really</i> don't like declaring my love for Charming on February 14th. I've got a plan, though, to fix everything. Okay, maybe not <i>every</i>thing, but at least I can fix the "banks are closed, let's have a Bar-B-Q, drink, and send generic text messages to everyone in our phones all day" problem.<br />
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<u style="font-weight: bold;">NEW YEAR'S DAY</u> should be <u style="font-weight: bold;">NEW DAY</u>. The first day of a new year is no more monumental than waking up to a new day. Yeah, I get the whole thing about fresh calendar pages and having a starting point for your resolutions, but really, all that is just fluff. If you really, truly want to change something in your life, you should do it right now. Wednesday. Saturday afternoon. This very minute. If you're always waiting for the right time to start exercising, stop eating junk food, quit smoking, keep in touch with friends, study your devotional, or get organized, you're really just doing one thing: procrastinating. If you must, mark the day with stickers on your calendar, noisemakers, and fanfare. The important thing is to realize that there's nothing about January 1st that makes you more resolute. Resolve now, and do it now.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I saw this on Facebook, it's supposed to start June 1. I will not wait until then. You shouldn't either.</td></tr>
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<u style="font-weight: bold;">VALENTINE'S DAY</u> should be <u style="font-weight: bold;">ABOLISHED</u>. Let's be serious. I cannot think of a single February 14th in the life of anyone I know that was actually important to their relationship. <span style="font-size: x-small;">(Although, there was that one time I opened a gift from a boyfriend on Valentine's Day and found a diamond ring. When my first words were, "This isn't an engagement ring, is it?" he replied, "Well, it isn't now!" I guess that <i>could</i> have been an important day. But really, my response would have been the same any day of the year.)</span> If you love someone, they should know it. If they don't love you back, paying for something "romantic" on a specific day of the year isn't going to change their heart. Flowers die. Chocolates get eaten. Teddy bears are useless. What's the worse that will happen? Kids'll learn to cut heart shapes out of construction paper a bit later in life? Couples will show their love for each other with gestures or gifts that are thoughtful, and on their own timeline? We'll say goodbye to the glorious tradition of sending our kids to school with a shoe box with a slit cut in the top for all the cheaply made, generic message cards paid for by the parents and the ungodly amount of red-dyed candy? I'm okay with that. Plus, I'm sure we can find other uses for all the glitter and paper doilies we'll be saving.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I glitterally just gagged.</td></tr>
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<u style="font-weight: bold;">APRIL FOOL'S DAY</u> should be <u style="font-weight: bold;">APRIL FOOL'S MONTH</u>. A day just isn't enough. The jokes are expected, now, and that takes the fun out of it. I'm not the biggest fan of pranks, but that's only because so many people make them dangerous or mean. I love a good, clean, "gotcha!"<br />
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<u style="font-weight: bold;">MEMORIAL DAY</u> should be <b><u>THANKS & GIVING DAY</u></b>. For hundreds of years, men and women have sacrificed their lives for American liberty, to give us rich opportunities, a sense of justice, and the beautiful land on which we've built our lives. Instead of celebrating our freedom with free time, parties, drinks, parades, and sand castles, I vote that we thank and give back to the families of our military service members. On Memorial Day, I do see a lot of Facebook status updates showing appreciation to those who have served, but I wish the people who have sacrificed so much for us would receive a more tangible giving of thanks. Imagine how wonderful it would be if we gave the money we spent on red, white, and blue decorations, food, parades, and party favors to the widows, widowers, and children of those who have lost their lives in military service! If nothing else, we should all spend the day solemnly contemplating the cost of our freedom. <br />
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I didn't have a picture lined up for this section, but my search for thanksgiving + american flag images turned up some results that were...interesting. <br />
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<u style="font-weight: bold;">INDEPENDENCE DAY</u> should be <b><u>INDEPENDENCE DAY</u></b>, except with more of a concentration on history. As adults, we aren't usually required to remember dates and facts and important people from hundreds of years ago, but that doesn't mean the events and people are less historically significant. We should remember, not for a U.S. History test or grade, but because the things that happened all those years ago made our country, and essentially, us, what and who we are. Take some time next 4th of July to appreciate the fact that our temperatures come in Farenheit, and we aren't required to worship a Royal family or forced to drink tea, use the metric system, or call fries "chips." <br />
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<u style="font-weight: bold;">LABOR DAY</u> should be <u style="font-weight: bold;">NAP DAY</u>. Is there anything else anyone wants to do to celebrate? We should also use the sense of community developed in the working class on this holiday to petition as a group for siestas every afternoon. We'll have to call our nap sessions something else, though, like Tea Time or Smart Zees.<br />
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<u style="font-weight: bold;">COLUMBUS DAY</u> should be <u style="font-weight: bold;">FLORIDA DAY</u>. Florida is awesome, and totally under appreciated. Plus, we're probably just a few sinkholes away from being East Hawaii, all broken up into small islands, so there might not be much time for the rest of the country to show us how much they love our warm climate, wet air, giant cartoon mice, and oranges. By the by, I do realize that Columbus didn't land in Florida. The people that did, though, none of them have a Day. I'm sticking with my decision.<br />
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<u style="font-weight: bold;">VETERAN'S DAY</u> should be <u style="font-weight: bold;">JUST FOR VETERANS & THEIR FAMILIES</u>. The rest of us really need another holiday? No. Veterans and their families should be the only people off from work, buying things on sale, and partying. <br />
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<u style="font-weight: bold;">THANKSGIVING DAY</u> should be <u style="font-weight: bold;">EVERY.SINGLE.DAY.</u> Seriously. One day is not even close to enough time to count our blessings. If you're reading this, which I know you are, you should be grateful for your computer, tablet, smartphone, or good friend who has one of those things. You should be grateful that you know how to read. You can be thankful that I give such excellent advice. You can appreciate the fact that you're alive now, when there is electricity and internet and microbrewed beer and blogs on every subject and that you aren't currently at the bottom of a sinkhole. <br />
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<u style="font-weight: bold;">BLACK FRIDAY</u> should be <u style="font-weight: bold;">MELANCHOLY MONDAY</u> and should be switched to the day after the Super Bowl. The Black Friday sale papers are lies, the lines for shopping are sickening, and within 5 years, Amazon's drones will be delivering everything, anyway. Football fans, however, need a day to recover from their sadness that the season is really over and to get rid of the vast amounts of wings and chips they consumed during the big game.<br />
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All the December holidays can stay as they are, at least for now. People do need to stop complaining about Christmas becoming too commercialized, though. I'm quite certain there isn't anyone alive that truly remembers celebrating an un-commercialized Christmas. If folks don't want the true meaning of Christmas spoiled by materialism, they need to stop buying anything but absolute necessities starting in July. Yes, July. Have you not been to Walmart?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCovV_yefkDyvkJZHSVmnaSxjRcboyEhNX2z6cyaaG361phkwHeEC8dGKOgT3sDqyUcsavbYyITZYkkCsqkP9deotzU3yZWttMWGVkblcxm8uIzOKG3wexMhNvguJpGqT-pH6GNtPNqy8/s1600/christmas-light-overkill.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCovV_yefkDyvkJZHSVmnaSxjRcboyEhNX2z6cyaaG361phkwHeEC8dGKOgT3sDqyUcsavbYyITZYkkCsqkP9deotzU3yZWttMWGVkblcxm8uIzOKG3wexMhNvguJpGqT-pH6GNtPNqy8/s1600/christmas-light-overkill.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ouch.</td></tr>
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<br />
Let's change our calendars, shall we?<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><i>Favorite holiday?</i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
<b><i><br /></i></b>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710701805683512821noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3117988114815121161.post-44776527708844829032014-05-24T19:07:00.001-07:002014-05-24T19:12:49.452-07:00Glad I Wore the Good UnderpantsRemember when I wrote a lot (lot) about running and training and races? That was cool. For me, it was cool, anyway. So, here's a quick (yeah, right) update on how the running and training and races are looking in my world. (<span style="font-size: xx-small;">You can stop reading now, Sha.</span>) <br />
<br />
I have finally gotten back to running consistently. The problem is, I'm consistently running 4-7 miles per week. Back in the day (pre-injury last Summer, post-injury last Fall) I was easily getting in 15-20 miles per week. Remember my <a href="http://knowitallmrs.blogspot.com/2014/04/pointless-points.html">mysterious calf pain</a>? Well, it has pretty much been explained. I'm still planning to seek a second opinion, this time from a real doctor who specializes in sports or vascular medicine, but here's the gist of what's going on: My legs blow. I had (have?) a few superficial thromboses, which are basically blood clots in the smaller veins near the surface of my skin. I also have (definitely have, not going anywhere) insufficient circulation in the right common femoral vein.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN8eS_Nt3nctut6nTX9n-yfmi7XsDb3bVdg6B6_Rv0dsif2JO95XGbTnodcsYAo1fVvFOFD1RCGx672VVJRFELgNKrkAa8BY1mRb6i_bd3G_1eiT85hyKoTMZNqhvAi4KmjwUgKy1ay3A/s1600/venous+anatomy.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN8eS_Nt3nctut6nTX9n-yfmi7XsDb3bVdg6B6_Rv0dsif2JO95XGbTnodcsYAo1fVvFOFD1RCGx672VVJRFELgNKrkAa8BY1mRb6i_bd3G_1eiT85hyKoTMZNqhvAi4KmjwUgKy1ay3A/s1600/venous+anatomy.gif" height="320" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See it all the way up there? The lady performing the venous ultrasound had to use the wand thingy and do lots of squeezes in that area to check my circulation. Now you know why I'm glad I wore the good underpants.</td></tr>
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I know what you're all thinking. "Poor thing! What did she ever do to deserve this? It isn't <i>fair</i>!" Thank you for your sympathy. We'll get back to that in a moment. First, let me tell you the good and the bad news. The good news is that I don't have the dangerous deep vein thrombosis, and the back-up in blood flow (reflux, they call it) was only seen in that one spot. The bad news is that, at least according to my PCRNPWHHADCHATTISH (primary care registered nurse practitioner who has had a different color hair all three times I've seen her- we'll call her CHATTISH for short) this is not a condition that will improve. Ever. The tiny blood clots they found were in the spot on my calf where I was having so much pain, which also happens to be where I have icky, bulging varicose veins. CHATTISH said that the clots will break up and go away if I use my hot compress and elevate my leg regularly, but it's also very likely that more will show up as I-you guessed it!-run. The longer and oftener I run, the greater the occurrences of the clots will be. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC-oRgOQF3oUGidT1FiPGOKADr1DRaYieCepyt3IDw8EiRiMEL5kh_Hs2_5NPxrZCccTHJbyONsOy_6bqOQXEpQrT3etDtlCmzgG59YJ1QAtMt1bcT9uIMfK9-kmUKjgdY2Ue2sUiIc6w/s1600/20140524_203328.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC-oRgOQF3oUGidT1FiPGOKADr1DRaYieCepyt3IDw8EiRiMEL5kh_Hs2_5NPxrZCccTHJbyONsOy_6bqOQXEpQrT3etDtlCmzgG59YJ1QAtMt1bcT9uIMfK9-kmUKjgdY2Ue2sUiIc6w/s1600/20140524_203328.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bonus! If you look closely, you can tell which toenail on my right foot is about to fall off. I <3 Running.</td></tr>
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The more years that I run, the worse my veins and circulation are going to be. Booooooo! Now, back to your kind sympathies. The thing is, I should've known this would happen. The following groups of people have an increased risk of developing blood clots:<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>1. Smokers.</b> </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I smoked for 10 years. (Quit almost 5 years ago!)</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>2. Women who have taken the pill.</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Check.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>3. People who are on their feet for long periods of time.</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Like, say, working in restaurants and bars for 16 years.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
CHATTISH said that she would not tell me to stop running. She said that if I can handle the pain, fine. She suggested I wear compression socks, but I need to get a pair with slightly less compression than those I currently own. Not sure why, exactly, but the last time I wore them it felt like wasps were stinging my big toes; hurt so badly that I couldn't stand it. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Now, on to the training and races! (That exclamation point was a lie. This part's pretty depressing, too.)</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I'm not training for anything right now. If I were, I would be doing a terrible job of it by only running single-digit miles each week. <i>If </i>I decide to keep the marathon distance as my goal, and <i>if</i> the pain doesn't get any worse, and <i>if</i> I am able to keep from getting any other injuries, I will start training in early July for the <a href="http://runrocknroll.competitor.com/savannah">Savannah Rock 'n' Roll</a> full marathon on November 8. It's the only race for which I'm actually registered (Thank you, Charming!) which is a pretty good feeling right now. I started reading the second book by the <a class="g-profile" href="https://plus.google.com/103692068352111725691" target="_blank">+another mother runner</a> duo, Dimity McDowell and Sarah Bowen Shea, <i>"Train Like a Mother." </i>It's practically impossible not to enjoy their writing. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtc7GcCTwG1zQgv_tR3bW8UDYGTfAuCS2H5zltxEkC6t46t2orsBfA11h9yAm-MKhweXMq_g1k7fHPDn6UIPxghXkjW1pvyEgIXvWxSbxBfk6WokSLmIHxAzFGlSKtA8slya1hdGg-Tq8/s1600/train+like+a+mother.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtc7GcCTwG1zQgv_tR3bW8UDYGTfAuCS2H5zltxEkC6t46t2orsBfA11h9yAm-MKhweXMq_g1k7fHPDn6UIPxghXkjW1pvyEgIXvWxSbxBfk6WokSLmIHxAzFGlSKtA8slya1hdGg-Tq8/s1600/train+like+a+mother.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://astore.amazon.com/anotmothrunn-20/detail/1449409865">Buy it!</a></td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
Their stories are so easy to relate to, funny, and inspiring, and I really like the book. I'll admit, though, that I went into it expecting to be motivated to sign up for more races before finishing the first chapter. Well, you know what they say about expectations. Wait. What <i>do</i> they say about expectations? "Whatever you expect-------" I don't remember. Something, right? Someone gimme a good quote. I digress (as usual). I've figured out that people don't always get their motivation from inspirational books. Some people are motivated by strangers, and wanting to accomplish what so-and-so accomplished. I know people who are motivated to register for races by the quality of the medals, shirts, goody bag. Others, surely, are motivated by some inner drive to succeed. Unfortunately, from where I sit (with my bulging veins and expanding waistline), all those things which used to be enough to motivate me to register and train for a race seem just to elicit sighs. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I do have a plan, though. <a class="g-profile" href="https://plus.google.com/112416939415625171763" target="_blank">+Runner's World Magazine</a> tweeted the other day about their 40 day challenge. Apparently, there are 40 days between Memorial Day and Independence Day (What, do these people all have calendars or something?) and the challenge is to run at least 1 mile on each of those days. I'm not going to sign up for the challenge. It was the timing and duration of the thing which inspired my plan. Since I would need to start training for my <a href="http://knowitallmrs.blogspot.com/2014/03/what-else-is-new.html">third first marathon</a> just after July 4th, and since Memorial Day occurs soon enough for me to keep it in focus, and since my last 40 day challenge (during which I abstained from Facebook) was so successful, it seems like a great time to evaluate. I'm going to up my mileage and my cross training workouts, I'm going to eat more healthfully (Again. Still? Sometimes it's hard to tell.) and I'm going to make a decision about my near training/racing future. If you want my advice, you'll also do some evaluating and decision making if you're in a sigh cycle like me. Let me know how it goes!</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b><i>For fun: what % of your underpants are "good"?</i></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b><i>For the win: which toenail is hanging on by a thread?</i></b></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710701805683512821noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3117988114815121161.post-64911983157700866792014-05-20T07:18:00.001-07:002014-05-20T07:18:29.282-07:00The Bliss of Being SelfishI love the word 'selfish'- don't you? For one thing, words with the -ish suffix are usually cool with me. Plus, if you're really <a href="http://knowitallmrs.blogspot.com/2014/04/war-huunh-what-is-it-good-for.html">angry</a>, like, spitting mad, and yell at someone for being selfish, it often comes out as 'shellfish' instead. That's always funny. Also, when you say it over and over in your head, the 'fish' part of the word stands out. Then you can imagine yourself as a beautiful, colorful, terribly vain and self-centered fish. The self fish. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO_dE3yQmr7nQU8TIgMZJTYLr2zbmg4CISCuaLQejpmUK2KX8qMiA7GgxfWCiMMQ4HFi87vOLQvC38AspEGqmWLYaW1yjQuDgG9ntX-n-5-qSOBzs53IDyEO1EWLp-dCrRgbs6x8m7u4Q/s1600/self+fish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO_dE3yQmr7nQU8TIgMZJTYLr2zbmg4CISCuaLQejpmUK2KX8qMiA7GgxfWCiMMQ4HFi87vOLQvC38AspEGqmWLYaW1yjQuDgG9ntX-n-5-qSOBzs53IDyEO1EWLp-dCrRgbs6x8m7u4Q/s1600/self+fish.jpg" height="271" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Turns out, there was already a name for the self fish. Betta fish are very keen on themselves. Thank you, Google!</td></tr>
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There. Now that we've had a proper digression, you know you're on the right blog. <br />
<br />
Everyone in my fishbowl world just celebrated Mother's Day; my third-no, fourth-fifth!-favorite holiday. (It's cool that we live in a country where we celebrate so much that people can have fifth favorite holidays, huh?) I was the substitute teacher for a 3rd grade class the Friday before Mother's Day, which meant that I was to help the kids work on gifts for their moms. They were tasked with writing a few sentences from the prompt: "My Mom is my hero because..." Walking around the classroom and trying to keep all the students engaged, I noticed some trends. Moms are nice. Moms take care of their kids. Moms are helpful. I started asking the kids to think a little deeper. "<i>Does your mom have another job beside being your mom?" </i>"Yeah, she's a probation officer. She has a gun that she never lets me see." <i>"So, your mom must be pretty tough and brave, then." </i>"Yeaaaahhh...Yeah. Yeah! She <i>is</i> tough!" "<i>How about your mom? What is she good at?" </i>"Um. Cooking. And, um.............She's not good at cartwheels." "<i>Ok. Moving on. I see you wrote that your mom plays with you. What do you guys play together?" </i>"Well, she helps me practice baseball. But really, it's just me practicing and her playing. She's not even on a baseball team, and I am." "<i>Does your mom work while you're at school?" </i>"Oh. Um. Yeah. She's a nurse." "My mom is a doctor!" "My mom throws the best birthday parties!" "My mom is bad at cartwheels, too!" "My mom gave birth to me!" "My mom potty trained me!" <br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaNPxeZqCdlG_a9Q5Ni_W9YmQmcvifYLz66XgNwV4eBZf8e8_-jdS4eKNcHuS-ChkrbzpHLHdwDymIo1k8mNbhvt4wUYEdaD1AKBUO50ilo1HrqjnQ5S_ypLmJsqRQQJeE5fD9exdII2o/s1600/potty+train.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaNPxeZqCdlG_a9Q5Ni_W9YmQmcvifYLz66XgNwV4eBZf8e8_-jdS4eKNcHuS-ChkrbzpHLHdwDymIo1k8mNbhvt4wUYEdaD1AKBUO50ilo1HrqjnQ5S_ypLmJsqRQQJeE5fD9exdII2o/s1600/potty+train.jpg" height="320" width="314" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Available on <a href="http://www.amazon.com/">Amazon</a>. Yes, for real.</td></tr>
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<br />
The thing is, it was pretty difficult for the kids to think of anything unique or special about their moms. Later, I asked Rip Claw how he would have answered some questions about me. <i>"Can you think of anything about me that is different from other moms?" </i>Long think break. "No." Sigh. <i>"Do you know what I like to do?" </i>"Um.......no. Wait! Yes. You like to use the computer." Siiiiiggggghhhhh. <i>"What about running? Have you ever seen me run? Read books? Play with you and Cupcake? Go to the park? Do I ever make you laugh? How about our conversations? Our bike rides? I like to play games. I like to go to the beach. I like to do crafts." </i>He seemed surprised, but more than that, he seemed totally disinterested. I'm pretty sure I was about 10 years old before I ever noticed that my mom did anything other than take care of me and my siblings, so I guess I shouldn't be too upset with my 7-year-old for still thinking of himself before me. <br />
<br />
Which led me to thinking of this post. (We always come back around to the point eventually.)<br />
<br />
The fact of the matter is simple: <b>Mom is a title, not a description</b>. Women who have children were women way before the children came along. Obviously, kids are going to take a while to get to the realization that their moms are actually people with thoughts and needs and wants. Rip Claw seems genuinely shocked when I say things like, "<i>I was so bored</i>." or "<i>I'm so excited about going to this concert</i>. (Most) moms are, in a word, selfless. That's what their children see, and that's about all they see. Their moms give of themselves pretty much every minute that the kids are awake. Even for a kid as thoughtful and sweet as my son, it's difficult to see past that selflessness and realize that there is sacrifice taking place. <br />
<br />
I'm friends with some very smart women. We have college degrees, insight, experience, and wit. We're driven, successful, happy, and, yes, selfless. Well, most of the time, anyway. We've learned that we are all better when we take some time to be selfish. By 'better' I mean in every way. We're better moms, better wives, better at our jobs, better at being happy. We even look better! Almost 5 years ago, we started talking about planning a weekend away, just us girls. After 10 or so months of emails, travel site visiting, and conversations with our husbands preparing them for what was going to happen, the Girls' Weekend tradition was born. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqfVPtawbJrxHCM8ltSqZOfy_rmfJyEEepu9EA34RrhxMplSdbM8Jl0wXCwCpJY8X__0kzVX5tTa_reYsONvwY_W04KH9lJdty0Emd3vJXBNTulhbeg0PUZaryxIKEwpuEEjXAYUD4jW8/s1600/20140511_133215.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqfVPtawbJrxHCM8ltSqZOfy_rmfJyEEepu9EA34RrhxMplSdbM8Jl0wXCwCpJY8X__0kzVX5tTa_reYsONvwY_W04KH9lJdty0Emd3vJXBNTulhbeg0PUZaryxIKEwpuEEjXAYUD4jW8/s1600/20140511_133215.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm pretty sure moms invented the "selfie" in order to get out from behind the camera once in a while. </td></tr>
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<br />
Our destination qualifications are pretty simple. We want a pool. We want a quiet room with a full kitchen. We don't want to have to drive very far. We want flat surfaces on which to lie down whenever we feel so inclined (or should I say, <i>re</i>clined). Last year, we found a <a href="http://www.hammockbeach.com/">pretty perfect spot</a>, about an hour's drive away, but the weather was horrible. Totally hurricaneish. We had to stay in the room watching movies, catching up on our magazine reading, and napping for many hours. This year, we decided to go back to the same place, and were blessed with postcard-perfect weather the entire time.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJvbZrIzvqpkZv9yzxNBCKAPfawE3XSl8O6BWEmbXHSGB6g26k8kr_sG6ulDcOMIBY2zmY0cQwbRZJt3nVFYXgE3W-M3EjGnG0fgswu9Aa7odKrMpzZ1Rpad5xZBZvXMV-l6eZudX8oqw/s1600/20140516_155158.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJvbZrIzvqpkZv9yzxNBCKAPfawE3XSl8O6BWEmbXHSGB6g26k8kr_sG6ulDcOMIBY2zmY0cQwbRZJt3nVFYXgE3W-M3EjGnG0fgswu9Aa7odKrMpzZ1Rpad5xZBZvXMV-l6eZudX8oqw/s1600/20140516_155158.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
We shopped for groceries beforehand, and we each brought a typical mom amount (1-3 grocery bags full) of snacks to share. I ate every meal on our 10th floor balcony, looking out at this view. We spent hours in the sunshine, switching between the private beach, one of many pools on the property, and the lazy river. We went for quiet runs in the mornings after not setting an alarm or having a child crawl into bed to wake us. Well, some of us did.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQb8Si1B-xS-46_FF5tcDdpqGQaoFKn0gKsqmCHwM67wu2IYS5rCB98uDFjRo7FPTpCzJySVisUxcXiBRkHR1itETZpjaUeyq7Rp0s1Q0Pfod7-k1srHtbQBXDdnJGzIEGvwr_n1XzO9o/s1600/Jennboot2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQb8Si1B-xS-46_FF5tcDdpqGQaoFKn0gKsqmCHwM67wu2IYS5rCB98uDFjRo7FPTpCzJySVisUxcXiBRkHR1itETZpjaUeyq7Rp0s1Q0Pfod7-k1srHtbQBXDdnJGzIEGvwr_n1XzO9o/s1600/Jennboot2.jpg" height="200" width="146" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://runningmovesme.blogspot.com/">One of our number</a> was forced to spend her time on crutches or a wheeled knee cart. Great conversation starter, at least!</td></tr>
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We missed our kids. We missed our husbands. It's always hard, being away from our families, even though it's only for a few days. Rip Claw was very upset before I left. When he asked me why I would even want to go somewhere without them, though, I had what I think is a pretty good answer. <i>"Well, son, the job of a parent is never, never done. You know how I'm here all the time? I get your breakfast, pack your lunch, make your dinner, help you with your homework, wash your clothes, and give you back tickles. I wake up if you or Cupcake cries in the middle of the night. I bring you to football practice and teach you new things and play with you and make sure you're behaving and growing up well. I notice if your neck is dirty or your socks are stinky. I find your shoes. And you know what else? Even when you're not around, or the house is clean or the laundry is done and I'm just sitting on the computer, I am ALWAYS worrying about, thinking of, and planning to make sure you and your sister are safe and happy. I don't get weekends off from being your mom. I don't even get hours off. You know how much I love you, and I am so happy that I get to be your mom, but that doesn't mean I don't need a break sometimes. It's like when you try to figure out a difficult problem. Sometimes, if you give your brain a break from thinking about it, even just for a few minutes, you come back refreshed and with a new view, and that helps." </i>Okay, so that probably isn't the exact, word-for-word transcription of what I said, but it's pretty close. He seemed to get it. I was worried that he would still think that I wanted a break from <i>him,</i> but he didn't ask again about my reasons for wanting to go. I told him that we would be having fun, relaxing, and having lots of naps, which he seemed okay with. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvltP0Ok1od-CGoYDXzEWNYy6CD8AHk7nNBT1AW6UkrOihuF8PoAsUNc6EBSy_KJJq5WATZPuruK3tgaHssIevrEsky_XmQ7JFYOAQeozlDNd6o5cmHsMxULyFd0rDSDu-bClLkWm2D0Y/s1600/20140516_205753.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvltP0Ok1od-CGoYDXzEWNYy6CD8AHk7nNBT1AW6UkrOihuF8PoAsUNc6EBSy_KJJq5WATZPuruK3tgaHssIevrEsky_XmQ7JFYOAQeozlDNd6o5cmHsMxULyFd0rDSDu-bClLkWm2D0Y/s1600/20140516_205753.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I spent about 20 minutes staring at the darkened elevator shaft, watching the bright cars zoom up and down, only to be bathed in darkness again as soon as the passengers stepped out. It was oddly beautiful.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSxyJi65sEI637ySxzPn1GsVWReayIpTj9BIpej_ArXj5DfZQ3kohoyEmJ6xnGlzLIiNApaxQjEFEFwvqUFH4JdG8Dbq2YC8EwG2LYfpgcuWlngw0mfs85qLs2XMj0iOJvxQOJR7bO-N0/s1600/20140518_085228.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSxyJi65sEI637ySxzPn1GsVWReayIpTj9BIpej_ArXj5DfZQ3kohoyEmJ6xnGlzLIiNApaxQjEFEFwvqUFH4JdG8Dbq2YC8EwG2LYfpgcuWlngw0mfs85qLs2XMj0iOJvxQOJR7bO-N0/s1600/20140518_085228.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Less odd, more beautiful. Midway through my beach run, I sat on a chunk of coquina like this and had myself a long Think and Stare at Water break. Utterly blissful.</td></tr>
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Every time I would settle in on a sunny lounge chair and take a deep breath of the fresh, salty air, I got a little choked up. I felt such overwhelming appreciation and love for Charming, for our kids, for our lives, for the fact that despite all my imperfections and shortfalls, I have a husband who loves me and takes care of things so that I can lay in the sun and relax without worries for a few days. It was absolutely marvelous.<br />
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I hope it's obvious that I would love and appreciate my Charming and my children even if I didn't get away from them for 52 hours a year; of course I would. But I also think it's obvious that selflessness needs to take a holiday sometimes, and the colorful, unique, fun, exhausted person inside the Mom needs to be let loose to stare at elevators, dance, sit on rocks, try whiskey, keep the balcony doors open without concern about losing a toddler, finish a book, zoom down a water slide, paint her toenails, put on lipstick, sleep late, talk about <a href="http://athleta.gap.com/?">Athleta's clothes</a> for hours, laugh until we cry, and take a post-dinner nap.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-7mMhh6ZLWBfXxNPmqTyJ8V_O52vMrNi76KR6YY9620c3jkvnJaPxnbEv2RzF1JEPngTWbjNKVe5oShtsc9Jb0ZOUuh9h2x3626dlVk9st1nmgRq8PfKGDoWrAgyYF3kQLnif48WoHLo/s1600/girls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-7mMhh6ZLWBfXxNPmqTyJ8V_O52vMrNi76KR6YY9620c3jkvnJaPxnbEv2RzF1JEPngTWbjNKVe5oShtsc9Jb0ZOUuh9h2x3626dlVk9st1nmgRq8PfKGDoWrAgyYF3kQLnif48WoHLo/s1600/girls.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If you don't believe me about the benefits of temporary selfishness, ask any one of these brilliant ladies.</td></tr>
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<b><i>What is your favorite way to spend your "me" time?</i></b><br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710701805683512821noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3117988114815121161.post-87363939131192277242014-04-29T18:43:00.001-07:002014-04-29T18:43:12.863-07:00Pointless Points If you've been hanging around here for a while, or if you know me at all, you surely know that I'm an expert procrastinator, I don't freak out when my house looks less-than-perfect, and I love running. So, here I sit, procrastinating housework while writing about running (and etc.)<br />
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<ul>
<li>Running has seemed more like a chore than usual, lately. I have some ideas why this is the case.</li>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
1. My dear sister/MIKR (most inspiring known runner) broke her foot. It's not that I'm <i>trying</i> not to love running while she is unable to do anything involving foot use, but my heart hurts for her. It's kinda like on every sitcom, ever, when the woman is in labor and the man who loves her has sympathy pains and ends up screaming along with her. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOuGn9fQewcEZPRBn1VN6GyYNU65V2qGf0xJYugcgevUIOQmBQgoaPIOGPtwI_mP48nCcUfbz6iLU96w9rVSKdsHP0rVvH8sz9xQpS3yEAdycs2CZYtWVxmh-3brbvG7IFbLJByVrJFec/s1600/IMG_0672.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOuGn9fQewcEZPRBn1VN6GyYNU65V2qGf0xJYugcgevUIOQmBQgoaPIOGPtwI_mP48nCcUfbz6iLU96w9rVSKdsHP0rVvH8sz9xQpS3yEAdycs2CZYtWVxmh-3brbvG7IFbLJByVrJFec/s1600/IMG_0672.jpg" height="320" width="229" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">24 hours post-break. People who run 50+ miles per week get their toes cropped out of pictures. You're welcome.</td></tr>
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2. I have some non-sympathy pain of my own. My *expletive* right *expletive* calf hurts something fierce--but only sometimes. Usually, it's really bad when I start running, bearable after a mile or so, and eventually forgettable. Sometimes, though, it hurts just to walk, or just to be a leg. New "doctor" (she's actually an RNP but I don't like using that as a title) ordered an x-ray- inconclusive, a venous ultrasound- more on that in a moment, and an MRI- to be performed tomorrow. My left ankle also hurts a lot, ever since I *expletive* fell backwards over the *expletive* concrete step on our *expletive* carport and knocked it. I feel like such an old woman. The Fall was almost 2 weeks ago, I don't have a bruise, yet every time I touch or move my left ankle, it hurts. If you couldn't tell, pain makes me *expletive* angry.</div>
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3. It's hot. I'm not complaining. I would much rather deal with the sweltering heat for 9-10 months a year than snow and ice for any months, but it does make running outdoors much sweatier, stinkier, and slower.</div>
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<li>I've been doing many more non-running workouts than ever before. Just look at all my figures!</li>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ-HJ1iAdsQKk5Jdn7Sz1ZzSt7CdBW9pKKXJG0rs7a4g4jXaBi21iYa1OamKjQswFiLHcfo1bJXDfyws6TCpUWBwSgrExn-N5DPg7owwJsKcorpj1WTYHLPUgnmCukZFWZAEwAiAIArF0/s1600/april+calendar.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ-HJ1iAdsQKk5Jdn7Sz1ZzSt7CdBW9pKKXJG0rs7a4g4jXaBi21iYa1OamKjQswFiLHcfo1bJXDfyws6TCpUWBwSgrExn-N5DPg7owwJsKcorpj1WTYHLPUgnmCukZFWZAEwAiAIArF0/s1600/april+calendar.PNG" height="236" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cycling, yoga, dancing (that's what I call the Classical Stretch workouts I do), swimming, weights, & walking.</td></tr>
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Swimming is fun, but I'm still terrible, and terribly slow, at it. Cycling is also fun, but I find myself unable to push myself. I'm always riding at an easy pace, which gets boring after not very long. I love yoga, and I love working out with weights, and I love the 1/2 hour stretching workouts that I DVR. I've also been keeping up with a 30-day planking challenge, using the Plank-A-Lot app. I'm up to 90 seconds!</div>
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<ul>
<li>Every once in a while, I come up with something that I feel is quote-worthy. Okay, so every once in a while, in this case, means twice. Ever. Here are the quotes that I wish others would use and attribute to me:</li>
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<i>"The truth is the truth regardless of who believes it."</i></div>
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- Know-it-all-Miss, 1995</div>
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<i>"It's not that I'm bad at keeping my house tidy, it's that I love the challenge of a well-designed obstacle course."</i></div>
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-Know-it-all-Mrs, 2014</div>
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<li>Did you know you can make a heating pad that works just as well as a store-bought electric one? This is money-saving advice! Unless you already own a heating pad, then you can skip to the next bullet. </li>
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Step 1- Dampen a cloth (I use a hand towel) and fold it so that it fits inside a quart-sized ziploc bag.</div>
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Step 2- Keep the bag open and microwave for 1-1 1/2 minutes on high power.</div>
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Step 3- Remove the bag from the microwave with tongs, zip it closed, and wrap it in a dry hand towel. </div>
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I wouldn't have expected a zipper plastic bag to retain heat so well, but it does. It'll stay hot for at least an hour, or until you open the bag.</div>
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The instructions I read, though, say that you shouldn't use it for more than 20 minutes at a time because of the possibility of burning yourself. Yeah, it's that hot! And now that I've added that disclaimer, you can't sue me if you burn yourself on your homemade hot compress.</div>
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<ul>
<li>Why is she using a homemade heating pad? you may be wondering. Well, it just so happens that there is more evidence of my old-lady-hood in my legs. Remember the venous ultrasound the "doctor" ordered? They say I have "varicose vein thrombosis" in my right leg. I was told by the nurse to use a warm compress and elevate my leg for 10 minutes every few hours, and to take an aspirin or other NSAID every day. The problem is that the Omniscient Google doesn't agree. OG seems to think that there is no such thing as varicose vein thrombosis. There is deep vein thrombosis, which is a pretty serious condition, and there is superficial thrombophlebitis, which is not at all serious and not supposed to be painful. But, it wouldn't be like me at all to argue with a health professional, so I'm going along with the recommended course of action. For now.</li>
<li>You know about that big scandal going on in the NBA right now, right? It strikes me as odd that the last names of the two main guys being talked about are Sterling & Silver. What do you think are the chances that I'm the only weirdo in America who has noticed that?</li>
<li>I'm back on Facebook after my 40 day break. I've learned that Facebook, for me, is like driving a vanful of my friends' kids around. I love my friends, and I do want to help them out by driving their kids, but they're just. so. loud. They talk about boring stuff, they're all talking over each other and trying to outdo one another with their stupid stunts, they're distracting and sometimes outright rude, and yet, I can't just ignore them. So now, I've backed off a bit on my carpool driver responsibilities. And I sure do appreciate the quiet when all the kids are finally dropped off (at the pool-heh heh heh).</li>
<li>Rip Claw's first season of Flag Football ended last Saturday. He is a talented, focused, and very driven player. I think Charming and I are going to miss watching his games just as much as he is going to miss playing every weekend. </li>
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I guess that's enough <strike>pointless drivel</strike> bullet points for now. </div>
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<b><i>Anybody want to place bets on whether or not my next MRI will reveal a stress fracture?</i></b></div>
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<b><i>You got the Sterling/Silver thing, right?</i></b></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710701805683512821noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3117988114815121161.post-27074513477305243662014-04-25T18:21:00.001-07:002014-04-25T18:21:39.481-07:00Sugar, Spice, and Everything NiceDo you ever wonder why nursery rhymes are practically eternal? I do. I ponder things like this a lot, actually. I'm almost always in the <strike>thinking box</strike> shower, and I'll start thinking about "<i>Baa, Baa, Black Sheep</i>" or whatever, and begin analyzing it like I'm going to have to write a report.<br />
<i>Who is saying 'baa baa'? Is it the sheep? Or is the sheep saying 'yes sir, yes sir'? Is the sheep's name BaaBaa? Maybe shepherds used to baa at their sheep to get them to give them wool. I always thought black sheep were bad. Maybe black sheep got a bad reputation because they never gave enough wool. Are there even black sheep? Well, there are albino humans, and albino rats, and albino dolphins, so maybe black sheep are like that. Or maybe black sheep are dirty. I wonder who wrote this rhyme. Probably nobody did. Probably someone said it to their daughter, and then she changed it a little to repeat to her kids, and it got changed over and over until someone wrote it down the way that </i>their <i>mom taught it to them, like the way my mom's Pat-a-cake version is different from the others, and then they got credit for it. Is there a lesson in every nursery rhyme? Like, even if you're dirty and rejected by your flock, you can still be a productive member of society? Who is this 'little boy who lives down the lane' anyway? Was the black sheep being charitable? </i><br />
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But that's not what this is about. This is about little girls, and society, and how disturbing it is that sex appeal is a marketing tool for selling things to children.<br />
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Oddly enough, it was an article in <i>Allure</i> magazine from October 2013 that made me-- you're not going to believe this-- <b>think. </b>It was the only magazine in the exam room when I went for a check-up at the doctor a few weeks ago. I usually wouldn't pick up a magazine like that, because all the beauty and celebrity worship is annoying, but you know how it is when you're waiting in a tiny, cold room without your Kindle. <br />
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The article was written by a mom, about dressing her 7 y.o. daughter for school. The mom had painstakingly selected the daughter's wardrobe for all 7 years of her life, until one day, the daughter asked to choose her own clothes. Dunh dunh dunh! The mom was sleepless with anxiety over what her kid might decide to wear to school, and had discussions with her child about the importance of a sense of style and blah blah blah blarf blarf. Spoiler alert! The kid had good taste in clothes, and all was well down in Allure Author Alley. I told Charming about the article that evening, and he readily shared my annoyance. My point was simple: I've gone my entire life without a sense of style, and I turned out just fine. I have never lost sleep over <i>clothes</i>! The thought of placing so much value in material things (har har) is just mind-blowing to me.<br />
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There is a 'but' to this story, though. The article's author talked a lot about how clothes for girls are so very much the same: Pink. Purple. Sparkly. Princess-y. It was important to her that her daughter find her own individuality, and not buy/wear just the things that every other little girl wears. She chose to demonstrate the importance of individuality by taking her daughter to a vintage jewelry store and letting her select a brooch within her $13 budget. I chose to lecture my 2 y.o. under my breath in Toys 'R' Us. "No princesses. You don't want to be a princess. Smart is better than pretty, anyway. Does this toy even teach you anything? No. It just sings about bows. You know, in real life, not all princesses are pretty and sweet." When it comes to clothing and toys designed for and marketed to girls, there are two adjectives that come immediately to mind: Pink. Alike. <br />
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You may have heard the stories about young girls recently protesting to big companies about gender stereotypes. There's the <a href="http://www.takepart.com/article/2014/04/22/teenager-mcdonalds-gender-stereotyping-happy-meal-toys">teenager who convinced McDonald's to stop offering "girl" or "boy" toys</a>, and the <a href="http://www.usatoday.com/story/news/nation-now/2014/02/04/lego-letter-girl-more-boys/5201353/">7 y.o. who wrote to Lego about how lame the girl toys are</a>. I'm no activist. I'm not even sure I know how to contact my Congressmanorwoman. I can't say I don't care about women's rights or gender equality, because I <i>do</i> care. I just never really considered doing anything about the problems until having a daughter of my own.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipLrErcEo2ap8JjbylfeB-09bL7xciMagLoaJG_FVp3QXnthqTWWzXtun05RDv1U1xGSC26LEFMQUX7pIiuCP79EkcoR7vId_a0yi281NNq0ayHLOrMRo67IJHWFImHBKGoOSVTMM3mQI/s1600/Ella+Rose+Pic0048.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipLrErcEo2ap8JjbylfeB-09bL7xciMagLoaJG_FVp3QXnthqTWWzXtun05RDv1U1xGSC26LEFMQUX7pIiuCP79EkcoR7vId_a0yi281NNq0ayHLOrMRo67IJHWFImHBKGoOSVTMM3mQI/s1600/Ella+Rose+Pic0048.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">When 2-yr-old Cupcake looks at pictures like this, of her 8-day-old self, she squeals and says, "Aw! Baby! Cute! Hugs!" and then tries desperately to hug the picture/computer screen/photo book.</td></tr>
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For a couple of years, Rip Claw's favorite color was pink. Not surprisingly, other kids eventually started questioning his choice. When he asked me whether it was okay for boys to like pink, I said, "Of course it is. Colors are colors. They aren't for just boys or girls." Eventually, pink moved down his list of favorites to second, then third, and now it's pretty far down the list, but I think it was a natural progression of changing preferences rather than peer pressure making him move green up and pink down. Cupcake loves babies, and bunnies, and butterflies, and Minnie Mouse. She also loves playing with Rip Claw's cars, putting stickers everywhere she can think of, throwing and catching any ball or object which looks like it may or may not be a ball, fweeping, fwimming, and fwinging (sweeping, swimming, and swinging). "Look, Mommy! Fwings! I'll try it!" She is particular about her clothes, and has been since before she turned one. She likes when I fix her hair "pretty" so she 1. doesn't have her bangs in her eyes, 2. can "Show Daddy see mirror?" and 3. might get to see the "Picture? See girl picture?" She loves to sing, but her favorite song is not about bows, it's "Happy Birthday" with "Driving my Car" (her version pictured below) coming in a close second.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9F0oM-Ut8HmDaDRyXVogkli6HVrJFcIAE34jpV9dQHnGPE4RLnEPQ1Yw2CwKtcRGkEV7XuwphUTyF-S-olhUN5-24t2ii6sLLaxg6qFr4zYqudjTTwhMxZVI_Bp9V0fyzr7LNW6o_WnI/s1600/20140420_112520.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9F0oM-Ut8HmDaDRyXVogkli6HVrJFcIAE34jpV9dQHnGPE4RLnEPQ1Yw2CwKtcRGkEV7XuwphUTyF-S-olhUN5-24t2ii6sLLaxg6qFr4zYqudjTTwhMxZVI_Bp9V0fyzr7LNW6o_WnI/s1600/20140420_112520.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't ask me for the link to the song she's singing. You'll be sorry if you do.</td></tr>
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My point, which might be muddled by all the cute pictures and anecdotes, is simple. I'm really sick of feeling forced to like/buy specific things for my girl and my boy. I want options, and I want my kids to know that <i>they </i>have options. Rip Claw doesn't have to look for toys in the "boy" section, and Cupcake shouldn't have to look just in the "girl" section. Which brings me to another point, that "girl" stuff is. so. awful. I mean, it's awful from a logical, realistic perspective, obviously. It's cute stuff. I remember loving the sound of dress-up plastic high-heeled princess shoes on the terrazzo floors of my childhood home, and I'm sure Cupcake would love it, too. But why do we as a society think that we can tell our girls all their lives that they can be a Cheerleader- Popular! or a Princess- Pretty! or a Mom/Cleaning Lady- Look at how well this pooping, crying doll prepares you for real life! Have a pink, practice vacuum cleaner! and then expect them to do well in science and math and go on to solve the world's problems? <br />
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I'm not the type to go looking for scapegoats, or to yell and shake my fist about Society!!! and expect things to change. But give this a think, please. Airplanes and cars are "boy" toys. Only ~ 5% of pilots are females, and we all know how terrible <strike>I am</strike> women are at driving. <a href="http://www.syracuse.com/news/index.ssf/2011/07/women_worse_drivers_more_crashes_than_men_less_driving.html">Female drivers are involved in over 68% of crashes</a> and only, like 4 of those involved yours truly. Boys are encouraged to build, perform experiments, save helpless girls, and fight for any or no reason with or without weapons. Girls are encouraged to wear pink, look cute, get a boy, and rock out while wearing various hairpieces and tiny clothes. Girls' creative toys are used to make jewelry or make-up. Boys' creative toys are used to make other, useful, fun toys. I can't be the only one who thinks this is a big problem. <br />
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Oh, and remember up there where I said this post was about sex appeal being used as a marketing tool? Yeah. Check out these then and now pictures of Strawberry Shortcake.<br />
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That isn't even the worst of it! Have you seen these impossibly beautiful, completely unrealistically thin, large-breasted dolls that our girls are supposed to be able to dress for every situation? I think they're called Barbara...no Barbie dolls. What is this world coming to? <br />
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It's been happening for many years. It's getting worse. If we want anything to change, then we have to start doing things differently. Don't buy anything pink or blue, ever. Okay, maybe that's a bit too extreme. If your son loves cars and construction trucks and making volcanoes, great! But if he wants to make rubber band jewelry, play house in the kiddie kitchen, read Beverly Cleary's books about Ramona and Beezus, and watch "<i>Cinderella," </i>please support him in the same way. There's nothing wrong with looking pretty, and there's nothing wrong with wanting your daughter to look pretty. There <i>is</i> a problem when pretty trumps all, or anything else. It isn't my place to tell you what toys or clothes to buy for your kids, but I would ask that you be aware of the advertisements, especially when they send the clear message that looks/sex appeal are so important, and <i>why</i> you're buying what you buy. I, for one, don't want my daughter to dream of being a princess in a shining castle. I want her to dream of ways she can change the world, and I want her to know that she doesn't need a Ken or a Kristoff (I'm telling you, I've been watching a lot of "<i>Frozen</i>" lately) or a unique fashion sense in order to fulfill her potential. Girls can be rock stars without getting naked in public (seriously, <a href="http://goingtohell.me/hell/">Taylor Momsen</a>) and girls can be pilots, architects, or builders while remaining sugary and nice.<br />
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If you decide not to buy a particular product because it reinforces restrictive gender stereotypes or is marketed in a way that you think is inappropriate, I hope you'll consider letting the manufacturer know why you chose to spend your money elsewhere. With Twitter and Facebook, it's really easy to make your voice heard. Plus, you can almost always find an email address on a company's website. Send a short message saying, "I thought you should know that I decided not to buy xxxx for my daughter because I disagree with the limiting gender stereotype this product promotes. I would like to see more products from your company that can be enjoyed by, and are marketed to, all children." Or whatever.<br />
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<b><i>What was your favorite childhood toy?</i></b><br />
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<b><i>If I make up a nursery rhyme, can I count on you to repeat it to your kids and grandkids until it goes on until the end of time?</i></b><br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710701805683512821noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3117988114815121161.post-86585498399768781362014-04-14T17:51:00.004-07:002014-04-14T17:54:00.628-07:00War. Huunh. What Is It Good For? Perhaps the most useful advice I have ever offered is going to be in this post. Brace yourselves, boys and girls, this is a goody.<br />
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You don't need to fight. Be patient. Think about your words. Let go of your anger. With few exceptions (which I will share in just a moment), I am a stellar example of peace and calm, so you can trust my experience with this.<br />
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First, the exceptions to my lover-not-a-fighter-ness. <br />
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<ul>
<li><i>The Wet Willie</i>- You know it. Someone disgusting, immature, and usually male licks his finger and sticks it in your ear when your back is turned. Spit= Gross. Surprises in your ear= Gross. The word 'earworm' makes me shudder. For real, I just shuddered when I typed it. The phrase, "I just want to put a bug in your ear about this" makes me want to barf. I worked with a guy years ago who thought it was hilarious to give me wet willies at every opportunity. After the first couple of times, I realized he thought I was just regular grossed out by it, so I took him aside and very calmly informed him that if he ever did it again, I would punch him in the face. About a week later, at our company Christmas party, he licked his filthy finger with his putrescent tongue and shoved it in my ear. I turned around and punched him in the face. My only regret is that I didn't hit him harder. He didn't speak to me much after that, but he also stopped the wet willieing. Violence was the answer.</li>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm not ruling out the possibility that "<i>Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan" </i>made me disturbingly phobic about things in my ears.<i> </i></td></tr>
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<ul>
<li><i>The Drunk Friend</i>- Sometimes, it is possible to reason patiently with a wasted friend trying to drive home. Sometimes, it isn't, and you have to take the car keys. Sometimes, when you take the car keys, it makes the drunk friend angry. When the drunk friend is angry, she might try to knock you down and wrestle the keys out of your hand. On such occasions, it is then acceptable to fight back. In my experience, the alcohol will numb the minor physical pain inflicted by (me) the sober friend, and by the next morning, only the hungover friend's pride will hurt.</li>
<li><i>The Deserved-It</i>- I was out with a guy I was dating. He said something that I'm not going to share here, and I knocked him out of his chair and onto his back. Trust me, he deserved it. I was much younger then, and hadn't quite mastered the skills I'm about to describe, but even now, when I think about his words and my reaction, I know that I did the right thing. </li>
<li><i>The Big Liar</i>- The year was 2004. I was about to graduate from the <a href="http://www.ucf.edu/">University of Central Florida</a> with my B.A. in Psychology. It should go without saying that I had worked hard, for years, to obtain my degree. A couple of other people at the restaurant where I worked were also graduating from college, and our manager was kind enough to buy us cards and congratulatory gifts. The Big Liar asked where her gift was. She claimed she was also graduating from UCF, earning a Civil Engineering degree. My goodness. I could write an entire post, just on this one story. Short version is that she was lying, and it made me furious. I didn't punch her or knock her down, physically, but I used my words to make sure everyone knew she was a big effing liar, and to make her sorry for her idiocy. It's possible that I gave her nightmares. I do kind-of regret a few of the mean things I said to her. I'm sure her pathology ran deep and she had little control over her stupid, ridiculous lies, and I could have handled the situation better.</li>
<li><i>The Justifiably Annoyed- </i>There are certainly times that I'm irritated by other drivers' actions, but I'm not a road rager, yeller, or even a horn honker. Cupcake made me laugh a couple of times recently when we were in the car, and made me glad that I am careful with my words, even when I get cut off in traffic. Each time I brake suddenly or sharply, she gets this (familiar) annoyed tone and says, "Really? Really? Uggghhh." Could be so much worse!</li>
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While we're on <i>that </i>subject, here's another super cute thing our little Cupcake did recently to make me laugh: As I was cleaning up the dinner dishes, she was playing in her little kitchen, banging around her mini pots and pans, making tea, etc. She came up and handed me this<br />
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with the words, "Here guys. Dinner time."<br />
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Anyway... Now that I've confessed, let's move on. I feel that I am really quite good at conflict resolution, and many people I know are not, so it seems important that I give a little how-to. When someone does or says something that makes you angry, you should follow these steps in order to calmly and peacefully manage the situation.</div>
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<ul>
<li><i>Step 1-</i> Stop. Emphasis on stop. Seriously. STOP. Don't say anything, don't do anything. Except breathe, of course. Actually, breathe deeply.</li>
<li><i>Step 2- </i>Think. Think about what the other person is thinking. No, don't say aloud, "What are you <i>thinking?!?!?</i>" Think about whether or not the other person is actually an idiot. I'm so serious about that. If the answer is yes, your next step is different than if the answer is no. </li>
<li><i>Step 3 (Yes, idiot)-</i> Be the bigger person. You don't need to prove how smart you are, or how angry you are, or how stupid the other person is. Solve the problem if you can, if not, move on with your life.</li>
<li><i>Step 3 (No, not an idiot)</i>- Continue thinking. Think about something the other person did that showed how smart, sensitive, cool, nice, non-idiotic he/she is. Think about why that person is in your life. Think about how you will wish you had handled the situation when you look back on it. Think about your own flaws, as a reminder that nobody is perfect. Force yourself to think about something else, for a while, and then think fresh, new thoughts. Think about what you would want the other person to say to you, if your roles were reversed and you were the upset-er instead of the upset-ee. This step may take a while. Sometimes, it takes hours. Also helpful during this step is to do some exercise. Running helps me to think, but so does practicing yoga. </li>
<li><i>Step 4- </i>Talk to the person who made you angry. Sometimes, it will be tempting after all those calming thoughts to skip straight to step 5, but in the long run, you'll be happy you addressed the issue. Even if you're no longer seeing red, it will be beneficial for you to get all your thoughts out in the open, and it will help the other person to realize, recognize, or defend their words or actions that upset you.</li>
<li><i>Step 5- </i>Let it go. Come on, did you really think that wasn't going to be one of the steps? I have never found pleasure, happiness, joy, or peace in stewing over a wrong that's been done. Once you've explored the problem thoughtfully, and addressed it with the offender, drop it. Think about it this way: After I punched the wet willier, and he stopped delivering wet willies, would there have been any benefit if I had punched his face every time I saw him? No. Probably by the second time, and definitely by the third time I punched him, he would have hit me back. I had gotten my point across to him, solved the problem, and if I hadn't then let it go, I likely would have gotten fist willied in my ear.</li>
</ul>
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A couple of years ago, Charming and I were having trouble dealing with Rip Claw's tantrums. He was 4 years old, and he would go off like a complete and utter maniac sometimes, usually when Charming wasn't around. Something small would upset him, and he would react badly. I would dole out a punishment, or yell at him for his bad behavior, and then it would spiral downward until he was screaming and flailing and hitting. Not good. </div>
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A day or so after one particularly bad episode, I sat him down and talked to him about why he thought he would get so out of control when he was upset. His words struck me like an Ice Queen's magical icicle to the heart (sorry, just watched "<i>Frozen</i>"). </div>
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<i>"I'm not mad at first, but then when you get mad at me, I have to get mad back at you. It's like you want me to be more mad than you. So I try to show you that I'm the maddest one."</i></div>
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Oof. I think what he was trying to articulate, in his late toddler-hood way, was the truth that anger breeds anger. Yelling leads to more yelling, not less. Since that conversation, I've made a conscious effort to be calm, even when he or his sister is making me feel absolutely crazy. It has definitely worked. He hasn't had a maniac tantrum in over two years. </div>
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So, there you go. You're welcome. Feel free to share with the United Nations and/or any warmongers you happen to know.</div>
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<b><i>Ever been in a fight? Regret it?</i></b></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710701805683512821noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3117988114815121161.post-7959098899861612012014-04-01T19:01:00.002-07:002014-04-02T11:29:42.302-07:00Why I Love Chafing (And You Should, Too)!This title is a little strange, I know. I can't imagine there has ever been a person on Earth who loves chafing, and after last Saturday, I am even more of an anti-chafeite than ever before. However, <a href="http://www.shutupandrun.net/2014/03/let-me-tell-you-why-its-good-day.html">Shut Up + Run</a> referred to a fun <a href="http://www.hubspot.com/blog-topic-generator">blog topic generator</a> site the other day, and when I typed in the words on my mind after Saturday's half-marathon (running, chafe, motivation) this title was one that came up. It made me snicker, and it made my mind wander to all sorts of weird places, so I decided to share it. This is actually a race recap of what was originally going to be my 2nd 1st full marathon, but ended up being my <a href="http://knowitallmrs.blogspot.com/2014/03/what-else-is-new.html">3rd 1/2</a>.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgIYDE7ffOIdwwS7Ziz1ujXq5TtQ77EXelJ6-oGbdsOsgJn5JeOTDN71ry0FvmB2EiSG8cgSH_rX2ByAJAO4cNjRVyWEh1hMO8lJuRN5yQ4Jo5YYk6JP7BKNB89vq-4BT6BEe0M4ZFQHE/s1600/tomoka+marathon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgIYDE7ffOIdwwS7Ziz1ujXq5TtQ77EXelJ6-oGbdsOsgJn5JeOTDN71ry0FvmB2EiSG8cgSH_rX2ByAJAO4cNjRVyWEh1hMO8lJuRN5yQ4Jo5YYk6JP7BKNB89vq-4BT6BEe0M4ZFQHE/s1600/tomoka+marathon.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
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First, the basics. The <a href="http://tomokamarathon.com/course/">course</a> started at a place called The Casements in Ormond Beach, where I hear John D. Rockefeller used to live. There were many beautiful houses along the shady, oak lined streets, the course was filled with friendly volunteers, paramedics on bikes, easy to see markings, and there were more than enough water stops (10 aid stations with gatorade, water, and gels [at one] for the half). The buckets of rain stopped falling just after 6 a.m., which made for a nice mile walk from our hotel to the start line, but did not help the cone setter-uppers at all. They couldn't start marking the course as early as planned because of the torrential downpour, so the race started nearly 30 minutes late. Fortunately, the delay was communicated well, and not just to me, as a relative and friend of the <a href="http://www.finalmileracemanagement.com/">people in charge.</a> I was really impressed with the organization of this race (again, I'm not just saying that because I'm related to and friends with the race managers). As an inaugural race, with an inaugural distance for Volusia County, I know that the logistics and planning that went into pulling this off were huge. Bag drop was easily accessible. Communication was great. There were 2 hidden port-o-lets without long lines. Perfect start!<br />
<br />
My training had kind-of fizzled after deciding for sure to switch from the full distance to the half. Some of the reasons, which sound like excuses to me, but maybe not to you, follow:<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>There was a lot of sickness in our household.</li>
<li>I have some weird, pretty bad pain in my lower right leg that reminds me of last year's pre-stress fracture pain. Same spot, different leg. This pain isn't quite so just-one-spot-there-on-the-bone as when the bone was actually fractured, though. New doctor ordered an x-ray to check for a stress fracture (<a href="http://knowitallmrs.blogspot.com/2013/09/doctor-schmoctor.html">sigh</a>) and a venous ultrasound to check for insufficient circulation. Supposed to follow up with results in a few weeks.</li>
<li>We went out of town for a few days.</li>
<li>March is full of birthdays for our family. Celebrations don't plan themselves, you know.</li>
</ol>
<div>
Due to my <strike>laziness</strike> lack of training, injury, and the difficulty of the course, I made it my goal to finish proud. I committed myself to not walking unless I absolutely had to, and to really giving my best. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCLD9uEcs5Siya0g6le_Z97FCnTDM7RpkyDf8KxQl5VfGdavBND-9DYk98o13wYJ_PO1l-YaL0k2P5LwxwfXBt5y0YiFbzMypVCRDML9Fbzow6hm_gAaFNMriWGogYxor5L9h6wlFocbc/s1600/granada+bridge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCLD9uEcs5Siya0g6le_Z97FCnTDM7RpkyDf8KxQl5VfGdavBND-9DYk98o13wYJ_PO1l-YaL0k2P5LwxwfXBt5y0YiFbzMypVCRDML9Fbzow6hm_gAaFNMriWGogYxor5L9h6wlFocbc/s1600/granada+bridge.jpg" height="210" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So much prettier on days you don't have to run over it twice.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
My good friend/sister's sister-in-law, Kap, has also been dealing with an injury and not running very much, so she and I planned to stick together as long as possible. I was feeling okay for the first couple of miles. My leg pain was at a manageable, steady throb, and nothing else really hurt, except for my lungs as I climbed the bridge. Kap was having a harder time. She decided to make a pit stop at the second water station, just after the 3rd mile. There was a small wait for the port-o-let, but I was still quite confident that she would catch up to me, so I didn't argue too much with her insistence that I continue running. As I ran on alone(ish), I was able to enjoy the silly signs along the course, wave to the few spectators, and respond when people spoke to me. It didn't occur to me until quite a bit later that I was probably only putting forth about 85% effort. We turned into Tomoka State Park around mile 4, and then ran on the dirt road through the park for 27 years.</div>
<div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWSji_gwD3NOQ8aPAlCWoZmv-hqKoxrWQ8-OpX9L6h9_i_CyqpLR23JeCZPeX9e5-yXywNtH6cUhqASZfn21PFpQz0CujK8_IJQx7rtm4ljlIUIJTblAuAEKNb15WS5H7zTGUuws3IVEQ/s1600/tomoka+state+park.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWSji_gwD3NOQ8aPAlCWoZmv-hqKoxrWQ8-OpX9L6h9_i_CyqpLR23JeCZPeX9e5-yXywNtH6cUhqASZfn21PFpQz0CujK8_IJQx7rtm4ljlIUIJTblAuAEKNb15WS5H7zTGUuws3IVEQ/s1600/tomoka+state+park.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div>
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<div>
I said "dirt" but meant "mud." Remember the morning's torrential downpour? </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Lots of Rain</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u>+ The Road Made of Sand</u></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Tiptoeing along the edge of the road with palm fronds slapping your shins</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
There were mud puddles that spanned the entire width of the road, and other spots where there were narrow paths between 6 or so smaller puddles. Those were deceptively sticky. I didn't witness any twisted ankles, but I did worry a lot. I got to wave to my friend K as she passed after the turnaround, and then got to see Kap again after I had turned around. Shortly after I turned to go back along the mud road, my mental strength started showing its, well, lack of strength. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>I should walk now.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Not yet.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Yeah. I should walk now.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Kap shouldn't see me walking.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Kap should see me walking.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
There's no reason to walk.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Yet.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I said I was going to be proud!</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>But this leg pain...</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Ok. I won't walk until I see Kap.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>There she is! I don't think she's looking. Walk.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I can still run.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>But walking...walking is so nice.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I'll run until the 8 mile mark.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Or maybe the mile markers are off? It's probably been 8 miles already.</i><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I gave in to the sissypants devil on my left shoulder and started ignoring the confident angel on my right shoulder before the 8th mile marker. You know how they call it "breaking the seal" when you pee for the first time on a night of drinking? Because once you go the first time, it's way harder to hold it? That's how walking during a race is for me. I broke the seal, and as we all know, seals don't just get unbroken. </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUIhGtJe4QKKYByq1wMZM_ubtkhavi7WEJBsZ-MdnZWQcrsOIQQiviJjGqbFm7o_58BIdZuxcSNQ5aMECKXyJvAZjyABTrTiOK_MlgfpF2U3vMA9_Hlkwvdo5ZFDDWfWpVzKVIBZAzOzk/s1600/graph.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUIhGtJe4QKKYByq1wMZM_ubtkhavi7WEJBsZ-MdnZWQcrsOIQQiviJjGqbFm7o_58BIdZuxcSNQ5aMECKXyJvAZjyABTrTiOK_MlgfpF2U3vMA9_Hlkwvdo5ZFDDWfWpVzKVIBZAzOzk/s1600/graph.PNG" height="110" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The graph above shows my pace throughout the race. You can see how I started strong, and didn't even slow down too significantly when crossing the bridge the first time. When Kap and I split up, I wasn't feeling upset or nervous or anxious about running without her. At least, not consciously. But, as the evidence above makes clear, I gradually slowed my pace from the moment we separated. Oh, and can you point out where exactly I decided to walk for the first time? I decided to run again, but each running interval grew shorter and shorter. At one point, I saw an older couple out for a stroll. They smiled at us as we passed, and I thought, "<i>Walking is good exercise. From now on, I'll just be a walker. Lookit how happy they are! I'm so miserable, and they're so happy. Running is terrible. I can go through the rest of my life without being a runner. I'll just be happy to go outside to meander.</i>" Just then, I noticed someone trying to back his car out of a driveway a few houses ahead. Immediately, I engaged my Worst Case Scenario talent and thought, "<i>Oh, great. This guy isn't going to see me. I'm going to get hit by this car and never be able to run again. </i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Mental image pops up of me, using a walker for the rest of my life. </span><i>Okay, okay. So maybe I'll want to run after this. I'm sure I've enjoyed it before. Does he see me? He stopped for that guy ahead of me. He's going. I'm far away. Now I'll probably fall off the bridge or something."</i><br />
The thing is, I really wasn't in unbearable pain until very late in the race. After each walk break, I would gingerly start to trot, and then realize that it actually felt better to run than to walk. The biggest/only problem was in my *&$%#@! head. My 11th and 12th miles were each over 14 minutes. Granted, I did see the bridge during that time, and expended some extra energy to laugh. It looked so.impossibly.far. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-hau8hO_WPAWRO-D4iT1iqOXWC_gcfwBO0h6o_MD694jEq951hyphenhyphen1BVwpegevNCxfUqyN0JounyQy82e29S_Y_hyphenhyphen8F9cIzXHj_dg2cnVi8sTzchU60n9jHs8IX4BFEgCuE3SvPQSP2jG0/s1600/20140327_112728.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-hau8hO_WPAWRO-D4iT1iqOXWC_gcfwBO0h6o_MD694jEq951hyphenhyphen1BVwpegevNCxfUqyN0JounyQy82e29S_Y_hyphenhyphen8F9cIzXHj_dg2cnVi8sTzchU60n9jHs8IX4BFEgCuE3SvPQSP2jG0/s1600/20140327_112728.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Legoland mini model of San Francisco.<br />
The bridge seemed as far away as California from Florida, and as high as the Golden Gate.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Just before the bridge came into my view, I noticed how pretty the sunlight looked on the water, and how lovely it was to be outdoors. Then, I saw the bridge and thought, "<i>There is no way I can do that." </i>I slowed to a walk, again, while I chuckled at the idea that anyone, even me, thought for a moment that I would be able to run to, and up, that bridge. I started to run again, but my knee was hurting from ye ol' IT band issue, so I actually stopped and stretched in the grass for a minute. Soon after I got back on the road, I saw my dear sister running toward me. She had worked to set up the race since around 4 a.m. that day, and had already helped 2 other friends over the bridge and across the finish line before running over it again to meet me just before the 12th mile marker. I was able to converse easily, which I know she must hate. We walked through the last water stop, and then started up the bridge. She got a little way ahead of me and told me to focus on her "dumb bun." She meant the one in her hair. I told her that I was going to focus instead on the Massachusetts shaped not-sweaty spot on her back. I did walk on the bridge for about 10 seconds, but ran again when I realized that I didn't need to walk after all. My 13th mile, over the impossible bridge pace was <b>3 minutes </b>faster than either of the 2 miles just before I saw my sis. See what I mean about my brain being the problem? Maybe she's right, and I wouldn't have been able to speed up at the end if I hadn't walked so much between miles 8-12. Or, maybe she just knows the right things to say to keep me from beating myself up.<br />
<br />
<b><i>Result: 2:29:40- my slowest half-marathon to date</i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
You've heard "the mind is willing but the body is weak" (it's from the Bible, Matthew 26:40-43)? Well, when it comes to my racing, the opposite is true. Mental strength takes practice, discipline, and hard work. I think it's also important to offer rewards, like chocolate, guilt-free bragging, or some extra time spent with a good book, for good mental behavior. Starting a tough race without mental preparation is even more detrimental than neglecting to use Body Glide to prevent chafing of sensitive areas. Trust me. <br />
<br />
<br />
<b><i>If you deserve to brag about your mental strength, do so here! No guilt!</i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710701805683512821noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3117988114815121161.post-2182236061569571412014-03-26T17:56:00.001-07:002014-03-26T18:02:06.623-07:00Living The Life<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Hm. Haven't done an a.k.a. for a while!</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>Alternate post title: If I Had A Billion Dollars...</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
It has been hard to avoid hearing about the <a href="https://tournament.fantasysports.yahoo.com/">billion dollar bracket challenge</a> that started recently, so I'll assume that you already know about it, or have clicked on the link I provided just there. I entered, and lost almost immediately. However, it is also hard to keep from thinking thoughts that start with, "but if I <i>did</i> win a billion dollars..." even now, that my chance of winning has been reduced from 1/920,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 (That might be too many zeros. It might be too few. I know I'm tired of typing them, is all.) to zero. Rip Claw knew about the challenge, and helped me make my picks. The day after my bracket was submitted, I saw <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/03/19/gisele-bundchen-tom-brady-estate_n_4993407.html#slide=2874440">this article</a> about Patriot's Quarterback Tom Brady and his wife, model Gisele Bundchen, putting their home on the market for $50 million. Rip Claw has lately been thoroughly obsessed with football, so I called him over to look at the pictures with me of Tom Brady's house. It is jaw-dropping. Beautiful. Magnificent. Eco-friendly! Enormous. Palatial. And, nauseating. </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQVEEOhR6c_TaSp-QYBLEAQkw03h7upoHOkTnZkhyTJzB7SSBkG_Sze_xHaxFKQJWog-nJg7xDlTI2x5kc786ZvS21WuKZ3NgZ3-DnXaWyns8lSFZxmBUMwtLUH4T7IVdVaKaJ1fO3nw4/s1600/Gisele's+closet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQVEEOhR6c_TaSp-QYBLEAQkw03h7upoHOkTnZkhyTJzB7SSBkG_Sze_xHaxFKQJWog-nJg7xDlTI2x5kc786ZvS21WuKZ3NgZ3-DnXaWyns8lSFZxmBUMwtLUH4T7IVdVaKaJ1fO3nw4/s1600/Gisele's+closet.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I hope that's a secret passageway above all the shoes. Otherwise, I don't want it.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I told Rip Claw that, sure, we could buy Tom Brady's house if we won the billion. He understood, though, that we weren't going to win it, so he quickly informed Charming that it was time for him to start playing in the NFL. I guess he thought that our telling him that Daddy didn't play tackle football because it was too dangerous meant that Daddy's fear was the only thing holding him back from an NFL career. Awwww, right?</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Later, once we had explained the statistical improbability of Charming going from his desk job in the communication industry, and taking his English degree to the gridiron to start making millions of dollars, Rip Claw asked me about other ways we could afford to buy Tom Brady's house. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
RC: "Well, what other jobs make a lot of money?"</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Me: "Other than professional athletes? People who make smart business decisions usually make a lot of money. People who invent things, people who make things that almost everyone needs or uses every day, they have enough money to buy Tom Brady's house."</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
RC: "Ooh! What can I invent that nobody else has thought of?"</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Me: "Um. If I knew that, I probably would have already invented it. The point is to think of something that nobody else has thought of or been able to make before. Like, the guy who started Facebook. He has way more money than any football player."</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
RC: "Hm. Are you sure that Dad won't play football?"</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Me: "Yup. You know, Tom Brady's wife also has a lot of money. Her job is to be a model."</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
RC: "What's a model?"</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Me: "A model is someone who wears clothes for pictures or shows in order to make people want to buy the clothes."</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
RC: "What?! So, she just gets paid to wear clothes? How did she get to be a model?"</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Me: "Models are usually very good looking. They make people think that they'll also look good in the clothes they're modeling, so the companies that made the clothes get a lot of money from people buying their products."</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
RC: "Why don't you be a model?"</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
My first thought at this point in the conversation was to use the following visual aid:</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvCuNkQrV4XEjVWaT-51_1_ThpThn2EC4hV_gaz1OrHg5JchJilkRqQO7tSjtLIf6dbstUT0_TNeyWhYFqJvhkRuGniGaE7im-U3zCxDF9w4ffGKko8SADyycSWQEMpMsFba8eQk4gSwg/s1600/20130810_090048.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvCuNkQrV4XEjVWaT-51_1_ThpThn2EC4hV_gaz1OrHg5JchJilkRqQO7tSjtLIf6dbstUT0_TNeyWhYFqJvhkRuGniGaE7im-U3zCxDF9w4ffGKko8SADyycSWQEMpMsFba8eQk4gSwg/s1600/20130810_090048.jpg" height="200" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Your mom, modeling her clothes. "Look how many shades of pink I can wear at once!"<br />
<br />
<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLDKQhAMhwMbpW5tActEhy9JRwCx5wgm636kIQw6hWCgptK7AnUQmDprhTpW0qVeV71H3A-2A9mfX-ZSE1N9AnVQ3GCd283Fc-ZqDQ0cwlJJoaBF60uma-BvMzkrYgJtA1Hf96fII3jNk/s1600/gisele-bundchen-hairstyle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLDKQhAMhwMbpW5tActEhy9JRwCx5wgm636kIQw6hWCgptK7AnUQmDprhTpW0qVeV71H3A-2A9mfX-ZSE1N9AnVQ3GCd283Fc-ZqDQ0cwlJJoaBF60uma-BvMzkrYgJtA1Hf96fII3jNk/s1600/gisele-bundchen-hairstyle.jpg" height="200" width="140" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yeaaahhh.... That just ain't me.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Me: "You have to be <i>really </i>good looking to be a model. They're pretty much all a lot taller than me, a lot skinnier, and they don't eat nearly so many chips as I do. Plus, I never really wanted to be a model."</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
RC: "You're really pretty! Sometimes you even smell pretty!"</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>Me, thinking: "Coincidence that the times I smell pretty I am wearing Victoria's Secret Halo perfume and Gisele is a Victoria's Secret model?"</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Me: "Thanks, son! But really. I don't want to be a model."</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
RC: "Can boys be models?"</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Me: "Oh, yeah. There are lots of boy models. You're definitely good looking enough to be one, too, but that's not really something Daddy and I want for you. We like to focus more on your character and your actions and teaching you to be honest, kind, friendly, generous, and, you know, to make good choices."</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
RC: "Yeah. You want me to do the right things and not worry about how I look."<br />
Me: "Exactly!"<br />
RC: "So, why do you think they're selling that house, anyway?"<br />
Me: "It's hard to say. Maybe they want a bigger house. Maybe they want to live somewhere other than California. Maybe they want a smaller house!"<br />
RC: "OOH! Like our house? Do you think they want to trade houses with us?<br />
Me: "It's possible. About as likely as us winning the billion dollars<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrhE8NcTZUlHyoktRGcBQHqtNRru6GQ7qp5yct8ndLUrOK-poNwhYgCSk0uPfw8uriSduBR6C5M05iLcC-4VDKWETbhi7UyZAd2yl8m8XuW3br0rPWsBMkgc3IicboLfqCJQ6Ls8WSgH0/s1600/o-GISELE-TOM-BRADY-570.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrhE8NcTZUlHyoktRGcBQHqtNRru6GQ7qp5yct8ndLUrOK-poNwhYgCSk0uPfw8uriSduBR6C5M05iLcC-4VDKWETbhi7UyZAd2yl8m8XuW3br0rPWsBMkgc3IicboLfqCJQ6Ls8WSgH0/s1600/o-GISELE-TOM-BRADY-570.jpg" height="185" width="320" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV3APTKg8ThHqIhBsG7HhyMZpIGvOUrNjfj30qcXFYLm_27MwFLi5-H8n1EPCj4xxFkVLCzeJM5DkKu0bEQ1tesEtyscvSxfRgKcICpaj08am1VuTV6bvUMtG_CwOwo_dWw4m5p5-EmFU/s1600/DSCN0891.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV3APTKg8ThHqIhBsG7HhyMZpIGvOUrNjfj30qcXFYLm_27MwFLi5-H8n1EPCj4xxFkVLCzeJM5DkKu0bEQ1tesEtyscvSxfRgKcICpaj08am1VuTV6bvUMtG_CwOwo_dWw4m5p5-EmFU/s1600/DSCN0891.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Why wouldn't they want to trade? </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Because of all the talk about becoming billionaires, I came to a few conclusions about riches. <br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>You know how they say money can't buy happiness? I believe it. Not to say that the Brady-Bundchens aren't happy because they have so much money, but I cannot imagine that they're happier than my family. </li>
<li>The next bullet point is going to sound like a lie. It's not.</li>
<li>~$2 million would go toward buying a few nice houses in a few nice locations. ~$1 million would go toward traveling, with the family. We might have to do it all on land and sea, though, as Charming hates to fly. I would hire a financial planner and make some investments. Charming and I would play in the World Series of Poker. Then, I would donate the rest to causes I feel are important. </li>
</ul>
<div>
I think that the best part of having a lot of money would be the ability to give a lot of money away. I would love to have a house with a spiral staircase and more than one bathroom, but I don't need 14,000 square feet, a crystal chandelier in my closet, or pictures of my home in Architectural Digest. My favorite wine costs $10/bottle. I mean, I'm sure there are better wines out there. Otherwise, why would Sommelier be a job? But I just can't see myself suddenly finding a gaping hole in my life that only fine wine or expensive shoes or extra cars could fill. You know where I do find myself lacking? I'm lazy about housework. I waste time on social media sites and on playing <a href="http://gabrielecirulli.github.io/2048/">games I will never win</a> (which you should totally start playing right now, by the by). I certainly wouldn't become a better person by having the money to pay people to clean and organize my house(s). I don't need extra time until I learn to discipline myself to use the free time I do have in wise ways. If I could buy a migraine cure or the ability to never procrastinate, show up late, or snap at my kids, I might spend more millions.<br />
<br />
The bottom line is that I really, truly can't see how anyone with gobs of money can possibly justify spending it on themselves. Now, I do realize that my buying a couple million dollars worth of houses and spending so much on travel and poker qualifies as spending gobs on myself. However, I feel I'm being realistic. It would be thrilling to not ever have to worry about having enough money, to live comfortably, and to not worry about a job schedule, retirement, or my family's well-being. I would love to be able to go with Charming and the kids to see different places and experience different cultures all around the world.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>"Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow mindedness,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts..."</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i> -</i>Mark Twain</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
</div>
<br />
I also feel I'm being realistic about how much money I would share. Enough to make a difference, that's for sure. I'm not the smartest brick in the tower (or however the saying goes) but I can give money away to worthy causes like nobody's biz. I have no desire to go to fancy parties with other rich people, I have fun friends already. I couldn't care less about fashion designers or expensive clothing/shoes/accessories. It's the poor people, the sick people, and the parents from my son's school who are unable to afford $50/year for their kids to join a running group that make my heart hurt. Come to think of it, I got the same sick feeling from looking at all those scholarship applications as I did when I looked at the pictures of Gisele's closet. <br />
<br />
For once, I'll let you solicit advice. I shouldn't tell others what to do with their money...unless they ask. Just remember this: "rich" is totally subjective.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710701805683512821noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3117988114815121161.post-24003909866577453002014-03-10T18:55:00.000-07:002014-03-10T18:55:02.201-07:00What Else is New?<br />
<div>
When I take these long breaks from blogging, I always feel the need to catch folks up on what is happening. Probably, none of these items will come as a surprise, but here they are anyway!</div>
<ul>
<li>I'm reading a book about running. I don't like it, but I can't seem to put it down, either. I'm not sure that the author is telling truths about herself and her life, the beginning seemed to drag on forever, and there are way too many details about who she thinks people resemble. Although I think some of her accomplishments are inspiring, I find myself too distracted by her rambling writing style and by rolling my eyes at some of her stories to actually feel inspired.</li>
</ul>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3QXaHvGwG6LiGHv4xrjF8V-enqtfaRg2D0J57WY4jiIYV-RDiH8KHF-P989cUMbFrxP6mHvs4k4i85jvv0tsEMAvg3NomxK53muhE5b5ev5Uf3bpP2wpo_gXQdCE8eFOyl9zmYicpqqQ/s1600/dandelion+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3QXaHvGwG6LiGHv4xrjF8V-enqtfaRg2D0J57WY4jiIYV-RDiH8KHF-P989cUMbFrxP6mHvs4k4i85jvv0tsEMAvg3NomxK53muhE5b5ev5Uf3bpP2wpo_gXQdCE8eFOyl9zmYicpqqQ/s1600/dandelion+cover.jpg" height="200" width="133" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://books.google.com/books/about/Dandelion_Growing_Wild.html?id=4HUBuwAACAAJ">Dandelion Growing Wild</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<ul>
<li>I'm not running my <a href="http://knowitallmrs.blogspot.com/2014/02/no-easy-task.html">first full marathon</a> in a few weeks. I finally decided to switch to the half after reading the advice given to <a href="http://www.shutupandrun.net/2014/02/when-going-gets-tough.html">Shut Up + Run blogger</a>, Beth, by her coach, Andrew Kastor. In more eloquent language, he basically said that training for a marathon is the hard part. Running the marathon is the reward. I remembered how true that was for me when I trained for my first 13.1 mile race, and I realized that I don't deserve the reward of completing a full marathon yet. I haven't put in enough training time or hard work, and I feel like I would be cheating, in a way, by crossing that finish line without having properly prepared myself. I don't want to run a marathon just to say I've done it. I want to challenge myself, become a stronger runner, and I want to give it my very best. Toeing the starting line sort-of injured, half-trained, lacking confidence and drive, and with the mantra "Slow down and walk" running through my head is not the way I want to be there.</li>
<li>Rip Claw is amazing. He ran his 3rd 5k race in a year, and set a PR by more than <b>10 minutes</b>! </li>
</ul>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgClMG_LFYBNR_GdhliluLGi2xrYjG1JOE9TJdV97UKSGMDwX7YGz5DEFYincVCJGNfEXIaTuMTeftaNWrUx3eK2XLIVCQQk43yFfm-AUnmiJy_0hVj-Ww0yDcJWU8sb2SbD0saYaWjzCY/s1600/20140308_081746.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgClMG_LFYBNR_GdhliluLGi2xrYjG1JOE9TJdV97UKSGMDwX7YGz5DEFYincVCJGNfEXIaTuMTeftaNWrUx3eK2XLIVCQQk43yFfm-AUnmiJy_0hVj-Ww0yDcJWU8sb2SbD0saYaWjzCY/s1600/20140308_081746.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">34:39</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
The results board showed that he was in 3rd place, earning an age group medal. However, once the official results came out, he ended up in 5th place. Fast forward past the crushing disappointment, tears, anger, and shout of, "It's not FAIR!" and you'll find him proud and smiling again. He asked if Charming and I would make something for him to replace the medal he thought he earned. We agreed, and he said that he will "love it no matter what it is or how good it looks, because it's not something you buy, it's something you make special just for me." After the race, we came home and relaxed for a while before going to his first ever Flag Football game. He played magnificently. He even scored a touchdown!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8BjTQVh-3p5t0ruOjyzMMLyKFsVy8v_W0uH6o0xziVGWbEn3ME3J3RjTMJNsuUFRKzvppTrpQwl_KnYM7V6bLjDs7POZr-Pf1Z1MA6cHHzJ9_NEk0oGyEwtMQ-qBF5PJ4fHVSK56n2Ps/s1600/20140308_112357.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8BjTQVh-3p5t0ruOjyzMMLyKFsVy8v_W0uH6o0xziVGWbEn3ME3J3RjTMJNsuUFRKzvppTrpQwl_KnYM7V6bLjDs7POZr-Pf1Z1MA6cHHzJ9_NEk0oGyEwtMQ-qBF5PJ4fHVSK56n2Ps/s1600/20140308_112357.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div>
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<div>
Charming and I have always agreed that tackle football is too dangerous for our kids to play. I still believe that, but I must admit, I had a brief, "What if, maybe..." thought after watching him catch the long pass, dodge "tackles" and speed into the end zone. I love watching football, and it didn't ever really occur to me that a Pee Wee league game could be more exciting than an NFL game. I wanted more, more, and more. It was awesome to watch, and he loved every moment of playing, too.<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Kids who go to day care tend to get sick more often than those who don't. Cupcake started going to baby school 2 days a week in early February, in order to free up some extra days for me to pick up substitute teaching jobs. She has been sick 3 times in the past 4 weeks, and only twice in the previous 22 months. The good news? I learned that the after-hours pediatric clinic nearby is actually a pretty decent facility. Also, I learned what the rash that comes with hand, foot, and mouth disease looks like.</li>
</ul>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9i4nhDqfNd6vk4Wi5YyNyHYLpN1G0qbMgNUkO6BTsjVpCBIvA-jrFg3aCsmSPvcbx5xyrTBjuTQA3UFj65O8TtGN3JhUwxSe_V30QY8g4f_yekqTjDvpPanh-AhXICXRMYS0bT3RCIVI/s1600/20140308_192918.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9i4nhDqfNd6vk4Wi5YyNyHYLpN1G0qbMgNUkO6BTsjVpCBIvA-jrFg3aCsmSPvcbx5xyrTBjuTQA3UFj65O8TtGN3JhUwxSe_V30QY8g4f_yekqTjDvpPanh-AhXICXRMYS0bT3RCIVI/s1600/20140308_192918.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The first time she has fallen asleep on my lap in more than a year!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<ul>
<li>I'm off Facebook for a while. 40 days, to be exact. I don't do Lent, but our church asks the goers to do something similar every year around this time. We're to make a few commitments, like attending services for 6 weeks, memorizing some verses, etc., and to sacrifice something that occupies our attention so that we have more time to spend cultivating our relationship with God. As I told my friend earlier, it's going to be tough for me. Not like 40 days of fasting alone in the wilderness before being betrayed and crucified tough, but still. Mostly, I'm excited to break the habit I have of checking FB every time I pick up my phone, and keeping the tab open every time I'm on the laptop. </li>
<li>I have a horrible cough. I keep reminding myself that it has been this bad before, and it always goes away eventually, but it's still awful in the meantime. I think I used to get my yearly cough in the late Fall/early Winter months. Some years, I had it more than once. No matter when it comes to visit, I loathe it. It's embarrassing, gross, painful, annoying, and unpredictable. Here is how it sounds, in words:</li>
</ul>
<div style="text-align: center;">
UHK UHK UHK UHK UHK UHK</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
CAH CAH CAH CAH CAH CAH CAH</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
breath</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>BLECKAGH BLECKAGH BLECKAGH BLECKAGH</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
gasp</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i>GRUCKECK! GRUCKECK! GRUCKECK!</i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i>ughaghKACH ughaghKACH</i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Repeat, repeat, repeat, sometimes for as long as 30 minutes. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<ul>
<li>I really enjoy doing volunteer work. I've done several different types, too, so it isn't as if I just need to find a paying job doing the work I volunteer to do now. Obviously, serving others and being helpful is rewarding in its own way, but I also like the freedom that not getting paid offers. I can refuse to do things, if I want to, or leave early if I must. If you have any free time, try it out. Volunteer at a local race, or help feed hungry people. I bet you'll be happy you did!</li>
</ul>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b><i>So. What's new with you?</i></b></div>
</div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710701805683512821noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3117988114815121161.post-56365456974641019882014-02-23T18:47:00.000-08:002014-02-23T18:47:25.057-08:00No Easy TaskSome of you may recall that I registered for my second first marathon, to be held March 29th.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_kLMl6NlTm0ZP1JUf7G1M7DVxvcNBau3I73QUGMPWLSM-TQebCKyTTXQLPsBl_YPIKpgdfxadxfWb_sya-M0yjKhRx0QghFs0vTijcYjbB9ebI5UydsimVUjcHtQ4tMhk4bIFpyvSM-8/s1600/tomoka+marathon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_kLMl6NlTm0ZP1JUf7G1M7DVxvcNBau3I73QUGMPWLSM-TQebCKyTTXQLPsBl_YPIKpgdfxadxfWb_sya-M0yjKhRx0QghFs0vTijcYjbB9ebI5UydsimVUjcHtQ4tMhk4bIFpyvSM-8/s1600/tomoka+marathon.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Unlike when I started training for my first first marathon, I've been pretty quiet about my running habits around here. That's about to change. <span style="font-size: x-small;">(Fair warning, Sha.) </span>See, now I don't know whether or not I'm actually going to run the full marathon, and I need to make a good, long list of pros and cons. Here they are, in the order they pop into my head:<br />
<br />
<b>Pro:</b> The marathon course is one I've run and volunteered on before. I know it's pretty flat, and pretty.<br />
<br />
<b>Con: </b>Today, I ran my longest distance ever. 13.27 miles. The race is 5 weeks away. I haven't run enough miles.<br />
<br />
<b>Con: </b>My feet hurt. My toes feel bruised, and one of my arches <i>is</i> bruised.<br />
<br />
<b>Con: </b>My calf muscles hurt almost the whole time I was running today.<br />
<br />
<b>Con: </b>A couple of weeks ago, my IT band issues arose again. What if it starts hurting at mile 5 and just gets worse as I run?<br />
<br />
<b>Pro: </b>I know the <a href="http://www.finalmileracemanagement.com/">folks in charge of the race</a>.<br />
<br />
<b>Pro: </b>It's the only marathon I know of that is close enough to allow me to sleep in my own bed the night before.<br />
<br />
<b>Pro: </b>I'll have a lot of friends and family members there.<br />
<br />
<b>Con: </b>I planned to run 15 miles today. I took a couple of wrong turns and realized around mile 11 that I was either going to come up short by 2, over by 1.5, or would have to run past my car to meet my goal. I chose to cut it short. What marathoner would do <i>that</i>???<br />
<br />
<b>Pro: </b>Most of my family members and running pals are confident that I can run 26.2 miles.<br />
<br />
<b>Con: </b>I am not.<br />
<br />
<b>Pro:</b> One of the worst things about today's mentally draining run (it was also physically draining, but mentally, much worse) was the dense fog that I was running through for the entire 2 hours, 24 minutes, 41 seconds. (10:51 pace is pretty stinking far from my goal). I was drenched from head to toe. The hairs on my arms had tiny water droplets all over them. I am not exaggerating when I say that I was dripping wet even before the temperature went up over 70⌠£╚. (Gah! I always forget how to make the degree symbol. Anyway, you get it. I'm not googling it again. ²? Ñ? ◘? <b>┼?</b>) My hair was hanging in these awful, stringy, clumps, and despite the blanket of wet, I was still red-faced, hot, and sweaty. Discouraged, angry, sad, and sore. Not a pretty sight, to say the least. When I finished running, I went into our running group's clubhouse to use the bathroom. I dropped my car key, struggled to get my shorts back up, had to wipe the seat afterward because of my sweaty backside. The entire time, I was mentally berating myself for stopping after just 13 miles, while the wussy back of my head was all, "Thankyouthankyouthankyou for stopping!" Anyway, as I was washing my hands and noticing in the mirror how thoroughly revolting I looked, I saw a sign hung on top of the mirror that read, "Smile! You're a beautiful runner!" I did. Because I am. I <3 <a href="http://www.meetup.com/WestVolusiaRunners/">WVR</a>. Then, I remembered about how pretty my hair looked after I had it <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Doriannas-Salon-Day-Spa/467923879921121">colored and cut</a> a few days ago, and that I don't always look like I just swam 13 miles in a hot tub while wearing running clothes.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYgRp6yQ46MDTENthyphenhyphenSPvEGSgAsQEP4lepD-RPXTqbyzc_2Ih-0M87uerGqxWZAbRq1BaGM7pMxs1AN5KRF1-IUpfvMPKxvd_SteYuvZ8MaQc-cO41pWtM3LiijRizPF6AusZEgAP3AMU/s1600/20140220_200145.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYgRp6yQ46MDTENthyphenhyphenSPvEGSgAsQEP4lepD-RPXTqbyzc_2Ih-0M87uerGqxWZAbRq1BaGM7pMxs1AN5KRF1-IUpfvMPKxvd_SteYuvZ8MaQc-cO41pWtM3LiijRizPF6AusZEgAP3AMU/s1600/20140220_200145.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My biggest problem with selfies is that I can't seem to look at the camera. How is that possible?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>Con:</b> Marathons are really hard. I know this not from experience, but because I'm smart.<br />
<br />
<b>Pro: </b>I had a 5-day long migraine that made me want to crawl under my bed and cry. <i>That</i> was really hard, but I got through it. I even washed dishes and changed out of sweatpants after the 3rd day. <br />
<br />
<b>Con: </b>Running a marathon is a choice. Being attacked by Satan himself with a hammer inside your forehead, scrambling all your thoughts, pushing you off balance, making you cry when your family members speak, and using a chisel behind your ears is not a choice. I've found that when given the option, I choose easy rather than hard. Case in point, today I ran 13 miles instead of 15.<br />
<br />
<b>Pro/Con:</b> If I skip the Tomoka Marathon, or switch to the half, then I'll wait until November to run a full. Charming registered me for the Savannah Rock 'n' Roll as a Christmas gift, so I'm in for that one, but racing in November means training all summer. Also, if I skip Tomoka, the not-enough-training I did do will have been for naught. That's annoying, when I consider how much time I've spent away from my kids, how many times I've rearranged schedules to run, etc. But, then, there's the fact that I didn't do enough training. And then, there's the terrible thought that if I didn't do enough training for this marathon, then when will I step up and run enough to properly prepare myself for a race so long? Which leads to the obvious question- how can anyone go to the starting line of their first full marathon and feel completely ready? It doesn't seem possible.<br />
<br />
Okay, that last point on the list was maybe not so concisely a pro or con, and maybe more like a glimpse into "Freaking Out" by Me.<br />
<br />
I know that not every run is easy, or fun, or rewarding, or will make me want to run more and more. But knowing that, and getting past it to run even more miles next week, are very different things. <br />
<br />
Today's advice is to give me advice. Should I run 26.2 miles in 34 days?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><i>Check out the update to my previous post, if you haven't already. </i></b><br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710701805683512821noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3117988114815121161.post-41245968351460200222014-01-25T09:52:00.000-08:002014-01-25T09:52:32.763-08:00What I'm Reading, Hearing, Watching, and Doing<b><u>Reading:</u></b><br />
My reading list, as usual, is as exciting as it is excessive. I actually only spend about 20 minutes reading each day, so the fact that I'm carrying around and placing by the bedside all these books is pretty ridiculous. But if loving so many books is wrong, I don't wanna be right.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguanUCdC4tR0qPkqu06i85PceLD3mLzW3EXtJn6W6I3duOL7lYNqSZCAy5-lUGQ8cXvdoizVRV3BFJIck_LXkpESMNiRn8Gf3hspd3rNciUOrDBTk1tZN4dqEsbihp8Uw3oITZUCxc53Q/s1600/20140124_102414.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguanUCdC4tR0qPkqu06i85PceLD3mLzW3EXtJn6W6I3duOL7lYNqSZCAy5-lUGQ8cXvdoizVRV3BFJIck_LXkpESMNiRn8Gf3hspd3rNciUOrDBTk1tZN4dqEsbihp8Uw3oITZUCxc53Q/s1600/20140124_102414.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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I haven't actually started the newest addition to the culinary mystery series <a href="http://knowitallmrs.blogspot.com/2013/09/what-im-reading-iv.html">I love</a>, but it's a library book, so I have to start and finish it quickly. I'm almost finished with "The Gifts of Imperfection" (it's my nighttime book) and I'm about halfway through "The Shining" (one of two daytime books). I purchased the sequel, <a href="http://www.stephenking.com/library/novel/doctor_sleep.html">"Doctor Sleep"</a>, as my pages-in-waiting. The author of the book on my kindle is an old family friend, Darin Michael Shaw. I believe "Chronicles of War" is his first novel, but his second published work. I selected the giant book about the Vanderbilt ladies for my book group. It was one of the more interesting-seeming titles that came up when I googled "books to make you smarter." So far, I don't feel much smarter, though. It seems to me that the Vanderbilt family was like a much earlier version of the Kardashian family. I find myself disapproving of their long-ago extravagant parties and constant building of expensive houses, and not necessarily on principle. I feel that they're a big part of the reason today's society is so celebrity-gaga and so shallow, as a whole. Unfair? That remains to be seen.<br />
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<b><u>Hearing:</u></b><br />
From Rip Claw: "Do we have any fun plans for today/tomorrow/the weekend?" I don't know how or exactly when his obsession with "fun plans" started, but he was literally asking me that question every.single.day. I figure there isn't anything wrong with wanting to know our plans, or with wanting them to be fun. I was really tired of hearing the question, though, so I came up with this:<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh687xrFHehBTOFhHtzLrOnIbanYtkVIixCkIuB-u6lkQaHL7GleUrYam6yniSu9gehbZovBVcTxzrROtmUspmZYq_76jNdwxRwBSb7zcIq2v1OcgZkpW3F3jp6ZLa3lBfA3xPMTutrYI8/s1600/IMG_0680%255B1%255D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh687xrFHehBTOFhHtzLrOnIbanYtkVIixCkIuB-u6lkQaHL7GleUrYam6yniSu9gehbZovBVcTxzrROtmUspmZYq_76jNdwxRwBSb7zcIq2v1OcgZkpW3F3jp6ZLa3lBfA3xPMTutrYI8/s1600/IMG_0680%255B1%255D.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the chalkboard painted portion of his bedroom wall.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
In typical mom fashion, I included chores and additional school work (I give him advanced math problems, reading or writing assignments when we play school) in the fun. Muah hah hah!<br />
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From Cupcake: "NO LIKE IT!" It's a rather long story, and not all that interesting, so I'll sum up: she <i>has to</i> drink some different kind of non-dairy milk that she isn't used to drinking. We've tried soy, vanilla flavored almond, coconut, and lactaid milks. Finally, after several days of bribing, cheering, rewarding, bargaining, begging, and attempting to disguise the flavors, she drank some soy milk without throwing her cup and yelling that dreaded phrase. In addition to being a picky drinker, she is becoming a very finicky eater. Perfect, considering she's off-the-chart small and her pediatrician probably thinks we're trying to cultivate an early eating disorder. <span style="font-size: x-small;">("Mom, what's it called when people say the opposite of something to try to be funny?" Sarcasm, son. You'll hear a lot of it in our family.) </span>It's hard to get her to eat enough protein and fat, so I'm very much okay with her love of hummus, guacamole, and peanut butter. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOXKlaqKBUWV7sVREzsAV_vMTtQ_5tsJS3pxjy-3WgNRfnMqc9OK0gXISu_bk73muhdPlXP1UWGKaa8hiJvtrK7n2WQPtE3gmfEbdl4-vttdk2UG1d367Qp4jVon61ThJdaPKno-VGBKM/s1600/20140123_132249.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOXKlaqKBUWV7sVREzsAV_vMTtQ_5tsJS3pxjy-3WgNRfnMqc9OK0gXISu_bk73muhdPlXP1UWGKaa8hiJvtrK7n2WQPtE3gmfEbdl4-vttdk2UG1d367Qp4jVon61ThJdaPKno-VGBKM/s1600/20140123_132249.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ignore the messy counter top in the background and focus on the fact that she was licking fresh, homemade guacamole from her fingers.</td></tr>
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<b><u>Watching:</u></b><br />
Okay, I'll be honest. I wrote the title and the first half of this post about 9 hours ago, and now I can't remember what I was going to share about this subject. You know how frustrating it is when you lose your train of thought mid-sentence? This is like that, only a little worse. I've been sitting at the computer for 40 minutes now, asking myself repeatedly, "What am I watching?" I keep coming up with a few things that I know weren't IT, but will have to do.<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li><i>Parenthood</i>- It's a show about 4 grown siblings and their own families. Charming and I are getting thoroughly spoiled by watching it on Netflix, because we're still not caught up to the current season and can therefore watch 3 episodes a night when we are awake enough. I dare you to watch and <i>not </i>find yourself relating to at least one of the main characters.</li>
<li>Progress. Charming is well on his way to his first ever <i>half-marathon race</i>! His dedication to the training program and the ease with which he seems to achieve greater and greater things are just so thrilling to watch. He'll be running the <a href="http://www.swamphousehalfmarathon.com/">Swamp House Half Marathon</a> in March. You should, too.</li>
<li>Potential paydays. I am officially an approved substitute teacher for our county's schools. Some of you may know this already, but many of you probably missed the blog post about it that I deleted a couple of days after publishing it. (<span style="font-size: x-small;">Curious, now, are you? Let me know in the comments if you want to read the gory details and I'll see what I can do to satisfy.) </span>Now that I'm an employee, but not actually working, I'm spending time each day watching for jobs to open up. </li>
<li>Pigging out. The <a href="http://knowitallmrs.blogspot.com/2014/01/the-last-enchilada.html">2 weeks of clean eating</a> made me aware of my awful piggish habits. I've been watching my junk food and overall calorie intake, these days, and I've only gorged myself a couple of times. </li>
</ul>
<b><u>Doing:</u></b><br />
Really running! I was surprised by how long after my <a href="http://knowitallmrs.blogspot.com/2013/09/na-na-na-boo-boo.html">tibial stress fracture</a> I was running tentatively. Like a slow, scaredy baby. Also surprising was how long the mild soft tissue pain can last. After long or fast runs, I still see swelling around the spot that was fractured, and the muscles in my calf and shin on that leg are much more tender than those on the other leg. Apparently, though, this type of pain is not unusual for up to a year after an injury like the one I had. I've been building my weekly mileage back up, and I've had some very successful long runs that have left me feeling like a real runner again. <br />
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Really cleaning! Long ago, I made myself a cleaning schedule that looked so good on paper. Well, it's actually on Google Calendar, but you know what I mean. Turns out, following the schedule makes my house look good, too! I (almost) always regret procrastination; I hate that I put off the tasks that I know I need to accomplish. I decided recently that I would really, truly, not-just-saying-so, try to procrastinate less and try not to waste so much of my free time on nonsense. It's a hard thing to do, to be productive, but it really is worthwhile. What a wonderful feeling of relief comes when the laundry baskets, washer and dryer are all empty!<br />
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What advice should you take away from this post? Read the books I'm reading. Turn the tables on your kids when you hear things from them that are annoying. Remember the information you want to convey. Running is fun, even when it's scary. Finally, go do--whatever--now! Don't wait. <br />
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<b><i>Best way to break a bad habit?</i></b><br />
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<b><i>Best way to remember your own ideas?</i></b><br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710701805683512821noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3117988114815121161.post-9877180098073524572014-01-20T10:55:00.000-08:002014-01-20T11:03:28.362-08:00Fat Tuesdays are Back!The longest <a href="http://knowitallmrs.blogspot.com/2014/01/the-last-enchilada.html">2 weeks</a> of my life have finally passed. Actually, I'm being dramatic. The 14 days of clean eating and drinking did not drag by as slowly as I had expected. Now that Charming and I can once again build up our chip supply without guilt, a few questions remain.<br />
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<i style="font-weight: bold;">Results?</i> Have you seen that commercial where the husband and wife both try to lose weight and the husband sheds pounds like magic while the wife stays the same? I think it's an ad for a diet pill. Or for e-harmony. Anyway, that's pretty much what happened. I don't have a picture to illustrate this statement (and I do not recommend googling "fat wife skinny husband" images) so here's one that doesn't relate:<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJNhG2xuKaqyG9e7zCnZatJarCPL716s3iIzg9g-c_PyyISa0heWb-5ta6K2DKR_pvV0m9fN52haEI104edDoszZV29Kz3mPQM9OBKHh9t4jQZn75S6xH8CB-uQ4Jrlxu_gfahDd4ZTJw/s1600/DSCN1193.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJNhG2xuKaqyG9e7zCnZatJarCPL716s3iIzg9g-c_PyyISa0heWb-5ta6K2DKR_pvV0m9fN52haEI104edDoszZV29Kz3mPQM9OBKHh9t4jQZn75S6xH8CB-uQ4Jrlxu_gfahDd4ZTJw/s1600/DSCN1193.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cupcake loves this picture. "Mama! Daddy! Aw! Cute! Daddy cute!"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
On the first day of the challenge, I weighed myself. We don't own a scale (I wonder if someone would accept my <a href="http://knowitallmrs.blogspot.com/2013/05/never-have-i-ever.html">iron</a> as a trade for one?) so I weigh in at the grocery store, which necessitates the wearing of clothes and shoes. I've debated a while, and can't come up with a good reason not to share the actual number: 129.5. I realize, of course, that my horror of horrors number is the same as another person's dreamy of dreaminess number, but please don't hold that against me. When I <i>delivered </i>Cupcake, I weighed 136. This number is the highest I've seen when I've stood on a scale as just one person; not weighing for two. Charming, too, had put on some weight after we got married. You've heard of the Freshman 15? I think there's also a Newlywed 19. However, after running consistently for a little over a year, he had lost many of those extra pounds, and was happy(ish) with his weight. He kept forgetting to step on a scale until the end of the 2 week challenge, so his weight loss is from when he last weighed himself in early December. <i style="font-weight: bold;">11 pounds!</i> I lost 2.5. I knew I wasn't going to shed a year's worth of late-night fried food snacks and 52 Tuesdays' worth of tacos in two weeks, but I must admit, past experiences had me hoping for a bigger jump start in the direction of my goal weight. It's just another reminder that I'm not 22, and how unforgiving women's bodies are as we age.<br />
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<i style="font-weight: bold;">Process?</i> Charming and I both held up pretty well throughout the challenge. No candy, no chip snacks, no* alcohol, breakfast every day, and significantly smaller portions for our meals. Neither of us experienced any ill effects from the deprivation of our usual sugar, fat, and alcohol intake. We both tried some of the Shakeology stuff, and reached the conclusion that it will not be a regular addition to our diet.<br />
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<i style="font-weight: bold;">Lessons Learned?</i> The most meaningful and surprising lesson I learned was that I actually <i>do have willpower!</i> Ice cream in the freezer, a huge bag full of Halloween and Christmas candy, a couple of beers, and an open bag of chips, all were left untouched by me! I know, I do things that are difficult for some people (like run double digit miles) and it might seem obvious that I have willpower because I get up early to run or go to the gym. However, those are activities I enjoy. Yeah, it's difficult sometimes to crawl out of the warm, cozy bed to run in the cold, dark, morning, but I do so because I <i>want </i>to, not because I feel like I need to. This diet challenge was different. I wanted to feel healthier, lose weight, and set a good example for Rip Claw and Cupcake; I didn't want to deny myself the pleasures of candy, beer, tacos and chips. I was quite proud to discover that I can, indeed, make difficult changes that will be beneficial in the long term. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbZx00XNtJWsQCzjtWx_K4h28QT26WDZ27fMiYekw7cOVeEqnOi3dX7MzEATaOjvZriqobl_RPZo3FFeAc7R9w2VpS9pCc5wPdnC9DX-qZihCgBtMR3lkFSsMmDzuY7Kya7tuxpzq7pzg/s1600/20140107_184526.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbZx00XNtJWsQCzjtWx_K4h28QT26WDZ27fMiYekw7cOVeEqnOi3dX7MzEATaOjvZriqobl_RPZo3FFeAc7R9w2VpS9pCc5wPdnC9DX-qZihCgBtMR3lkFSsMmDzuY7Kya7tuxpzq7pzg/s1600/20140107_184526.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Guiltless homemade chicken tacos with quinoa on the side.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I also learned that:<br />
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<ul>
<li>The absence of alcohol does not equal the absence of migraine headaches. Boo. </li>
<li>Eating breakfast, 2 healthy snacks, lunch and dinner does satisfy my hunger. </li>
<li>I don't need a second helping to feel full; I need to eat more slowly and let my body do the work it is designed to do. </li>
<li>Based on the amount of time I spent each day thinking about pizza, I think research should be performed to determine whether it is an addictive substance. </li>
<li>It's easier to be bright eyed and bushy tailed at 5:30 a.m. if I haven't had that glass of wine the night before. </li>
<li>Preparing healthy meals and snacks in advance and in bulk makes it much easier to make healthy choices. </li>
<li>I don't necessarily need motivation and support from a coach or health professional. Making the commitment is more important than following the exact plan, in my experience. </li>
</ul>
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<i style="font-weight: bold;">Now what?</i> As you may have realized, this 2 week challenge did not produce life-, body-, or fit-of-clothes- changing results for me, but I didn't really expect that it would. I did happen to read some articles about dieting during the challenge, and was able to confirm what I already knew: a long-term commitment to eating a healthy diet and staying active is the best bet for getting and maintaining your ideal weight. The things that Charming and I learned during the clean eating challenge have inspired us to make some permanent changes. We will keep eating breakfast, keep our portion sizes on the smaller side of reasonable, and stay active. We will buy and consume fewer bags of chips each week. We will buy and consume fewer alcoholic drinks each week. We will close our ears to the siren call of the candy and ice cream, at least most of the time. Perhaps most important, Taco Tuesday will be a treat, not a lifestyle. </div>
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*<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Full disclosure: Charming had 3 drinks during the two weeks, I had 2. We also ate enchiladas and apple pie at his parents' house 2 days before the challenge ended.</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710701805683512821noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3117988114815121161.post-53951488812192293292014-01-09T18:53:00.000-08:002014-01-09T18:54:54.180-08:00I've Got Your Dinner Plans Right Here<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Alternate Titles:</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>You Can't Spell 'Bliss' (incorrectly) Without L-I-S-T</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>How Many Lists Would a List Lover List if a List Lover Loved Listing Lists?</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Failure To Plan (Dinner) = Planning To Fail (Dinner) </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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A few months ago, I came up with the totally original, never ever before thought of idea to plan my family's dinners for the entire month. Immediately, I saw the list-making value in this venture, and whipped out my favorite mechanical pencil. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiqedgkeIA6wc_cPF_H_a-YqrEDfPtCpe6Ny3HXEd9V8OetLYTAYHrBXq37qno02-9imR9EvdiM4WC8eyMZ1VkxBKk-2ck1ram-raec_aCQ5GFNBSWbZVuoSaXbMNfVPc3i7kcLkSQjgc/s1600/20140108_211655.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiqedgkeIA6wc_cPF_H_a-YqrEDfPtCpe6Ny3HXEd9V8OetLYTAYHrBXq37qno02-9imR9EvdiM4WC8eyMZ1VkxBKk-2ck1ram-raec_aCQ5GFNBSWbZVuoSaXbMNfVPc3i7kcLkSQjgc/s1600/20140108_211655.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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Here is a <b>list</b> of the pros and cons involved in this task:<br />
<br />
<u style="font-weight: bold;">Pros:</u><br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>It's actually many lists in one. First, I write down the dates, then fill in the meals I know I won't have to plan on cooking (Taco Tuesday, Thanksgiving, school fundraiser night at a restaurant, etc.). Next, I count the blanks and list the number of dinners needed in a neat column on the side. I then randomly list meals in that column, until I finally assign the meals to specific dates, keeping in mind how recently I will have served a specific dinner or something similar. </li>
<li>$$$$! Knowing that I'm going to be making chili in 3 weeks, for example, lets me take advantage of the sale on cans of diced tomatoes at the grocery store while feeling confident that they won't be taking up valuable pantry space for months. I shop less often, now, because of my plan, and I've been shopping smarter, too.</li>
<li>If you are the person who does most of the cooking for your household, you can easily imagine the relief of knowing every morning what you'll be making for dinner that night. It takes so much stress away from daily life, and leaves more time for...</li>
</ul>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7tsVCuXyGNlbEzxg1YJ38K2XuTRPRk_j6ijNqwIfubfg8NYRbUFW5C2vk5KzNlefpKzUh85mHGc_1sGsfMqrHvmEfeYuftiOuvhr4lpFFHt3l_lqYHgXZpxGfzU1rGpx_6K6Qo_zhhXQ/s1600/naukasana1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7tsVCuXyGNlbEzxg1YJ38K2XuTRPRk_j6ijNqwIfubfg8NYRbUFW5C2vk5KzNlefpKzUh85mHGc_1sGsfMqrHvmEfeYuftiOuvhr4lpFFHt3l_lqYHgXZpxGfzU1rGpx_6K6Qo_zhhXQ/s1600/naukasana1.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">relaxing.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<ul>
<li>If you are the person who does <i>not</i> do most of the cooking, it's also nice to know what to expect each night. Plus, you are able to give input on what you would like to eat just once a month, on the day the list is made, rather than being asked before breakfast every morning, "What sounds good to you for dinner?"</li>
<li>Leftover love. Pulled pork in the crock pot on the 5th, leftovers frozen. Cuban sandwiches (with the leftover pork) on the 16th, Taquitos (yup, you guessed it- with the last of the pork) on the 28th. I make a big batch of homemade spaghetti sauce early in the month, save a few gallon-sized freezer bags-full and lay them flat on the freezer shelf. All the rest of my pasta dishes for the month are then easy peasy lemon squeezy!</li>
</ul>
<div>
Let's sum up the pros. Save money, save time, relax, make others happy, write many lists. But, this is a fair and balanced blog, <strike>unlike</strike> like the television news stations, so now for the other side.</div>
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<div>
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<div>
<b><u>Cons:</u></b></div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>It can take a good hour or so to think of and write down all the dinners you'll make for the month. (However, if you calculate how much time you waste each month staring in the fridge or pantry, looking through cookbooks repeatedly, or just wracking your brain trying to think of anything yummy that you didn't already eat this week, it probably adds up to more than 60 minutes. We'll have to call this one a "pron").</li>
<li>Impromptu dinner invitations are not accepted/offered quite as often. (Although, having fresh meat and produce forcing you to cook rather than go to a restaurant can be a money-saving pro, too. We've got us another pron.)</li>
<li>Um.</li>
</ul>
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Of course, I know that I'm not actually the first person to do this whole planning of dinner thing. In fact, I was inspired by <a href="http://kashkawan.squarespace.com/">my online friend, Luisa</a>, who has worship-worthy cooking/planning skills. How about you? Do you plan ahead, or are your dinners stir of the moment? (Ha!)</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710701805683512821noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3117988114815121161.post-9701827175927942692014-01-06T10:39:00.002-08:002014-01-06T10:51:01.002-08:00The Last Enchilada<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7gb28W9dIZS7g4iisfmqiQhNpLtsQuhGPXHygc9rHcc4ldoYkkqIdgPTXNUTu_2h_WungiMHuB3Tamh0W0scWpGBv9hSeP4feg-OXUhY2XRrP4iuj04RSmu1WaPQ2fLnCAKNSQyeiXDE/s1600/20140104_211322.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7gb28W9dIZS7g4iisfmqiQhNpLtsQuhGPXHygc9rHcc4ldoYkkqIdgPTXNUTu_2h_WungiMHuB3Tamh0W0scWpGBv9hSeP4feg-OXUhY2XRrP4iuj04RSmu1WaPQ2fLnCAKNSQyeiXDE/s1600/20140104_211322.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So long, dear friend. See you in a while. :(</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I'm about to do something I've never done before in all the years I can remember. I have committed myself to a <a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/1408649672710612/">Clean Eating Challenge</a>. Me. Mrs. <a href="http://knowitallmrs.blogspot.com/2013/06/6-things-about-which-im-embarrassed-to.html">I don't have to try to lose weight</a>. Mrs. <a href="http://knowitallmrs.blogspot.com/2013/11/trend-bucking.html">Bucker of trends</a>. Mrs. <a href="http://denimology.com/2009/08/alessandra_ambrosio_in_ag_jeans_1">I can button my jeans</a>. One of those links may have been a test to see whether or not you click on them. The truth is, my jeans don't button without a lot of breath-holding, these days. I have some bad habits, which started to catch up with me as soon as I stopped running after my stress fracture. There was no cost to commit to this challenge, and although I know being coached through a detox-ish diet-type thing like this via social media goes a <i>teensy </i>bit against what I've said before, I've accepted the fact that I do need to change some things.<br />
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Charming agreed (voluntarily!) to accept the challenge with me, so for the next two weeks, our diet will consist of all gross food and nothing delicious. Okay, I know that isn't true. Actually, I do cook healthy meals most of the time. We eat a lot of vegetables, fruits, and lean proteins. We don't keep soda in the house, and rarely eat fast food. We <i>do</i> eat tacos from Tijuana Flats <b>every single Tuesday</b>. My sister says our lives revolve around TF's Taco Tuesdaze promo, which is only partly true. Only our Tuesdays revolve around it. But still, it shouldn't be a problem to indulge one night each week with a soda, tortilla chips, and a couple of shells filled with juicy meat, crispy lettuce, lots of cheese, crunchy onions, seeds-removed jalapenos, briny black olives, fresh tomatoes and a generous drizzle of jalapeno hot sauce. The problem lies with what happens after our other healthy, balanced, appropriately portioned meals. Chips. Chips. Lots and lots of chips. We eat a shameful amount of chips. Go on. Get a mental picture of a "shameful" amount of chips. I bet you imagined low. I won't exaggerate and say that our chip habit keeps Frito-Lay in business, but I will tell you that I calculated how much money we could save by cutting the chips from our grocery bill, and the number fell right between "embarrassing" and "nauseating." <br />
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It seems contradictory to tell myself (and others) that I'm passionate about health and fitness and doing what I can to maintain both, when all the while I'm giving in to every food that cries, "Eat me!" I don't believe that cutting out all sugar, all fat, all carbs, or all meat is a good way to go. But I can't deny that eliminating all the super-processed, deep fried, nutritionally void foods will be of benefit to me. I don't <i>need</i> the leftover holiday candy. I don't <i>need</i> ice cream. I don't <i>need </i>beer. I'm pretty sure that I've passed the point in my life wherein I can indulge in those things without consequences to my body. <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiwgV96j8VDPdgSZVSmoKbsS5RQFq605fhK1bktH-aaBRNA92gp1Tw2LVcB7gE4Ir5C0CuOjLaVysMUO-pg8cLDO2eNKXsvcX9w96QAqtvOBZoU9WkqJlAOE6i7sHrxJeUk39yPNJhreQ/s1600/20140104_211611.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiwgV96j8VDPdgSZVSmoKbsS5RQFq605fhK1bktH-aaBRNA92gp1Tw2LVcB7gE4Ir5C0CuOjLaVysMUO-pg8cLDO2eNKXsvcX9w96QAqtvOBZoU9WkqJlAOE6i7sHrxJeUk39yPNJhreQ/s1600/20140104_211611.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cheers! No adult beverages for 14 days!</td></tr>
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So, here's the plan: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/runjasminerun">Coach Jasmine</a> will provide recipes, online motivation, workout guides, de-stressing yoga poses, and all the Shakeology a person can drink. (I've never tried Shakeology. I really dislike drinking anything that comes from a blender, unless it is, like, peppermint-chocolate flavored vodka with vanilla ice cream and brownie chunks. I also tend to gag on things made with powder, except when I've mixed a hot chocolate packet into a cup of coffee and added some toffee flavored creamer. So, I'm not too eager to try the shakes, but we'll see how things go.) Those of us participating in the challenge are responsible for eating 3 "clean" meals and 2 healthy snacks each day, and drinking lots of water. We are to abstain from alcohol, processed foods, and lethargy. We are encouraged to share our successes and shortfalls, to post pictures, and to track our workouts online for all to see. <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit1iWCZWYqdiFyOW89XwtMEBItHRQpeQ9A88p9xHD1hgVVkn2aXYGGuNgLzLwUG47aL11arGmv9y25Lny9YtARoa591HZ1YbNpFVZlVx47BHXbdRmAF9tG2suT4YK-pfCg9hA7gae7fik/s1600/20140106_105258.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit1iWCZWYqdiFyOW89XwtMEBItHRQpeQ9A88p9xHD1hgVVkn2aXYGGuNgLzLwUG47aL11arGmv9y25Lny9YtARoa591HZ1YbNpFVZlVx47BHXbdRmAF9tG2suT4YK-pfCg9hA7gae7fik/s1600/20140106_105258.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Day 1. Whose jeans do you think are happier: mine, or Alessandra Ambrosio's? I think mine are under an awful lot of stress, and that can't be good.</td></tr>
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I don't actually plan to cook any different, except that I'll not be taking Tuesdays off from my kitchen duties. On the menu for tonight is spaghetti. I made a big batch of my vegetable-chocked sauce last month and put some in the freezer. Today, I just have to heat the sauce and cook some whole grain pasta, and throw together some salads. Tuesday, I'll make tacos (surprise!) with chicken breasts instead of ground beef and with more vegetables than cheese.<br />
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You know what's cool? You can join, too! The internet is wonderfully inclusive like that. You don't necessarily have to change in every way the challenge suggests, either. You could be like me, and just push yourself to break your worst habit(s). I would love to hear about it, whatever you do! Wait-- unless it's eating at Tijuana Flats and gorging yourself on chips. I can do without your telling me those things.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710701805683512821noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3117988114815121161.post-69281059166684561322013-12-01T18:15:00.003-08:002013-12-01T18:18:13.763-08:00Connect The DotsThe dots, in this case, are the random bits of information to follow. Yes, I could have written several mini posts, but I think you know by now that I will almost always choose long-winded over short. <br />
<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>For the second year in a row, my team made the playoffs in our Keeper($) <b><u>Fantasy Football League</u></b>. Although my dependence on the Tom Brady/Rob Gronkowski combo seemed like it was going to destroy me earlier in the season (thanks a load for those 9 points in week 7, Touchdown Tommy), they pulled together when the time came and got me the wins I desperately needed. This team is the one (of three) with which I most concern myself. I'm doing terribly in the Free Family League, and I need many things to fall into place in order to secure a playoff spot in the winner-take-all League of Mostly Couples. Unfortunately, my brother-in-law needs to beat his brother this week to push me ahead in the standings in that league, and, well, that might take a Thanksgiving miracle.</li>
</ul>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXRJVnbq7KiX6nLsam78WsGT7q1n7P-lBItl8h97U_chndf3_kyIBV_ulKOecEb3ZZG5Q-9_nubrfOE-4x4ITnCWWgqY4EzXquhwBi26e3lPz8fUEnOVPAJs3nefZHRgVhYf2dNr0lIa0/s1600/96628_Football_Bean_Bag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="171" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXRJVnbq7KiX6nLsam78WsGT7q1n7P-lBItl8h97U_chndf3_kyIBV_ulKOecEb3ZZG5Q-9_nubrfOE-4x4ITnCWWgqY4EzXquhwBi26e3lPz8fUEnOVPAJs3nefZHRgVhYf2dNr0lIa0/s200/96628_Football_Bean_Bag.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">BIL's appropriate team pic</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<ul>
<li>Cupcake (formerly known as Baby) is thoroughly obsessed with <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jofNR_WkoCE"><b>The Fox</b></a> song. She prefers the live on Jimmy Fallon's show version to the original, because she likes pointing at the horse with the Ylvis guys. She asks to watch it multiple times each <strike>hour</strike> day, sings along ("pa pa pow"), and dances. It's pretty stinkin' cute.</li>
<li>Rip Claw (formerly known as 6 y.o.) earned his Bobcat rank in <b><u>Cub Scouts</u></b>. I got to paint his cute little face during the presentation ceremony at the pack meeting. Charming (formerly known as Husband, because he's like my Prince and my <a href="http://www.fxnetworks.com/soa">Jax Teller</a> all in one charming package) and I are pretty new to the whole scouting deal, and still a little hesitant. We like the values they teach, and Rip Claw enjoys the activities a lot. We're not entirely sure, though, that we're getting our money's worth. It seems like a lot of expense, time, and effort are going in to securing tangible recognition that he's learned things we have taught him since he was born. The leaders talk a lot about scouting being a family oriented program, but it is <i>really</i> difficult for us to participate in many of the events as a family, and I feel like we're ostracized if we complete assignments or activities <i>just</i> as a family, without the den. Oh, and then there's the lightly blanketed racism that seems to pervade everything scouting-related...but that's a subject for a different post. And they also seem prejudiced against those of us who don't sew or iron.</li>
</ul>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaYbEZwPV8lOYt5U21Zpmm8EUgUfuRUQCYx00QdxXvdka-jgHTEHbeyRsuGvGcgeBRAyk0MmHCtcwHZBzWDDlfwdeBHFK2VyB7PcEPfbvxE1Wtandg5RbDEXSRRIPL9uaoeSfGp-Fedzc/s1600/20130927_180445+(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaYbEZwPV8lOYt5U21Zpmm8EUgUfuRUQCYx00QdxXvdka-jgHTEHbeyRsuGvGcgeBRAyk0MmHCtcwHZBzWDDlfwdeBHFK2VyB7PcEPfbvxE1Wtandg5RbDEXSRRIPL9uaoeSfGp-Fedzc/s320/20130927_180445+(1).jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First time in uniform a couple months ago.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<ul>
<li>I'm <b><u>running</u></b> again! I've been slowly building my weekly mileage up, and including lots of walking each time I hit the road. I also was treated to a <a href="http://www.jfaw.com/">therapeutic massage</a> recently, which helped with the lingering soft tissue pain around my healed stress fracture. I already shared some of the <a href="http://knowitallmrs.blogspot.com/2013/11/memo-to-note.html">lessons I learned</a> from my injury, but I feel like I'm also applying even more intelligence and thought to my running regimen than ever before. I'm keeping track of how much water I drink, and meeting my goal of at least 100 oz/day. I'm strength training, with concentration on my core, hips, and quads. I've been practicing yoga. Perhaps my favorite change, though, has been the addition of <a href="http://www.classicalstretch.com/">these dynamic stretching workouts</a> after running. </li>
</ul>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyFHr8E0COD7z-DFZlQoVdqBTkPXlgslBL2mIfGCgqhUSNN_kH2tkGIhMJQ7RiiaM6tE6EtsTY2iQuJkf5aaDbRWjWq_ZdstTAfmeQN94TP3X6miKaa20GLeWOrI1cIz_2IBEzkZ-TgIk/s1600/miranda.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="182" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyFHr8E0COD7z-DFZlQoVdqBTkPXlgslBL2mIfGCgqhUSNN_kH2tkGIhMJQ7RiiaM6tE6EtsTY2iQuJkf5aaDbRWjWq_ZdstTAfmeQN94TP3X6miKaa20GLeWOrI1cIz_2IBEzkZ-TgIk/s320/miranda.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Miranda Esmonde-White doesn't know it, but I love her. She makes me want to hug my television.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<ul>
<li>I tweet! Follow me, if you please. I am @Rhi_Tweeter.</li>
<li>My Alma Mater has an Ah-Mah-Zing football team this year. U! C! F! Whooooo!</li>
<li>Nightmares have been going around at our house. A couple of nights ago, Rip Claw slept in our bed after a bad dream, which has never happened before. Last night, I had a terrifying dream about the Governor from <b><a href="http://www.amctv.com/shows/the-walking-dead">The Walking Dead</a> </b>wherein he was tearing the heads off of people (not zombies) with a hook, and hunting down me and the other members of my group.</li>
</ul>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE-hVqIw9zK07Sjjpkrwca1w6xDTpxqmwSASGO-EwXFOKj199f4qPinnf6iq79zWd1XMoYwIPms2OwUdnTuPWObQRiKRxf_6f3YCxE8kEN9inAZ0-5kIysFLKeMKMUZ4qQhFTHgBmyL_A/s1600/the-governor-the-walking-dead.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE-hVqIw9zK07Sjjpkrwca1w6xDTpxqmwSASGO-EwXFOKj199f4qPinnf6iq79zWd1XMoYwIPms2OwUdnTuPWObQRiKRxf_6f3YCxE8kEN9inAZ0-5kIysFLKeMKMUZ4qQhFTHgBmyL_A/s320/the-governor-the-walking-dead.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>I'm currently reading 3 books. 1 for regular book club:</li>
</ul>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN32zrvLQfCIVA-hvEL8ECowqA65w5uYIBwKFoeYhXnJ5L9VzaevfLuQaCde7v8oRy7nstyi-L6YI3VROJ19AFDBWbCwr2lM3EcxfbM9mwlCGTFJfU47G7ITohj3-mHCY360XI6b0Umis/s1600/scar+tissue+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN32zrvLQfCIVA-hvEL8ECowqA65w5uYIBwKFoeYhXnJ5L9VzaevfLuQaCde7v8oRy7nstyi-L6YI3VROJ19AFDBWbCwr2lM3EcxfbM9mwlCGTFJfU47G7ITohj3-mHCY360XI6b0Umis/s1600/scar+tissue+cover.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Turns out, rock star stereotypes are sometimes quite accurate.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
1 for mini book club:</div>
</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAzn0dNwJRMtAIiul3q4wz2Iz6vFcq1HD5II3m6iQQCBgDjrwhOSGIIjXLKQbXOwbpxKHot74cyPVeiMWSavM5ROslnsjgltug1tchKvq_s1vEDAyoiBoEOBItWR9hNi4zreN2bFXsK8g/s1600/a+walk+in+the+woods+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAzn0dNwJRMtAIiul3q4wz2Iz6vFcq1HD5II3m6iQQCBgDjrwhOSGIIjXLKQbXOwbpxKHot74cyPVeiMWSavM5ROslnsjgltug1tchKvq_s1vEDAyoiBoEOBItWR9hNi4zreN2bFXsK8g/s1600/a+walk+in+the+woods+cover.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Page 1, I decided to hike the Appalachian Trail. Then, changed my mind somewhere around page 1 1/2.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
1 to satisfy my inner sci-fi geek:</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLGxnQ827p1_u5KZXabCgFfBaI54GzHCnBx7K8jv9ff5rNw3X0Zx7vv26WK_Ttmlq4bPiza9TqTuuK4eFH5MNgZGdgUSNK5uYgegeSn8nRrcSTKyUpf-SzZGLdEfRJdZcpe1OoIOvtka4/s1600/purloined+number+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLGxnQ827p1_u5KZXabCgFfBaI54GzHCnBx7K8jv9ff5rNw3X0Zx7vv26WK_Ttmlq4bPiza9TqTuuK4eFH5MNgZGdgUSNK5uYgegeSn8nRrcSTKyUpf-SzZGLdEfRJdZcpe1OoIOvtka4/s1600/purloined+number+cover.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Better than the first (so far) and the "There Goes The Galaxy" was pretty grand.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<ul>
<li>Let's see...is there anything else important that I should share? Hmm. Oh! Yeah. I registered for my second first marathon. Did anyone else just stop breathing for a second? No? Just me, then. If two marathons could be complete opposites, my first first and my second first are such. This one is in its inaugural year, local, without rock bands (although I think it would be great if they hired some local bands to provide music along the lovely course) and without several thousand of the participants that ran in Savannah. It's going to be great. It's going to be great. It's going to be great. </li>
</ul>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihMv3oTZrtGDtAXlsl-MV3worftScUwyRm2roG815sC-xFtpXPZtw92Ac-j2HHARiQGnLVjDTqin9gO0mzSgBr-ne6f0OeJsSnclCD7KEM1QfZOymIiBg1styjGzLpQLRv8LUHPF6Ey6o/s1600/tomoka+marathon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihMv3oTZrtGDtAXlsl-MV3worftScUwyRm2roG815sC-xFtpXPZtw92Ac-j2HHARiQGnLVjDTqin9gO0mzSgBr-ne6f0OeJsSnclCD7KEM1QfZOymIiBg1styjGzLpQLRv8LUHPF6Ey6o/s320/tomoka+marathon.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's going to be great.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
Perhaps my chant should instead be: "I will not get injured. I will not get injured. I will not get injured."</div>
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<div>
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<div>
I know I haven't offered much advice in this post, but please feel free to comment with any questions you have about my areas of expertise, like barely making fantasy football playoffs, running hesitantly, sleeping on the couch or not at all after scary dreams, and... um... reading! Oh, and if you need to know every single lyric of The Fox song, I can help.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710701805683512821noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3117988114815121161.post-71429948354508732242013-11-28T08:43:00.001-08:002013-11-28T08:43:25.053-08:00Thanksgiving Fun<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">
Credit due to <a href="http://www.shutupandrun.net/2013/11/10-quick-thanksgiving-questions.html">SUAR</a>'s fabulous blog for these fun Thanksgiving questions. Be sure to click on the link to read her answers and many others! Please copy and paste your own answers in the comments, or on your own blog. Do it! What else are you going to do today? Cook?</div>
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<strong>1. How old do you have to be to move up from the kids’ table?</strong> </div>
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The kids usually sit with their parents until they are old enough to keep their hands to themselves next to their siblings/cousins. I don't think anyone has moved in a while.</div>
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<strong>2. Stuff the turkey or cook stuffing separately? (aka salmonella or not?)</strong></div>
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Separately! Blech.</div>
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<strong>3. Who sits at the head of the table?</strong></div>
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Whoever gets there first. We aren't like those tv families who sit down and pass dishes around the table. We fill our plates and then sit wherever there is an opening wide enough for our bottom.</div>
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<strong>4. Pumpkin, pecan, apple pie?</strong></div>
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Yes, please! I usually take a small piece of every offered dessert. Don't judge me.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLyxUpKuhA-oyz5xEJpqFXPo9SFzEK7no7VGA7YMGA_d1XbSSWnSGmTNEY6-Ix0lKpFUunU-mHPF46YRVQWFWoK-MZXQyhKvsmcuzk3glH-rQzndQocKTB2nuvyQeg0QJsZFmYVPFiVTg/s1600/20131128_113911.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLyxUpKuhA-oyz5xEJpqFXPo9SFzEK7no7VGA7YMGA_d1XbSSWnSGmTNEY6-Ix0lKpFUunU-mHPF46YRVQWFWoK-MZXQyhKvsmcuzk3glH-rQzndQocKTB2nuvyQeg0QJsZFmYVPFiVTg/s320/20131128_113911.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm bringing this white chocolate, cranberry, pecan tart. Well, what will be left of it, anyway.</td></tr>
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<strong>5. What the he<strike>ll</strike>ck is mince meat?</strong></div>
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If it sounds disgusting, it usually is.</div>
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<strong>6. Is it okay to play Christmas music on Thanksgiving?</strong></div>
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I'm not going to lose my mind if I hear it, but I certainly won't seek it out.</div>
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<strong>7. In five words or less, worst Thanksgiving memory?</strong></div>
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No gravy. ON PURPOSE!</div>
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<strong>8. Speaking of leftovers. Who gets dibs on them? </strong></div>
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Everyone brings home way too many.</div>
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<strong>9. Worst Thanksgiving food?</strong></div>
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Sweet potato/yam stuff. Yuck.</div>
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<strong>10. Best Thanksgiving quick joke?</strong></div>
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Knock knock.</div>
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<i>Who's there?</i></div>
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Squanto.</div>
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<i>Squanto who?</i></div>
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'Squanto eat all this leftover mincemeat pie?</div>
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(I just made that up. Can you tell?)</div>
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Enjoy your blessings today, and always. I'm grateful that you took the time to read my blog, and I hope you'll come by again soon! Happy feasting!</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710701805683512821noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3117988114815121161.post-24680499397918116452013-11-17T20:25:00.000-08:002013-11-17T20:25:14.241-08:0010 Things I Hate About MeIf you're on Facebook, you've certainly seen the new thing going around. Someone shares, "My number is __" and proceeds to write a corresponding number of things about him/herself that other friends might not know. This is actually one of the least annoying memes (I hope I'm using that term right!) I've seen going around. I've gotten a glimpse into the inner workings of many of my friends, which I always enjoy. I have to say, though, my favorite was one posted today by my hilarious friend, Amy:<br />
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<i><span style="color: #e06666;">3 Things...</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #e06666;">1. I'm just a small town girl, living in a lonely world.</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #e06666;">2. I took the midnight train going anywhere.</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #e06666;">3. Don't stop believing, and always hold on to that feeling.</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #e06666;">4. Did I do this right?</span></i></div>
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The other day, I was debating whether or not I should "like" one of these posts in order to get myself a number. I started listing in my head all the things I would share, and somehow, my thought process went to the movie, "<i>10 Things I Hate About You</i>" (wherein I thought Heath Ledger was awesome before all the other people thought he was awesome), and I thought <i>that</i> sort of list might be funny. Then, I realized what a mean-spirited thing that was to think; how awful it would be for people to list things they hate about each other. <i>Then, </i>I came up with this list, of 10 things I hate about me. Stay tuned at the end of this post for the opposite-of-mean-spirited idea I eventually came up with. You'll like it, I feel sure.</div>
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<b>10 Things I Hate About Me</b></div>
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<b>1. PORES. </b>They're big, they get clogged, and I hate the way they look. I sometimes find myself staring really creepily at people with nice, smooth skin and invisible pores. If you have been the victim of such a stare, I'm sorry for acting like a perv.</div>
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<b>2. MEMORY.</b> It's just not what it used to be. Sometimes, I blame my children, sometimes I blame my migraines. Whatever the reason, I simply cannot remember things the way I used to. At least 2-3 times each month, I forget how to shower. I don't forget <i>to </i>shower (usually), I forget what I've already washed. I shave one leg and not the other. I find myself with a handful of conditioner and conditioner already on my hair. It's frustrating, and let's face it, completely impractical.</div>
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<b>3. EASILY ANNOYED.</b> I rarely get really, truly, spitting mad. I often get annoyed, and it is often by petty, silly things that don't have any bearing on my life.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD8xPN4jy8A7TnzL5mu5J2It0C4QeZRkFzIpfYFl3PI8GEjUCtNz1Lx73FS-2Ha1ApnAbDHK7tcfVU7RT0uDNbt2ii6Hrj8M7nlJox3a0i8S5BqXefqVcS809riy7Z9Nzc9SsL7yWHL_c/s1600/20130318_152921.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD8xPN4jy8A7TnzL5mu5J2It0C4QeZRkFzIpfYFl3PI8GEjUCtNz1Lx73FS-2Ha1ApnAbDHK7tcfVU7RT0uDNbt2ii6Hrj8M7nlJox3a0i8S5BqXefqVcS809riy7Z9Nzc9SsL7yWHL_c/s200/20130318_152921.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
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I wish that obnoxious bumper stickers, apostrophe misuses, ridiculous advertisements, and people saying, "all of the sudden," "I gave it 1000%" and "conversate" did not make my brain start to itch. </div>
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<b>4. EASILY DISTRACTED. </b>This ties in with my vast procrastination skills, I think. I get off task easily, and I always seem to be able to distract myself with silly, unnecessary things to avoid doing important, unpleasant tasks.</div>
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<b>5. UNTANABLE. </b> I've lived in Florida my entire life, and I have never had a good tan. Of course, I'm wise enough to use sunscreen, these days, but I didn't have a tan before I knew better, either. I also have a 2-yr-old bottle of Jergens self-tanning lotion that I can't seem to remember to use consistently enough to see any result except orange elbows. For those of you with dark, smooth skin, I apologize again for my open-mouth stares. </div>
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<b>6. PICTIONARY FAILURE.</b> I am probably the worst artist I've ever seen. Almost everything I draw ends up looking like a rabbit, and not even a real, recognizable rabbit. It's especially frustrating to be so terrible at drawing since I have a pretty creative mind. I can see things drawn well in my mind, but you would think I was bypassing my hands and putting the drawing utensils in between my toes and closing my eyes.</div>
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<b>7. I CAN'T DECIDE.</b> Ever. I can come up with options, but I hate making decisions. I guess this isn't the worst fault. I believe my inability to make decisions comes from my strong desire to please everyone. Also, it's probably genetic. There's nothing our husbands love more than when my mom, sister and I try to plan things. </div>
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<b>8. SLUG.</b> Other than when I'm running, I'm a total slug. I often wish I was one of those people who can't stand to sit still. Instead, I'm driving around the grocery store parking lot looking for the closest spot, asking Rip Claw (formerly known here as 6 y.o.) to bring me my phone, a water, the remote, a diaper (not for me!), and lying on the couch watching television, facebooking, or listening to music all evening.</div>
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<b>9. GRAMMAR BLOCKS. </b>I read a lot, and good grammar is something that is important to me. I don't know why, but no matter how many times I read <a href="http://www.quickanddirtytips.com/education/grammar/affect-versus-effect">the rules</a>, and no matter how cleverly <a href="http://theoatmeal.com/comics/misspelling">the rules are stated</a>, I almost never feel confident that I'm using affect or effect correctly. Same goes for further/farther. With affect/effect, I usually just choose a different word altogether. When I want to use further or farther, I simply try both, decide which sounds better in the sentence, and hope nobody calls me out on my error.</div>
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<b>10. HAIR DOING.</b> My Cupcake (formerly known here as Baby) is going to hate this about me, too. Similar to my drawing, my hairdos look like I grabbed the brush with my foot, closed my eyes, and then turned a few somersaults.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbtARMBYESf8TvpyVsiMy0_Il_KuZJO1qRRayIRHhxspDGvwm0h07oqxY17IJ8rLgEsz6yt7KXaBikgQjMrFkfnZvvJUqQ4w_8EZ7rI_1eTyFy72QwwNYn5CJ4HylkciP0LpO1DGNBWEg/s1600/20130907_124527.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbtARMBYESf8TvpyVsiMy0_Il_KuZJO1qRRayIRHhxspDGvwm0h07oqxY17IJ8rLgEsz6yt7KXaBikgQjMrFkfnZvvJUqQ4w_8EZ7rI_1eTyFy72QwwNYn5CJ4HylkciP0LpO1DGNBWEg/s200/20130907_124527.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not that bad, right? I mean, the barrette isn't holding the hair away from her eyes, but...<br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWKn6VZQKn-grAtPvE5G5RJQhi0oaWRJ3JFgmJr-BIShaOv2vQlv3uoqTxd0Mfa4XFfjNRcWF_N-VxXGfXjmdXteWO35KNXK2QDLNpfSf-2lM-Py5F3O4bJq12Mfm-xxJA3T9D2lc0ZvY/s1600/20130907_124359.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWKn6VZQKn-grAtPvE5G5RJQhi0oaWRJ3JFgmJr-BIShaOv2vQlv3uoqTxd0Mfa4XFfjNRcWF_N-VxXGfXjmdXteWO35KNXK2QDLNpfSf-2lM-Py5F3O4bJq12Mfm-xxJA3T9D2lc0ZvY/s200/20130907_124359.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">then you see the back. Uneven pigtails...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibt-xGLkWrt_ayOPq3b9rSEp8MlVsGcEhINgMy96PqsARLWkpJwi24k-Kq8rVNIe1CQ2xU3RmjEB1_osLLs2D5TNlyV1y10ztOwjAuunBx0OhoMDzTwYdyn4d_UTJa9CL4t7fwTC-b0pA/s1600/20130907_124343.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibt-xGLkWrt_ayOPq3b9rSEp8MlVsGcEhINgMy96PqsARLWkpJwi24k-Kq8rVNIe1CQ2xU3RmjEB1_osLLs2D5TNlyV1y10ztOwjAuunBx0OhoMDzTwYdyn4d_UTJa9CL4t7fwTC-b0pA/s200/20130907_124343.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">plus an uneven part and weird comb-over. Poor kid.</td></tr>
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Don't try to make me feel better about how badly I do her hair. She sits still and patiently waits while I struggle. It's definitely me that is the problem. I don't think I've used a curling iron since I was 12, I use a blow dryer maybe once a year, and a flat iron seasonally. Each time, I miss huge sections of hair, there are strays sticking out everywhere, and I usually burn myself. You know those women who wear their hair in a sleek on top, perfectly curled ponytail right in the center of the back of their head? Yeah, you guessed it. I stare at them, too, jealous and amazed at their achievement.</div>
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So, there you have 10 things I hate about me, and now it is time to reveal my kind-spirited plan. I think you should tell 10 things you love about someone else. It's like the spirit of Thanksgiving and the spirit of Christmas and the spirit of Sharing Everything on Social Networks all combined. Be it here, or on your own blog, or wherever you please, just go on and say nice things about someone else. Kindness is always in style, unlike my hairdo.</div>
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<b><i>Have you ever caught someone staring at you and not known why?</i></b></div>
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<b><i>Was it me?</i></b></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710701805683512821noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3117988114815121161.post-421783051009210592013-11-11T20:15:00.000-08:002013-11-11T20:15:39.660-08:00Trend BuckingThis blog's title is "Unsolicited Advice," a fact which I hope you've noticed. One of the reasons I started writing it was to share my opinions and my advice, regardless of whether or not folks asked to hear either. (I also felt it was important to open a discussion on <a href="http://knowitallmrs.blogspot.com/2013/01/fries-and-foremost.html">fries and dipping</a>.) Up until now, though, I haven't really offered any advice to make folks bristle, and I haven't had anyone openly disagree with advice I've given. This post might buck that trend.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not my feet.</td></tr>
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I'm here to tell you that if you need to, <u style="font-weight: bold;">lose weight.</u> Just do it! I'll tell you how, too. Eat healthy, exercise more. I totally get that it isn't always that simple. I know there are medications, illnesses, imbalances, injuries, and genetics that complicate the weight loss process. For those of you with a legitimate medical reason for being overweight, stop reading here; this is not for you. But for the majority of the people who are at an unhealthy weight, it <i>is </i>that simple. I realized today (not because of you, or you, or you, I promise) that people need to be informed of this fact. I'll say it again. Eat healthy. Exercise more. <br />
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You know what I hear a lot? "I've tried everything, and I just can't lose weight." YES YOU CAN! The "everything" that most people have tried is everything <i>but</i> eating healthy and exercising more. Think about it.<br />
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Pills. Powders. Wraps. Books. Drops. Social networking (a.k.a., spending time that could be spent exercising at the computer logging food items into a database, comparing stories with internet friends, and shopping for smaller clothes to wear when you get to your goal weight). C'mon. I know you know this is true: There is no miraculous shortcut. It isn't that you just haven't found the right pill, the right thing to cut out of your diet, or the right website to encourage you. It's that you've been trying to take the easy way out of doing something hard. <br />
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Here's something else I often hear: "I really want to lose weight, but I just have no willpower." My (inner, because I'm terrible at saying what I think if it might hurt someone's feelings) thought is immediately, "Then you don't really want to lose weight." Anything you <i>really </i>want to accomplish, you can. I'm completely confident in the truth of that statement. <a href="http://www.shutupandrun.net/">The Ironman in the bathroom stall next to you.</a> <a href="http://runningmovesme.com/">Boston qualified, marathon pacer, mom of 3 boys.</a> <a href="http://www.runnersworld.com/rw-challengers/challenger-of-the-week-john-mcnasby">Someone who really wanted to change things.</a> I could go on for days with examples of regular people like you and me who did hard things. Me, I quit smoking after over 10 years of a pack-a-day addiction. I didn't use a patch, or pills, hypnosis or lasers. I was able to quit because I wanted to quit, and that desire was strong enough to get me through the cravings and withdrawal symptoms. When you <i>really</i> want to lose weight, you'll have the willpower to resist the junk food, and you'll find the will to stick with an effective exercise regime.<br />
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I'm not saying it's easy, I'm saying it's simple. There's quite a difference. Healthy eating might mean making a lot of changes, some of which might not be popular with your family. I've found that planning in advance makes it a lot easier to cook healthy meals, and you'll be a lot less likely to stop for fast food if you have dinner already planned. I'll give you a few quick changes you can make in order to eat healthier. Ground turkey instead of ground beef. Baked instead of fried. Homemade instead of processed. Less instead of more. Vegetables don't need butter, cheese, or bacon added to taste good. Drink water. I've got a lot more tips and recipes, and I know how to make really delicious treats that are much healthier than they taste.<br />
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Making exercise a daily habit isn't an easy thing, either, but it is so important. You'll feel better. You'll look better. You'll be able to think more clearly, breathe easier, sleep better, and live longer. It's not a shortcut, but the results of regular exercise can seem miraculous. <br />
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So, buck the weight-loss trends, and start losing weight. Eat healthy foods. Exercise. If you want to, you'll do it.<br />
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<b><i>Any questions for me? I'll happily share recipes and exercise plans.</i></b><br />
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<b><i>Got an inspiring success story? Do tell!</i></b>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12710701805683512821noreply@blogger.com4