Am I Still Alive?

Wow . . . wow, wow, wow.  So much to say, so little time.  Suffice it to say, I haven't blogged in a VERY long time.  But that, my friends, is about to change.  Get ready.  I really hope you are ready!

In the past few years (since I last blogged) . . . I went back to work and started teaching 7th grade math.  From there, I accepted a position in our district's technology department and am now a Classroom Technology Designer.  Yes, my friends.  I get paid to share what I love - technology!  iPads, SMARTBoards, using cell phones in class . . . it's all in the job description.  Definitely a challenge (some more days than others), but I love it!

And on the homefront . . . Sammy is now in 2nd grade (where does the time go - I still remember when he was making a pillow pet!) and Sophia, my little pooper, is now 4 years old and ready to start Kindergarten in the fall.

Plus, we adopted another German Shepherd!  Are you surprised?  Kona the Wonder Dog needed a friend, and we heard that a young GSD was in need of rescue.  Zeus is now almost 2 years old, and he has fit into our little pack quite well.  We're just glad he decided to make us part of his pack.  More on that later!

Meanwhile, stick around awhile - hoping to blog more often!

Thoughts on the Eve of Kindergarten

Sam,

Today is the day before kindergarten starts for you.  I've done everything I possibly can to prepare you for this day, but somehow I've forgotten to prepare myself.

I still remember the day that you were born.  I was so excited to finally be able to hold you, my sweet baby boy that I carried in my body and protected for nine months.  You didn't cry immediately, and then you let out a low, sweet wail that would touch my heart, grab on and never let go.

I've watched you turn into such a big boy the last few months since you turned 5.  You are such a sweet helper to us around the house, and you are such a wonderful big brother to your sister - she loves you more than anything in the world, and you love her the same.  It is absolutely beautiful to me to see the way that you take care of her and help her.

These past few weeks, we've shopped for your school clothes.  We cleaned out your closets and your dresser, and you dutifully tried on every single piece of clothing.  You were a big boy and didn't cry when you had outgrown your favorite 'cowboy' jean jacket and your cowboy boots, and I promised to buy you new cowboy clothes as soon as I could find them in the store.  You helped me hang up all of your new clothes, and you've done a great job placing your shoes in the bins I put in your closet, and taking care of all of your new things.

We went to get your haircut for school last Tuesday.  Of course, after we got home you decided to snip a piece off in the front, with the reasoning that you didn't want a brown piece in the front.  I get it buddy, I really do - Mama doesn't like brown pieces in the front, either.  I got onto you for cutting your own hair, and we repeated over and over again that scissors are for paper.  You seem pretty contrite about it now, and honestly I really can't even see where you snipped it since it's right by your cowlick.  I never would have known if you hadn't left the snip of hair on the bathroom floor.  I guess that's something I didn't teach you very well - how to hide your mistakes and cover your tracks!

We met your teacher last Wednesday.  Her name is Mrs. Miller, and we brought her a clipboard you and I made with ModPodge and patterned scrapbook paper.  She loved it, and you showed her that you're a helper already by carrying a big box of Goldfish into the meeting room.  It was heavy, but you carried it proudly, and you stoically tried to put it exactly in the front of the room where Mrs. Miller would find it when she was making her presentation.  You were excited to find out that Mrs. Miller was your cousin Austin's teacher eight years ago, and I hope that means you'll turn out to be a great kid, just like he has.

I watched you write your first name on the post it note where you decided you wanted your seat in the classroom to be.  You did it quickly, trying to finish fast, and ended up writing your S backwards, and writing it in all capital letters.  I asked you to take another look at it and try again, and when you did, you wrote your name perfectly, just like we've practiced for the last year and a half.  I hope Mrs. Miller will give you a second chance and ask you to try again, and to take your time, just like Mommy does for you.  I know she will, but I'm still worried for you.

You met new friends in your classroom, Kai who lives in our neighborhood, and Mason who lives right next door to Uncle Aaron.  I watched you clown around with them, and hoped that you would remember that there is a time for laughing, and a time for learning.  You decided to sit right next to your new friends, so I bet Mrs. Miller hopes so, too.

I ordered special labels for you with your first and last name and a pirate symbol on them, and I carefully placed them on all of your things.  I hope the labels make you feel special, but I really hope it means that your things will come home with you at the end of each day!

We talked about your backpack.  I showed you where all the special pockets are, and we adjusted the straps so that it wouldn't hang halfway down your little back.  I even put an extra change of clothes in there, right down to underwear and socks, just in case.  Mrs. Miller asked all of the parents to do that.  I just hope I remember to change the clothes based on the seasons, so that you won't come home in shorts in December!

I made a big decision and decided to let you ride the bus to school this year.  Kai and his big sister Amaya will be on the bus as well, so I hope you'll have friends and you will enjoy getting to ride the big yellow school bus.  You and I talked about where the bus will pick you up and drop you off at, and I'll be waiting there for you each time, hoping you'll come home with lots of stories of your adventures for the day.

Yesterday, we talked about how you'll get to school on the first day, and we decided what you wanted in your lunch box.  You know to take home anything you don't eat, and you know to remember to keep your sandwich box and your snack box.  You also know that you have a pirate water bottle on the side of your backpack, so you'll always have it in case you are thirsty.

You have been so excited this past week.  Every day, you wake up and you tell me exactly how many days you have left until kindergarten starts.  This morning, you got to go into the big kids worship service for the first time ever, and I watched you proudly raise your hand and smile when Pastor Bronson asked for kindergarteners!

I know that you are ready, Sam, and I know you are going to do amazing.  It seems I've spent the last 5 years getting you ready for your big day tomorrow, but somehow I forgot to get myself ready.  It's so hard for me to know that I won't be there to help you tomorrow.  If you fall down, I won't be there to wipe your tears and get you a Transformers bandaid.  If someone hurts your feelings, I won't be there to hug you and tell you it's all right.  If you do something awesome, I can't be there to high five you and congratulate you. 

But, I will be there at home, waiting to give you a hug and hear about your day.  I can't wait to find out all of your new adventures, and I know that you are going to grow and change so much!  I hope that I can be the mom that you need me to be tomorrow - I hope that I can give you a huge hug and wish you luck, and that I won't cry in front of you.  And I hope that you will learn and grow, and that you will excel, just like you always have.  I know that you will, and I know that I'm going to be ok, too. 

I love you, Sam . . .

Poop Spelled Backwards is Poop

I seem to blog alot about poop.  Usually it's my kid's poop, but today it's mine . . .

This past weekend we were lucky enough to be invited to spend it in Rockport with our extended family.  My parents, my brother's family, my family, and the family of my parent's friends (including their kids and grandkids) all got together for 3 nights and 4 days of fun!  My parent's friends are the Sutton's, and they own the canal house that we were lucky enough to stay in.  It's absolutely beautiful (and it's for sale!), and we really enjoyed getting to spend time together as a family, and also with their awesome family.  And now, for the poop story . . .

As you well know, I'm a runner.  Just because I go on vacation doesn't mean I stop running.  I still have a schedule I adhere to, and as my family knows, if I don't run, I'm usually not a happy camper.  Saturday mornings are reserved for my long runs.  A long run for me is typically 5 or more miles, but it turns out that this week I would not have a running buddy.  I'd asked my friend Cyndy if anyone in the family ran (hoping for a partner for at least 2 miles, since I don't like to do more than 4 on my own), but my only hope was their family dog, Cowboy.  Unsure as to whether Cowboy had ever run distance or not, I decided to strike out on my own.

It was 7:40 am, and I was dressed to kill.  Ok, not really.  I actually had on my KatyFit Coach Shirt.  Not because I wanted people to know I was a coach, but because it is an obnoxious yellow color, and I didn't want to get hit by a car.  I also had on my matching skirt which is gray, with obnoxious yellow accents.  Not to mention my gray and obnoxious yellow running shoes.  I didn't do it on purpose, people.  It just happened to go that way. 

I decided to run 3 miles for several reasons, the first of which I was on my own.  I was in unfamiliar territory, didn't know a specific route, and let's not forget the fact that the highs during that week were over 100 degrees.  Yep, hotter than H-E-double hockey sticks. 

I set off from the canal house we were staying in, and ran towards the house of our friends.  It was a route we'd driven several times over the past two days, so I figured there was no way I could get lost.  Sure enough, I passed by the Sutton's home after about a mile, and continued on another half a mile.  Right when I decided to turn around, it hit me.  I'd eaten Mexican food the day before.  And it didn't hit me in my mind . . . it hit me somewhere else.

No details, people, but let's just say that concentrating on 'holding it' while you're also concentrating on maintaining proper running form, can be a bit difficult.  I tried in vain to make it back to the canal house we were staying in, but after 3 minutes I knew there was no way I'd make it.  I actually had to resort to walking.  Too much brain power required to concentrate on both objectives.

Suddenly, I saw the Sutton's house in front of me.  I had three options here.  I could either try to make it another mile back to our place (impossible), take off my shoes and visit Matagorda Bay (not a good option for the environmentalists), or I could swallow my pride and see if anyone was up at the Sutton's.  I chose the Sutton's.  Since it was now about 8 am, and kind of an ungodly hour, I figured if I knocked on the door and no one answered, my next option was the bay.

I hobbled up to the door, and tried to quietly knock, but I had forgotten about the dogs.  They quickly announced my arrival.  The door was answered by Will and Chance, 2nd and 1st graders (respectively).  I asked to use the potty, and they pointed me towards their bathroom.  After I'd gotten things taken care of and washed my hands, I opened the door and they were both standing there with pop guns pointed at me.  I laughed and thanked them for letting me use their potty.  Then I ran upstairs and thanked one of their dads and their grandpa for letting me visit as well.  Then I ran home.

If you're a runner, you know sometimes there are just no options.  And at some point, you have to swallow your pride.  When I got home, I admitted to my family what I'd had to do.  My mom was mortified, to say the least, but Mike, having been privy to my Gu issues before (Gu being a nutritional running supplement for you non-runners), just laughed.  My dad laughed, too.  I'm not sure if I made him proud, but he did chuckle.

So, later, we go back over to the Sutton's as a family.  And when we get there, the kids are all swimming in the pool together.  And I overhear Will, my bathroom buddy from earlier, announcing to the other kids "Earlier, Sammy's mommy came over and she stunk up our bathroom really bad."  Go ahead - laugh.  You know you want to!  I did!

And I had two options.  Mortal embarrassment, or own it and move on.  Yep, I owned it.  What else can you do?  We all know why I had to go there!  At least be an adult and don't try to lie about it.  I mean, they already had their guns pointed at me like I was an intruder - and I was, for goodness sake! 

For the rest of the weekend, I had to live it up as the running pooper.  What a name I made for myself.  I'm so embarrassed - and yet, what can you do?

I Wasn't Born This Way

I have had two separate conversations today that were almost identical, and yet the participants were completely unrelated.  They struck me so much that I feel the need to comment on them and the conclusions that they draw about our society and our worldview.

This morning I went for a run with three ladies whom I have the utmost respect for.  I had the honor of acting as a coach for them in KatyFit's 5K program this past Spring, and I am so proud of each of them for moving on to participate in our marathon and half marathon training program.  I am even honored to act as a coach again for two of them! 

These girls are tough.  They're moms, two of them with young preschool age children, and the third has older children, a son in junior high, and is even about to be a grandma any day now.  So we're not talking wimps by any means.  And beyond that, I have seen all three of these ladies work, and work hard, to start running, to train to run continuously (without walk breaks), and to run faster.  I'm proud of them for sure, and I know they're proud of themselves, as they well should be.

That being said, our conversation today on our run centered around opinions.  Opinions of other runners, and opinions of non runners.  Neither one should be important, as truly only your own opinion matters, but sometimes they can be overpowering.  Apparently, there is an opinion held that a slower runner (ie one who perhaps doesn't look like a runner and can't sprint by effortlessly at a blistering pace) is not a real runner.  I call bullshit on that opinion.  One of the ladies even shared with me that she had told a friend she was planning to run a Rock and Roll Half Marathon, and was responded to with the comment that "real runners don't do Rock and Roll events."  Really?  So, does that mean all those people who complete Rock and Roll Marathons and Half Marathons each year are not real?  What are they - fake?  Are there a bunch of zombies and mannequins out there, leaving a part of their hearts at each mile?  I think not.

Fast forward a few hours to a discussion with a fellow KatyFit runner at the end of a local triathlon held today in Katy.  She brought up to me that she, as well, feels slighted for being a slower runner.  For the life of me, I cannot understand why.  Is this truly an opinion held in the running community, or is this perhaps the misguided opinion of a few individuals, with some personal bias thrown in for good measure?  I think (actually, I hope) it's the latter. 

See, here's the deal.  I'm a slower runner.  I average about a 10 minute per mile pace on a shorter run (4 miles or less), and anywhere from a 10:30 - 11:00 pace for longer runs.  By all means, it takes me just under two and a half hours to finish a half marathon.  But, at that pace, I'm working just as hard as a faster runner would at their own individual pace.  Everyone has their own pace, the one that works for them.  You can train your body to run faster, for sure, but there's a point where genetics and body structure take over, and you just can't go further from there.  I've even seen running shirts that say "Find Your Happy Pace," and when you find it, you know.  It's fast enough to make you push it a bit, but it's slow enough that you're not killing yourself with every step.  And if you're running at your own happy pace, you're a runner.  No matter what.

Some people are born this way.  They've got the runner's build, they've been running since they were kids, and they're fast.  They're usually Kenyan, but I've seen a few Americans.  I have the utmost respect for them.  It takes a lot of work to train and to run like that.  But, I wasn't born this way.  I have a build pretty comparable to an apple, but I can get it to look somewhat like an hourglass if I work really hard.  And that's the thing - it takes a lot of work and training for me to run like I do.  So, if you want to compare paces and say I'm not a real runner, go right ahead.  I know the paces aren't comparable, but if you look on the inside, at the true heart of a runner, you'll see.  I wasn't born this way, but I'm a real runner, too.  And in my dreams (and my heart), I'm a Kenyan.

I Know Why the Caged Bird Runs

Today we were driving through Huntsville on the way to a family wedding up in Fort Worth. Along the road, we passed the recreation yard of one of the state prison units. It consisted of a grassy area and an oval shaped crushed granite track. I glanced at it as we passed by and saw a sight that honestly took my breath away.

One of the prisoners was barefoot and running on the track. The look on his face as we passed was priceless. I did not see a caged bird. Instead, I saw a runner. With each fellow prisoner he passed, I saw the joy and the pure love of running on his face. For those precious few minutes in the recreation yard each day, he is no longer a prisoner of his own bad choices. He is free, no walls can hold him.

That, my friends, is why I run. No one can ever take the freedom of running from you. It is a secret and joyful society that only a fellow runner can recognize. I know why the caged (jail)bird runs . . .