tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33437926839252604002024-03-13T13:23:31.903-05:00Our World ReinventedRunLikeAGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022453309399517582noreply@blogger.comBlogger64125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3343792683925260400.post-24942409530012343542014-12-15T15:01:00.001-06:002015-03-03T13:02:08.296-06:00Repeat the Sounding Joy I am struggling this Christmas. Not because it's stressful, because it isn't. Not because we are running out of money, because we're not. Not because anything is getting in the way at at all...but because it's hitting me that I have an obligation to my children to teach them how to do Christmas RIGHT. And I'm finding that I'm doing that part wrong.<br />
When I look under the tree at all the gifts already there, I feel really proud. I'm proud that I have built the kind of life that affords a Christmas tree with mountains of presents under it because giving truly IS better than receiving. But in the very act of giving, and getting the point myself, I am sending the wrong message to my boys. And yet, it's like a reflex to reach for the iPad and log onto Amazon every. single. time. Harrison sees a commercial for something and says, "Can I have that toy, Mommy?" He will not be disappointed at all this Christmas, and that's great and all...but right now, his idea of Christmas centers around the presents he will get on Christmas morning. Don't get me wrong, I know that part is pee-your-pants exciting. But what about <i>magic</i>?<br />
I think back to my favorite Christmases as a kid, and my warm fuzzies in no way are centered around an amazing toy, but from the feelings of warmth and anticipation and happiness and togetherness. The beauty of Christmas lights, the sounds of a choir singing Christmas carols, the way the house smelled with the tree and candles mingling in our living room. Baking cookies for Santa, staring at my grandmother's nativity scene for hours and imagining what it was like to be there. Wishing for snow. But here I am flooding my kids with "stuff" and patting myself on the back for being such a great giver of things and just flat-out setting them up for disappointing Christmases in the future.<br />
As an adult, with a faded imagination and sense of wonder, how are we supposed to know how to create magic anymore? That is the gift I want to give my kids, not a sense of entitlement and far-fetched expectations and a longer Christmas list each year. I know that some of you parents have a system for not spoiling your kids at Christmas - I haven't found mine yet, but I'm looking for ideas. Because I have two really good, sweet little boys and I want to keep them that way. They deserve all the fun that money can buy, but it doesn't mean they should have it. So where do I draw the line?<br />
I did not know parenting choices would be difficult, I just pictured it all pretty black and white and easy to decide and it's NOT. Lots of reality checks these past 4 years. I did not count on Christmas being difficult or tricky to navigate. I pictured it to be the most fun of all and it really has been so far, but now that the babies are getting attitudes and mastering the eye roll and turning into actual people...I need guidance. How do I wrap them in the glow of holiday spirit without making it about a toy store free-for-all in their own living room?RunLikeAGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022453309399517582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3343792683925260400.post-53699942328526869802014-09-08T14:47:00.002-05:002014-09-08T14:47:24.077-05:00I Just Don't Know What To Do With Myself I am feeling heavy-hearted today, and it comes from a number of recent events, plus a small case of the Mondays, some stress and just a not-so-great mood in general. I am not ready for the world to change, but it already has without my consent and I can't do anything about it. I can only change my own. I am contemplating how to do that and haven't decided yet.<br />
Right now, I miss having conversations. The kind that happen in person, where you sit across the table from someone you haven't laid eyes on in a few weeks, and therefore have a lot of catching up and laughing and consoling and sharing to do, because in those few weeks, you've been so focused on your own life, you haven't had a chance to catch up on theirs. I miss photo albums on coffee tables that you flip through at a party or a family holiday and marvel at how much everyone has changed, how much they've done, how big the kids have gotten since you last saw them a few months ago. I miss running into people I haven't seen in years and getting to stop in the grocery store aisle and be surprised by where they are now and what they've been up to, without already knowing. Or without having been offended by that person's political rant a week ago, despite not having seen them in years, and so instead when seeing them at the grocery store, quickly turning and ducking my head while escaping to another aisle. I miss <i>wondering</i> about people and <i>missing</i> them. I miss feeling like I really and truly like a few people, mainly because I DON'T know everything there is to know about them, and am blissfully ignorant to every single thought they have ever had. I miss being completely tuned out to the private thoughts of the human race, and the romance of only sharing myself completely with one person, maybe two if you count a best friend. I miss my comments to a friend being just between me and that friend and not open to criticism from an eavesdropping stranger.<br />
I want to watch my friends' kids grow up during play dates and birthday parties, not online every single day. I want to write letters, even if they end up being emails, and I want to have a network of 50 people or less. I want to make my own parenting choices and not consult 300 people ranging from "best friend" to "I've never met you" and then just be ok with that choice and not need anyone's approval. I want to listen to my gut when it comes to choosing a paint color and do what makes ME happy. I want to "visit" my family and go on walks that no one knows about and eat food without making the calorie count public and just pay attention to my kids when they take a bath, because sitting on the floor reading about YOUR kid's bath might make me miss something. I want to walk through a hall, a room, a store, ANYWHERE and make eye contact with all the people I pass because everyone is looking where they are going and paying attention to where they are in that moment.<br />
It all just seems so selfish and narcissistic and it makes me sad and uncomfortable and I am so guilty of it I could scream. Seeing all of these things every day has an effect on people. Where once, you didn't care what other people were doing with their time unless you were close to them, now we all care about what EVERYONE is doing, regardless of our connection to them. It's so impersonal and it's so much of everyone you ever knew at once, that to me, it just feels even more lonely.<br />
And let's talk about safety. Is it a good idea when someone is a garage sale group asks for recommendations on a new daycare and you tell them yours is the BEST? Now some stranger knows where your kid goes to daycare, and there's probably a picture of them right there next to you on your profile pic, and now, in addition to letting everyone know how great I think my daycare is, I've compromised my son's safety too. It's great that we exercise, and I think everyone should do it and be supported and applauded. But is it a good idea to offer up your run route as proof? Women are disappearing left and right. And we think that we only posted it to our own page, which is just SO private, because we've made it a point to only "friend" people we know, but raise your hand if you went to high school with a rapist? You didn't? How do you know? And what about the person who hit "like" on that run route and now it's showing up in her news feed and not just yours? Who are all of HER friends? And you sure do look amazing in your profile pic, who would post one otherwise? So other people are bound to think so too. It's fun to go on vacation, I get it, but we post what days we are leaving, where we are going, and two days earlier, "checked-in" at our own house for movie night with the fam and published a map for anyone to use who needs a good place to ransack. Maybe that's all far-fetched and maybe it's not. It's just on my mind lately and I have to wonder if all of this information is a good thing. To me, right now, it just doesn't feel like it at all. <br />
So what do I do? Quit the internet? Lose contact with some people that I'm so happy I got back in touch with? Facebook is not without its merits. When used for what it was intended for. But it's changing things, and not necessarily for the better. But what do I do when I feel so attached to it? Maybe just some stricter self-policing and designated "offline" times? I guess that could work, but it's a slippery slope...<br />
The fact is, I don't want to know your thoughts on politics unless it's in a forum I agreed upon, knowing that is what I would be getting into. I don't want to know what you forgot at home today or what song you heard on the radio that you just LOVE, or answer your question about where you should eat tonight. I want some mystery and some valid reasons for getting together in person. I don't want to feel an urge to share any part of my day unless it was completely significant, and even then, how many people are going to see it who also think it is significant? I don't want to have to "adjust the settings" on every person I know so I am fed only the information I want, and I don't want to offend people when I decide to unfriend them, when it's not because I don't like them, it's because we haven't talked in TWENTY YEARS and I wouldn't want to make the time to stop and chat if I ran into you now. That should not be offensive, it's just LIFE. I don't want some social networking site to be the place where all of my precious and most treasured photographs are stored - they should be in albums in my home for people to look through at my parties that I have so I can catch up with my friends I haven't seen in a while.<br />
So while it sounds like I just want to call it a day and go back to the old-fashioned way of being a human, I know that without everyone I know feeling the same way, I would be cutting myself off from a large number of potential friendships, there would be no way for some people to contact me, because while I do check my email everyday, theirs is just for junk, etc. I know I would be the last to know when anyone gets pregnant or married or moves into or out of town, and I don't know if I'm ready to miss everything. I guess I just wish some things had never changed to begin with, so I wouldn't be sitting here battling an addiction, in a sense.<br />
I can tell what I am leaning towards and just need to talk myself into it. I have to believe that those of you who are true friends, will remain true friends - maybe we could even talk more. And those who are not, or that I've never met, or that I was just never close to - know that I wish you well. Relationships should require some amount of effort, that's what makes them worth it, right? We shall see. I don't have an answer just yet. I know my children are going to grow up in this world and I would love to be able to point them in the direction of "less is more" when it comes to revealing everything, but at the same time, I really love to show off how adorable they are. So I'm at a crossroads.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />RunLikeAGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022453309399517582noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3343792683925260400.post-80398146504522371652014-06-02T08:53:00.001-05:002014-06-02T08:57:25.385-05:00How Can I Keep From Singing? <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> First of all, I just want to ask that you take the time to read what I have written here in it's entirety. I know you're going to roll your eyes sky high at the first mention of the "p-word", but I trust that you are reading my blog right now because you are interested in what I have to say, like my delivery, like ME...something to that effect. So please have faith that this will be worth it. I just want to make you think. You can roll your eyes at the end if you want to. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I mentioned in my last post that I am doing some things for me lately, or trying to, at the very least. Plexus is one of those things, but I hate to say that it's for me, because technically, the enjoyment I get from it is because of what I get to do for others. I have been doing this for a few months now, and have noticed that I hear the same things over and over again. It's out of skepticism, I know, but where is the skepticism coming from? Maybe I feel like I've addressed anything you might be concerned about in my Facebook posts, but to you, maybe I haven't. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Let me start by saying that I have a full time job. P has a full time job. We make a very stable income, have everything we need, and do many of the things we want. I am not in this for the money. After joining Plexus for the sole benefit of getting to buy my products for a lower cost, my sponsor added me to several Facebook groups and sent me a pile of information. That is where my education started, which led me to my passion that I have for this company and it's purpose. So knowing what I know, and seeing what I've seen - I just find people's skepticism unfounded. So let me try to help. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The top reason I've encountered that keeps people from trying Plexus is the cost. It was my first fear too, but then I thought about it, and realized that if it worked, it would be totally worth it, so I just went for it. Not everyone is going to be convinced so easily, so let me ask you - if you had to cut your budget today by a little under $100 per month, what would be the first thing to go? When I had each of my kids, I sat down to rework our budget, and when I had to look at what we could cut out, the first things I came up with each time were entertainment and food. Not food to live, but food to make me happy. You know, Starbucks, trips to the vending machine at work, the occasional (or not so occasional) meal from a drive-thru because I didn't feel like cooking. Going out to eat for lunch just because a co-worker mentioned wanting to and I couldn't get the thought out of my head. Not to mention all the stops on the way to work for P's energy drink. With a family of three, one of those being a baby who ate very little, we were spending around $800-1000 per month on food/groceries/snacks/beverages. So you can see how that was where I found my $100, right? Aren't most of us spending money somewhere that isn't necessary? And if you really think about it...isn't it pretty likely it's going towards something that's affecting your health in a negative way? The guy behind me at work drinks a 12 pack of soda per day. There's your Plexus. A woman I know who takes countless smoke breaks and drives through McDonald's every single morning for breakfast tells me <i>she</i> <i>could never</i> afford it. There's your Plexus. A drive thru meal for one person, three times per week, is not all that unheard of, is it? There's your Plexus. One energy drink per day, one Starbucks drink per day...are you getting the idea? And if you are already cutting back on those things, what are you spending frivolously? Do you treat yourself to scratch offs and lottery tickets twice a week? Do you pay for a Netflix account you never get around to using, or buy Groupons that you forget about? Just put some thought into where you are spending your money, and see what you find. Now ask yourself, if Plexus really does work, wouldn't it be so much better to spend your money on than anything I just mentioned? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Skeptic excuse #2. This one kills my soul, because it's by far the most ridiculous, however, it's a pretty common thought. "It doesn't sit well with me to pay X amount of dollars for something to a company that can turn around hand checks to it's employees for $50,000. They must be marking it up so much." First of all, have you ever shopped in a store before? Think about it for a minute, if you need to, I'll wait........ok, are you done? What did you come up with? Oh...so you <i>have</i> shopped in a store before? And did that "sit well" with you? You know the commercial you watched for that store that had a fairly big-name celebrity spouting off a couple of one-liners over the course of 30 seconds? Do you think that celebrity took home just a $50,000 paycheck? That item you picked up off the shelf at the grocery store and tossed into your basket - did you ask yourself how much it was marked up before deciding if you really need it? Because let me assure you - you DO NOT want to know what that item cost the company that produced it. Or what it cost the company who bought it from the company that produced it, so that they can put it on their shelves to sell it. I don't know if you caught that, but that's two mark-ups. I've worked in retail for a while, with quite a large variety of products, and unless you handmade everything in your house from things you scavenged off your own land, you are surrounded by things that you paid anywhere from 30-90% higher than what it cost to produce. You may pat yourself on the back and think, "Oh, but I'm a bargain shopper!". Well congrats to you for the savings (which might cover your Plexus), but you still put a pretty large wad of cash in someone else's pocket by paying for it. No matter how much you saved, someone made money. So what is the difference between all of that and Plexus? How about the fact that those companies provide only a couple of handfuls of people the opportunity to live their financial dreams, through working 40-60 hours a week in an office with a dress code, and the rest of their employees work equally as hard, following the same dress code, working in the same office, sitting in the same traffic to make enough to live paycheck to paycheck, and for almost all of them, it will remain somewhat the same. Plexus gives everyone the opportunity to make as much money as they want, work the hours that they want, become as financially successful as the CEO of the company, or just make some extra money for fun, if that's what they want to do. Plexus marks up their product in the same way any other product is marked up, only they offer you chance to get it all back and then some. And yes, that applies to even you. So if you think it doesn't make financial sense to buy from a company that pays it's sales-force well, then don't buy from them. Sell for them instead and see if you like it better after that. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Skeptic excuse #3."What if it doesn't work? It can't do everything people say it can do." Do you think your news feed is bombarded with Plexus posts because it doesn't work??? This company did not pop-up 6 months ago, it has been around for years and has grown exponentially. Don't you think if it didn't work, people would have caught on to that by now? If you keep NOT trying Plexus because you think it MIGHT not work, the only person standing in your way is you. Plexus has a 60 day money back guarantee because they know it works. If it didn't they would be bankrupt right now. You can literally try whatever you want to for 60 days and then, if you really, really feel just as run down and awful as usual, they'll just send your money right back to you...that's free, for those who are math-challenged. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> As far as what it says it can do, the company stands behind the things their products were designed to do. Lose weight, assist with leveling blood sugars and cholesterol, provide natural energy, oxygenate and energize your body, cleanse your system, deliver vitamins to your system with a better absorbency rate than your OTC vitamin, help with pain relief, etc. It's what the people who use Plexus testify to that makes it even more amazing. There are thousands upon thousands of actual, normal human beings out there whose lives have turned around, whose health has changed completely with the help of Plexus products. You do not have to look too hard to find them, if you want to read about it. So if you have seen the Plexus posts, and any of the above has run through your head and quieted the voice inside you that wants you to try it, how do you feel about it now? And let me as you this? If you had heard from a commercial on TV and several of your friends that there was a product that really worked, sitting on the shelves at GNC or Walmart, would you really think twice about trying it? I AM MORE TRUSTWORTHY THAN A GIANT RETAIN CHAIN. They do not care about your health, they care about their SALES. You do know that, don't you?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> When I first started reading the testimonies of Plexus users, I immediately began to think of my friends and family who could benefit. Almost none of them need to lose weight, and yet, I can think of reasons for almost all of them to try it. If you heard about something that was providing relief to people who suffer from something someone close to you also suffers from, would you keep that information from them? Or would you say, "Hey, I've heard this could help, why not try it? If it doesn't work, it's free." Would you feel better about doing that if it came from Walmart? Or maybe you just want to stick to what the doctor is prescribing because it's not working all the time, but sometimes it does, and the side effects are manageable, and yes, it's super expensive, but that's just life so....Also, everyone knows insurance companies are 100% trustworthy and it for the good of the people. That's why they approve everyone's treatment plans and claims and allow them to try whatever it takes so that they may live and never, ever, ever allow anyone to die unnecessarily, which would just lead to John Grisham writing a book and a big movie deal, etc, etc. So if you want to put all your eggs in the un-natural, chemical laced, side-effect ridden basket of money-suck, that is totally up to you. But WHAT IF there was something else? What if Plexus works? What if you are pre-diabetic and you try Plexus and you never make it to "diabetic"? What if you are in pain every day, and could take something natural every day, not suffer any weight gain or sluggishness or mental cloudiness from it, and could just live pain free? What if you want so badly to lose weight, but you just don't have the energy to do anything about exercising because you feel exhausted morning noon and night, and your cravings just keep getting best of you, and Plexus took care of all of that? What if the everyday little annoyances you are living with like bloating, allergies, brain fog, weight gain, skin problems, were not just something you have to live with, but are caused by something in your gut that Plexus can help with? WHAT IF? And why wouldn't you want to find out??????</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Do you know understand, on any level, the passion I have for these products? Can you understand what motivates me and keeps me posting every day and talking to people every day, and jump way, WAY out of my comfort zone to share something that I really and truly believe in? This is not a sales pitch. This is my call to action. I want you to think about everything I said and argue with me if you want to, I welcome it. I want you to ask yourself who in your life could benefit from this non-risk, even if you don't want to try it yourself? I want you to change the way you see my posts, and be happy for me, and for the people I am bringing along with me. If you still want to roll your eyes, and I don't see how you could, go right ahead. I am not pushing statement necklaces or silicone muffin tins here. I don't want you to share my passion for lip gloss and fancy flip flops...there is a place and customer for all of those things, but THIS is the thing that I am passionate about, and I want to inspire passion for it in everyone that I can, because your health is everything. It's absolutely everything. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.plexusslim.com/cassidyker">www.plexusslim.com/cassidyker</a></span>RunLikeAGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022453309399517582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3343792683925260400.post-62308693126489358942014-05-27T09:22:00.001-05:002014-05-27T09:22:00.699-05:00Hey Me, Hey Mama<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I think it's probably every mother's desire to be the perfect mom. Maybe if not perfect (for those geniuses who go into it knowing that's not attainable) then at least be the best mom they can be. So we spend the pregnant months reading everything we can get our hands on, deciding what our plans are for raising the perfect child as the perfect mother in our new perfect existence. Then the baby is born, and our plan becomes revised, but we try really hard to salvage as much of it as we can. We work so hard on breastfeeding that there are actual wounds (sometimes with blood!) involved. We cloth diaper because it's the best thing for the environment, the best thing for baby, so clearly...it's the BEST. We spend countless hours researching new blends of baby food, shopping for only organic produce, and then standing in the kitchen all day steaming and pureeing and scooping and freezing. After $95 and seven hours, we stand proudly in front of the freezer admiring the twenty jars of baby food we just made that might last the week if we're lucky. "I did this...my baby is going to love ALL vegetables and snack on cucumbers and crave only healthy food." Pleaaase... So worth it. We spend triple the amount of normal household products on all-natural, chemical-free "safe" cleaning sprays and liquids, scrubbing the bathtub with pride, knowing <i>our</i> bathtub won't be setting the stage for cancer when our babies hit their 40's. Our good night's sleep gets sacrificed so <i>baby</i> can get a good night's sleep on our chest. Because baby has a big day tomorrow and needs his rest. Me? I just have work, and work doesn't matter. We spend our lunch hours attached to a breast pump, reading magazines about babies, and planning fun things for the weekend that will keep baby happy and entertained (but also <i>educated</i>, because it's never too early, right?) Our laundry sits in a corner unattended while we painstakingly fold each one-sie just so and place it lovingly on top of a perfect stack in a well organized drawer, because baby needs to look nice, and know the importance of organization. The Fresh Beat Band plays through the car speakers because baby likes them, and the TV is a constant parade of goofy characters that make baby laugh (or think...or learn<i> math</i>). And at the end of the day, after finally settling in with a good book you just added to your Kindle App, a very small someone sees the iPad in your hands and demands their turn, and you happily hand it over. Because this is what perfect moms do. Right? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I'm starting to second guess all of this. Well, not <i>all </i>of it. My chemical-free house and the food I feed my kiddos is always going to be high on my list, but the way my kids have been the sun, and I the planet that revolves around them...a moonless planet, I should clarify, because no one is hovering around <i>me</i>, is starting to feel a little tiresome, and I'm not seeing the reward in it. My kids aren't light years ahead of every kid on the planet, they aren't craving healthy foods and snacks, or brushing their teeth every day without a fight. H still poops his pants about once a week and he's over three years old. For all the effort I have given, and for all the sacrifices I have made, my kids are still perfectly imperfect, and while I would not change a single thing about them (except for maybe sleeping habits and cleanliness), I feel we could have achieved this level of happiness and contentment without me having to lose myself completely. It's no one's fault but mine, so I'm not pointing any fingers. But I really no longer believe that the key to successful parenting is for me to be in last place all the time. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> How are my children supposed to benefit from never seeing their mom as a person and not just "mom". Who is going to teach them how to seek out dreams and goals if I set all of mine aside? How will they know what to look for in a wife, if the only thing I am to P is the other parent in the house? When are they going to become interesting, thoughtful people who have intelligent conversations if no one in the house is talking about anything other than what's for dinner and who wants to go to the park? I am their mother, first and foremost. That isn't going to change. But I'm not being the best version of myself if that's the <i>only</i> thing I am. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I am attempting, these last few months, to climb out of my mom shell and do things for myself. It is a struggle, because it means sometimes, I have to choose to be away from my family and before, I just haven't seen that as ok. It meant I wasn't making them a priority. I see now that I actually <i>am</i> making them a priority by taking time for myself, doing things without them that only I want to do. I am bettering myself, and devoting time to me so that when I am in their presence, I can stay sane and happy. It is not the easiest thing for me, I've been a closed-off person for as long as I can remember, and I am only, at best, on the outskirts of everyone else's groups of friends. But even walking into a party in which I don't have a BFF waiting for me to make it all comfortable and easy is a big step for me. I am reading books again, and going for runs, and taking up things that have nothing to do with my family, like the Susan G Komen 3 Day, and Plexus. It's a start. There are other areas of my life that need desperate attention as well, but that's for another day. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> My goal is to be able to look at myself honestly one day soon, and not see myself as the helicopter mom. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I want H to run over to a group of friends and forget all about me without me having to walk him over there and do the talking for him for the first five minutes. I want my boys to play on the playground together while I just watch and enjoy their giggles instead of navigating jungle gyms one step behind them, trying to prevent every bump and bruise. I want D to fall asleep in his bed, by himself, instead of having to look up every few minutes just to make sure one of us is still standing there. I want them to need me and they will for a long time, but I want them figure things out for themselves when they can, and really experience all the scrapes and cuts and freedoms and carelessness of being a child. I hope they can see me as more than just their mother someday, to know who I really am, and see the parts of me that existed long before they came along, because I <i>was</i> someone before them. They may be the turning point in my life, but I was definitely not worthless before they came along, and in order to do that, I have to give my old self a voice again and find a way to balance being her, with the added role of being a (perfect) mom. Just kidding about the perfect part ;) </span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
RunLikeAGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022453309399517582noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3343792683925260400.post-64171145336695749652014-05-22T13:26:00.001-05:002014-05-22T13:26:12.244-05:00Hurt Like Mine<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Well looky here, I've been inspired to write again. And it may take the turn of a rant, but sometimes that's just the way it goes. You need to be passionate about something to fill up a bunch of paragraphs, right? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I got an email last night. An unexpected, pointless, out-of-nowhere one-liner from my ex-fiance. You know, calling him that just turns my stomach because he has no right to be put on the same level as Mr. Current (and final) Fiance. So he says to me, he says, "You gotta check out the new Black Keys Album." Oh really? You interrupted my really wonderful, normal life to drop that nugget on me? Let me tell you something about the Black Keys, sir. I was listening to them long before you came along and sent my life on a downward spiral, and you did not know who they were until I began to enlighten you on many, many, many things that your tiny little existence filled with wasted space and thoughts had not even come close to discovering. "You gotta check out the new Black Keys album." Because I must be reminded. After no contact for several consecutive, glorious years, he needs to pop up out of nowhere and fill me in on something very publicly promoted. What irks me is that it is my own fault this gets under my skin. It is my reaction that, yes, HE caused, that is now getting on my own nerves because I am allowing myself to be bothered by someone so incredibly unworthy of moment in my brain. So I'm turning it positive. Take that, ya giant parking lot-sized 1-inch deep puddle. (I'm saying he's shallow, in case you're dumb). </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Once upon a time I was at the heaviest weight I had been in my life, when suddenly one month, I dropped 10 pounds, seemingly for no reason. I was excited about it, but also somewhat concerned because 10 pounds do not just fall off of your body for no reason, and I was not giving them any healthy reason to. I decided to start eating better and working out. A couple of months later, I was laid off, so I had time to fill, and spent more and more time hiking the trails at the nature preserve near my house. My weight loss increased to 18 pounds. I was happy, and I had found something I loved doing, and I loved the feeling of my muscles getting harder, my clothes fitting more loosely, and just looking in the mirror and not hating what I saw. It was around this time, I met DA. (I'll protect his name because he tends to internet stalk and I wouldn't want him to know who I'm talking about - that would just be rude). DA seemed to share my recent experience of dropping a significant amount of weight, and my passion for hiking. He even suggested we start running as well. And so we did - every single day, for hours at a time. In the heat of August in Texas, we would arm ourselves with a giant bottle of water, run and hike until we were drenched, and my weight continued to come off, although more slowly as I built muscle. He wasn't the most exciting person I'd ever met, but it was nice to be with someone who was willing to<i> move</i>, which I was not used to. Over the next few months, we continued our routine, but then I found a job, and long daily hikes were no longer an option. I ran on my own after work, but we were not eating so well and I wasn't getting much sleep, so the weight loss hit a plateau. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Now THIS part is just the highlight of my life. We stayed up way too late one night and drank way too much, and found ourselves arguing. Then fighting. Over what, who knows? I probably didn't like the same song as him or something earth-shattering. It ended (or started, however you want to look at it) when I stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind me. But not before I heard something that stopped my heart. I could not have just heard that. I opened the door, and quietly asked, "What did you just say?" He said, "I said, you're a fat ass." I waited for the part where he says he didn't mean to say that, and he's sorry, but instead, he just kept going. He told me I was fat and that he couldn't understand why I had been running all this time and stopped losing weight. He told me the whole reason he went running and hiking with me all those months was to help me get in better shape because he was embarrassed to be dating a fat chick. My heart broke. Not because it was him. He didn't matter to me that much. But because I felt like a total fool for believing someone else was seeing in me what I saw in myself. Improvement. Beauty. Strength. And because he had just stolen from me. He stole running. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I didn't run for days. I couldn't. I couldn't make myself do the thing that he had just ripped all meaning from. I felt like if I did, I would be asking for his approval, which I had thought I already had. Suddenly, it was something that belonged to him, was FOR him, and every time I took a step, I would feel his judgement. This is the part where I left him, right? I tried. I really wanted to, but at the same time, every ounce of self-esteem I had ever had was gone. So as I drove down the highway with everything I owned in the back of my car, his mother called me. She wanted to know what had happened because he had just shown up at her house, sat on the couch looking miserable, told her only that he had screwed up really bad and probably lost me. I told her what he had said, and she talked me into staying. She had put up with the same thing from his father. It was terrible, but he didn't mean it, so she always stayed. That's just what you do. You love someone during the bad times too, and you stay. So I stayed. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I could barely take a bite of food in front of this man for weeks. I couldn't laugh, I didn't want his hands on me, he couldn't give me a compliment, both of us knowing that we wouldn't believe the words anyway. It was horrible. But I pushed through and kept at it and stayed, because that is what you do. I ran again. I didn't stop for long out of fear of gaining a single pound. But I loathed it. I felt obligated to it. I felt like I was being watched, even though he was usually gone when I ran. I would run alone in the dark, through the empty streets of the brand new neighborhood and I would cry, but I wouldn't let myself stop running. When I had to walk, I'd curse myself. I overdid it sometimes and when I just needed a break, and felt like I wasn't allowed one, I would turn the treadmill in the living room on and let it run on its own while I rested on the couch. Then I'd leave my run stats on so that when he got on the treadmill next, he would see that I had run, just like I said I did. He is the worst person I have ever known. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> For him to steal 5 minutes from me last night is inexcusable. He took enough from me before, didn't he? I had already planned to go for a run last night. I'm getting back into it again, and it's been for me this time. And for P, and for my kids. But not so I can have their approval. So I can be healthy, and energized, and so I can live a long, active life with them. Yes, I want to look good for P, but he's never once complained at any point during my roller coaster ride with the scale these last few years. Maybe I'd like to fish some compliments out of him, but he doesn't give them freely, and I'll know that when does, he means it. And if it boosts my self esteem, great - he has my respect and my love and is my best friend, so he has the right to affect it. So I ran anyway last night, and a couple of times my mind did drift to places it shouldn't go. I found myself feeling watched again, but I was able to push it out of my mind, and focus on the thing I am doing for myself. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> So how am I turning that ridiculous little mind-game of an email into something positive? I'm letting myself remember what I should never, ever forget. That when I don't love myself enough, anything at all that is important to me can be stripped away at any moment. If I let myself believe I am not worthy of something or someone, there are terrible things and people just waiting to pounce. Miserable people want other people to be miserable. It has taken a while, through several years of having babies, finding a rhythm, learning to be thrust into situations and a life I never got to decide if I was ready for, but I am finally finding myself again, loving who I am, realizing my potential and seeing that I have a lot to offer this world. I don't have to be in perfect shape to be loved, or to love myself. But I want to be in perfect shape, that's my goal to pursue and no one else needs to give me permission. I am so incredibly grateful for the life I have now, because I in no way thought I deserved it when started raining blessings on me every single day. The only person I'm not good enough for these days is God, and I know He loves me no matter what. I am proud of who I am, I am proud of giving birth to two beautiful boys, stomach pooch be damned. My kids are beautiful, and I know part of that came from me. I am proud that I finally decided to love myself enough to walk away from a situation that tore me down every single day. I wouldn't change the way I handled it at all. The timing was perfect to set the stage for what was to come and I am light years wiser for having been through it. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> My health is important to me again, more so than ever. It belongs to me now, and to the people that matter. People who want me to be healthy so I can LIVE, not so I can look good on their arm. And the funny thing is, DA was the ugly one all along. Not wasting another thought. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Can't wait to run tonight. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">P.S. The blog title is a Black Keys song, of course. I just <i>had</i> to be ironic. </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />RunLikeAGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022453309399517582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3343792683925260400.post-25100343446335057062013-11-11T13:41:00.001-06:002013-11-11T13:41:07.100-06:00Who Knows Where the Time Goes<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have to laugh after reading my last post. Which I actually just hit "post" for, even though I wrote it last November, it looks like. And that one was written a million years after the one before that. That's life now. Blogging was something I did for me, and now showering is something I do for me. So forgive me for skipping a shower today to finally post another blog. It took me three tries to just log in, I couldn't remember what email address it's under, and then I was greeted with a picture of 9 month old Harrison and thought "Awwwww...I miss that little baby!" </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But hey, no worries! I have a new one to play with! Harrison got a little brother for Christmas last year, (early gift, 12/3) and his name is Declan and he is Harrison's total opposite. Looks, personality, sleeping patterns, eating habits, you name it. Some days he is Harrison's best friend, and others, his biggest enemy. Like if Declan comes anywhere near a toy that Harrison has given any thought to in the past week. "Nooooooo Deck-win!...Nooooo....Mommmyyyyyy!" *sigh* I'm so tired.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Our little family of four is now complete, and even though Dex has been with us for almost a year, it feels like we are still working on settling into this whole work/life balance thing. Some days are perfection, and some take every ounce of strength to get through, but every day is fulfilling and a gift. I don't really know where I would be right now, had these beautiful boys not fallen into my lap, but it couldn't possibly be as fun. I would be in better shape and my floors would be clean, but definitely not as fun. Besides, I feel like the day might come when I actually have time to work out five days a week, sweep, mop, AND be a good mom...so it is possible to have it all, I'm sure. Just not yet. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So right now we are in a good place, the house is looking pretty good, only a couple of major projects we want to do, or the other option is to just pick up and move...I'm kind of for it, actually. Peyton's in the same job and doing great things, and I just started a new one. I'm 3 weeks in and I haven't done anything yet. Like...at all. But I'm told I will have an avalanche of work soon, so that's something to look forward to during the holidays. Other than that, we have nothing going on. No announcements to make, no more babies on the way (for once). Hopefully this small amount of information will tide everyone over until next year, or the year after when I have a minute to write again. I actually plan to write more from now on. But hey, I also planned to be skinny by this past summer and that turned out to be a big bust. (Real big). So don't hold me to it. </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />RunLikeAGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022453309399517582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3343792683925260400.post-27662678303226406552013-11-11T08:45:00.000-06:002013-11-11T08:45:52.205-06:00Hey guess what, I'm pregnant...Yeah, so that's pretty old news at this point, since I'm due in December, but apparently I lost the blogging bug during this pregnancy. What can I say? Harrison is a toddler. And that should pretty much explain it all. My little man is quickly approaching his second birthday, but before that, he's getting a baby brother. Two under two. We're nuts. <br />
<br />
This pregnancy has definitely not been the same as the first. Mostly, I have not had the time on my hands to sit and reflect about what could be going wrong at any given point of the day, and so I don't spend the days between doctor visits thinking my baby has died and I'm going to be given the news at my next appointment. This poor kid. Not being neurotic has made the last few months a lot more relaxing for me and those around me than I was with Harrison. But I also feel like I barely give this baby a second thought on some days. He kicks and I'm like, "Hey, watch the the bladder..." and then start thinking about what's for dinner. That is pretty much the thought that follows anything I do or say..."what's for dinner?" I never knew I could be so hungry! I'm already predicting Baby#2 will be 9lbs. Any takers on that bet? I could use the money on something nice for myself. Yeah right. Those days are far behind me.<br />
<br />
In the meantime, we are somewhat trying to prepare Harrison for not being an only child (our first broken promise to him). It's not like it's all that easy to have a really in-depth, informative conversation with a toddler who knows approximately sixty-five words. So he can point to his tummy and say "bah-bee" and now thinks everyone has a baby in there, I'm sure. He also recognizes what a baby actually is, so that's good. Now whether or not he wants to share a house with one is anybody's guess. We have moved him to his new big-boy room, complete with a twin bed, and brand new decorations. He loves it. I don't know how he's going to feel when someone else takes over his baby room, though. I just need to focus on making his room ten times cooler than the nursery. Since we (meaning me) are in nesting mode right now, we're also in the middle of turning the basement into a playroom/guestroom. The basement is our previously-unused second living area, which has been home to all things homeless in our house until now, and it is one step down from the rest of the house, which is about as close to being a basement as you can get in Texas. Now, if people decide they really want/need to stay with us, they will have the pleasure of sleeping on a mattress on the floor in a room with no door or bathroom, and will be sharing space with a circus tent and a motion-sensor pony that could scare the pants off you in the middle of the night. I'll be testing that theory when #2 is here and waking up in the middle of the night, because we will heading straight for that room every time, in hopes that Harrison's sleep doesn't get disturbed. I found out recently that Harrison really, really, really needs a good night's sleep. Really. <br />
<br />
<br />RunLikeAGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022453309399517582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3343792683925260400.post-79205256508219083492012-04-19T10:49:00.000-05:002012-04-19T10:49:38.756-05:00Hug Your Babies.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was heavily drugged and not even a little bit clear-headed when Harrison was put in front of me for the first time, so I didn't have this explosion of emotion and love that everyone talks about when they see their baby for the first time. I loved him, of course...I just didn't know how to form a word or a thought in that moment other than, "don't barf, don't barf." And that was taking everything in me. A few hours later when they woke me up and had him with them to hand to me for the first time, they didn't even give me a minute to wake up a little and hold him before it became all business. This is how you nurse and you want to shove this here and do this right now and hold his head like this!!! I really got robbed of those first moments. I'm not bitter though. Over the next couple of weeks, I really got to fall in love with Harrison and get to bond with him for the first time. I thought I couldn't love anyone more than I loved him right then. I was so wrong. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I love this boy more every day, and when I wake up every morning feeling like it couldn't even be possible to love him more, and then go turn on his lamp and watch him groggily roll over, sit up and reach for me with his eyes barely open...I just get knocked over with an even bigger dose of love than the day before. The tiniest, most insignificant things make me so happy. Watching him sit on the floor of the kitchen and eat a popsicle. Watching him play for a minute when I pick him up from daycare, and he doesn't know I'm there yet. When he eats his dinner and says, "Mmmmm!" after every bite. When he gets home from school and immediately starts asking for the dog. "Ah-yer? Ah-yer?" Which is the best prounounciation of Oliver I've ever heard, by the way. The way he walks around hugging a stuffed animal and patting it on the back. His dance moves. I have to catch my breath sometimes when I think of him or watch him do something new. He is far and away the best thing I have ever done and the reason my life now has life in it. I want nothing more than the priviledge of watching him grow up into a happy, beautiful man. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Today is April 19th. The anniversary of the Oklahoma City Bombing, in which nineteen young children and babies were killed. When I think of how much I love my son, and how much he has given me in just one year, and then think of how it would feel to lose him like that...my heart hurts for everyone who lost someone that day, but it's agony to think of the ones who lost their babies. My heart goes out to them, because I know that even after all this time, they are still hurting...especially today. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Lately, I am reminded more and more to never take for granted this gift I have been given, and I make it a point to thank God every night for my son and ask Him to watch over him and protect him. I may still have some traces left in me of the selfish person I was before Harrison, but he has softened my heart and taught me what it means to love. I pray I get to tell him that every day for many, many, <i>many</i> years to come. </span>RunLikeAGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022453309399517582noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3343792683925260400.post-22728220580032610112012-03-19T15:38:00.000-05:002012-03-19T15:38:25.872-05:00Torn.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was raised a certain way, to believe in certain things and how they should be, and while there are some things I outgrew or decided against as I became and grew into my own person, there are some things that stuck with me and still hold true for me. I am currently in a situation that causes me to go against one of those beliefs, and it is becoming less and less comfortable for me as time passes. But what do you do when one person believes one thing, and the one person believes another, and there isn't a "middle of the road"? There isn't a compromise on this one. It's just one person getting their way, while the other one doesn't. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And how does this translate into my parenting? How do I tell my son to never compromise his values, when that is exactly what I am doing? I get this horrible pit in my stomach when I think about it. I don't know how to be anything other than myself...but pretending that things are ok that I don't think are ok is not me. But complicating things definitely is, and so why should it come as a surprise that I find myself here now? </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I love my little boy more than I've ever loved another human being and there is nothing in this world I wouldn't do for him. The last thing I want is for him to grow up using me as an example of how not to be, like I did with my parents. People always tell me I turned out so great for coming from the situation that I did. First of all, I'd like to just be told that I turned out great for once and leave it at that. Not to have my successes be measured against my parents' failures. And secondly, it's sad when someone has a decent life only because they made a decision to not be like their parents. God forbid I ever put my own son in that situation. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Anyway, this is mostly me venting and definitely getting a little more personal than I like to, but welcome to my diary. I had to be able to say it to <i>someone</i>. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On a lighter note...maybe I'm not the best person on the planet, but my family sure is! My aunt and three of my cousins came to visit this weekend and we had such a great time! Especially Harrison, who absolutely adored the boys and was so sad to see them go. There is nothing better than having a house full of people that leave a void behind when they go. We miss them already. My dad may be wasting a spot on this planet, but I definitely lucked out with the rest of my fam, they are truly my home.</span>RunLikeAGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022453309399517582noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3343792683925260400.post-2709056016409301912012-03-05T12:54:00.000-06:002012-03-05T12:54:16.358-06:00Unbirthday<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Harrison's birthday came and went and unfortunatly, no party took place. He ended up with a terrible cold and pink eye and gave the cold to both of us, and as of today, March 1st...we are still getting over it. TERRIBLE cold. It was the worst not having a party for him, although we did celebrate a little bit the night of the would-be party with some friends and family. After H went to bed, of course. Thankfully, he is now over it and soon, I'm getting him a cake and balloons and we're singing "Happy Birthday" and he's wearing his birthday shirt. I don't care if it's a month late, you don't miss your child's first birthday! </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Last week, our little man transitioned to the next class at his daycare. He spent a little more time in there each day. It's been sort of a struggle because his very favorite teachers are no longer his all-day best friends and it's obvious he's a little sad about it. He loves to play with the "big kids" but then he loves to go back to his room and cuddle with his teachers and run the show. His new class has a daily routine, that includes naptime on a mat - which he thought was the dumbest idea ever at first, but he has now napped with them two or three times. He even got to go play on the playground outside and ride on the bouncy horse, and he sat still in his teacher's lap to listen during storytime. No one wants to accept it right away, but he's definitely not a baby any more. So bittersweet.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The one thing about his growing up (too quickly) that is turning out to be so much fun, is feeding him table food for every meal. Oh, and not buying formula or baby food has put a little cushion back in our bank account. Not complaining about that either! This past weekend, Harrison went out to breakfast and had his own plate of pancakes, then a turkey sandwhich for lunch, a few bites of cake (his first ever) at his friend Dillon's party, and chicken fingers with fries at dinner. I think we were so excited about him eating with us that day that we forgot all about healthy.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Oh, and one more thing. He took his first steps. ON my birthday. What a great kid! He has taken many more since then. It is his new favorite trick to show off. So much so that when we would not allow him free run when we went out to dinner last night so that he could show all of his fans at the restaurant how talented he is, he decided we were idiots and threw a giant fit and dinner quickly became a "to-go" order. He's so cute :)</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As for me, I've decided, a year after giving birth, that it's time to get rid of the baby weight and get back to my fighting weight. Getting prepared to chase a little boy around too. It's going to require a lot of stamina and a smaller butt, so Peyton signed me up for a 5k in April and I've been training for that and supplementing with workouts with my favorite girl-body, Jillian Michaels. I told her I would be back, and I am! But you know...last time I got in really good shape, I ended up pregnant. Just saying...</span>RunLikeAGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022453309399517582noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3343792683925260400.post-12449977181231798432012-02-15T10:04:00.000-06:002012-02-15T10:04:48.963-06:00Big Day Tomorrow!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Tomorrow, little Harrison becomes a man. He turns one year old. Clearly, he did not ask my permission to do so, but I suppose a man his age doesn't need his mother's blessing quite as much as he used to. That's proven every time I tell him not to do something and he gives me a big cheesy smile right before he does it again. Turns out "NO" is a pretty funny word. To him, at least. And to the dog. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Speaking of the puppy, Harrison's first birthday gift has turned out to be a huge pain in the arse, but somehow, we love him. He's pretty cute when he's not peeing on the floor after giving us 3.2 seconds to get to the back door to let him out, or chewing up Harrison's favorite toys. He's very specific in his preference. It has to be a favorite toy, or it just doesn't taste the same. He also likes useful items, and shoes. So yeah, he's just like every puppy on the planet. Oliver has some real selling points, though. Like the way he just sits there and takes it as Harrison tries his hardest to remove his ears with his bare hands. Or when Harrison takes his bones right our of his mouth (they both prefer the other's toys). Oliver just lets him. That was the hope we had when we got such a young puppy, that he would grow up with baby Harrison and just think this is the way the world works until they both get a little older and grow out of torturing each other. So far so good. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Harrison's other birthday present is his party. The giant, over-the-top party that I swore I would never waste on a one-year-old? It's happening. Just sort of took on a life of it's own and I'm not really big on confrontation (especially with a powerful, unseen entity) soooo....here we are. Thirty-ish guests and a few dozen balloons. What are ya gonna do? He's my only child, will probably always be, and even though I'm already planning next year's no-one-is-invited family dinner at home with a cartoon movie, it's probably going to somehow end up like this next year too. So I'm just going to sit back and let it happen and take around 468 pictures and have a great time watching Harrison have a great time. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Feels a little weird though, celebrating that our little baby boy is growing up. I guess that's the whole point of having a child - to raise them and help them grow, but I just think the baby stage could last a little bit longer. But no one asked me, so it is what it is. He does get cuter every day and keeps surprising us with things he's learning. It gets better and more fun all the time, so I guess my aging child isn't such a bad thing. He just better NEED ME until I say it's ok not to. Don't hold your breath, Harrison. Mommy's not giving permission for that in this lifetime. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Happy early birthday, little man. How old are you turning tomorrow?? Yep. Genius.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uKaPT5xOeHg/TzvXBqAHABI/AAAAAAAAAEM/ULjyEHV7dHk/s1600/Harrison+11+Months+037.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uKaPT5xOeHg/TzvXBqAHABI/AAAAAAAAAEM/ULjyEHV7dHk/s320/Harrison+11+Months+037.jpg" width="214" /></a></div>RunLikeAGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022453309399517582noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3343792683925260400.post-15686423459328811942012-01-25T08:25:00.002-06:002012-01-25T08:25:00.737-06:00The Lost Art of Kindness<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don't think I remembered to make any real New Year's Resolutions this year, which is fine. It ends up being a list of things I never got around to anyway. And in the same way that romance can happen on days that aren't Valentine's Day, I think that change can happen on days that aren't New Year's. Which brings me to my actual point. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On Christmas Day, while attempting to nap between the many Christmases we had scheduled that day, the TV was already on in the bedroom and I left it on for no reason at all. Even after realizing that I was trying to snooze to the tune of a Joel Osteen sermon, I left it on. I was being that lazy. Incidently, after relaying what I'm about to tell you to my grandmother, her response to me was, "Oh, that Joel Osteen...he's not a good man." Way to miss the point, Grandma. But I digress. And in case you feel the same as she does, this is about the message, not the messenger. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Joel was talking that morning about something that turned out to be interesting enough to keep me from being able to fall asleep, but something that is also not a new concept in any way. It's just completely ignored. I noticed it being ignored in a huge way this morning, which is what reminded me of this, and is why I am thinking about it and writing about it now. MAN, I am rambling today. On with it. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When a stranger is rude to you, when someone flies off the handle for what seems like no good reason...when a person is throwing negative energy like daggers in every direction, most people's first reaction is to give them the same thing right back. It's the easiest thing to do. Then you end up with two pissed off people, who are probably going to walk away from that situation and spread the attitude around. Ok, so basically, this is "How To Be a Jerk and Take the Rest of the World Down With You 101." (Obvisoulsy, I am paraphrasing - figured it would seem more natural than UH POWUHFUL SUTHUN ACCEYENT, MY BRUTHA). But the thing is, no one seems to take a moment to think and realize that they really don't know that person's story. You have no idea what is going on in that person's life, how they got there, what put them in this horrible mood...so why take part in antagonizing that person with your own horrible attitude and bad reactions? What if the girl ringing up your groceries is being a sourpuss because she found out her mom has cancer but her boss wouldn't give her the day off? She'd probably feel better if you ignored her bad mood and smiled through your two minute transaction than if you reciprocated her unfriendliness. What if the overweight guy who is putting away an entire cheesecake at the next table is celebrating because he's lost 100 lbs so far? Do you think he needs your judgement and ridiculing? Or does he deserve a congratulations and a high five? </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I guess it boils down to "You can't know a man until you walk a mile in his shoes." And yet, we act like we know everything and everyone. We know that person shouldn't be doing what they're doing, we know they don't deserve what they have, we know a person in their occupation has to be happy at all times. We know that person isn't having a bad day, she's just a bitch. And she has no right to be a bitch because we know there's nothing going on in her life that would make her that way. Don't we just know it all? </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Except we don't. At all. Apparently, we don't even know how to treat people anymore. We fight fire with fire on a daily basis and don't wonder why it doesn't get us anywhere. We yell at other drivers and give dirty looks to struggling teenage mothers and laugh at fat people. I'm as guilty of all of it as anyone else, and I really find it disgusting. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So my new "resolution", for lack of a better word, is to try to be nice. Try to be above all the anger and rudeness. Try to be sympathetic. Try to make things better. And more importantly, to teach my son the same things. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And to maybe spread the message to you as well.</span>RunLikeAGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022453309399517582noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3343792683925260400.post-55809841188014482822012-01-24T09:07:00.000-06:002012-01-24T09:07:23.494-06:00Harrison Takes a StandHarrison can now ride a surfboard! I know, I know, we've been waiting for this day too! Also though, he can stand in the living room, on the bed, at daycare and outside. I'm sure there are other places, but these are the ones I've witnessed. My little punkin' is sticking right to the schedule I gave him on Day 1, and is on track to walk at one year. No sooner than that, though. Because that would be off mommy's schedule and Harrison loves his mommy. <div><br />
</div><div>I am truly greatful that I have not been chasing around a "toddler" the past few weeks or months and that I have been able to hold on to the baby stage this long. Now that he's making some strides (ha. pun intended.) towards being even more of a little human, I have to admit that I'm a little excited. Harrison does, after all, have a precious pair of legs and an adorable tush, and once those things are on display all over the place, his cute meter is going to burst. Along with my heart. Just when I think I can't take much more cute, he goes and does something new and I find out what I'm made of. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I can't even imagine what this is going to add to his dance skillz. He displayed some pretty sweet moves this morning to Billy Joel's "Piano Man". Gah...he even has good taste in music. </div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div>RunLikeAGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022453309399517582noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3343792683925260400.post-56457376291789350122012-01-18T14:24:00.000-06:002012-01-18T14:24:53.117-06:00Silent Treatment Over.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Several months ago, I got my feelings hurt and just shut up. I had written a short story a long time ago, and submitted to a writing contest. When they published the winners, which I had zero expectations of being a part of, I read the top three winning stories and was a little surprised to find that they really weren't all that good. Not bad...just not very good. So I decided to print them out, along with a copy of mine, and I let a couple of people read them and tell me what they thought. I didn't mention that I had written one of them. One lady brought the stories back to me, and asked what they were. I told her they were part of a short story contest and I had just wanted her thoughts. She said, "Well I hope you didn't write any of these, because they were all pretty bad." </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yes, really. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the meantime, and pardon my French, I have come to learn that this woman is a real nagative bitch and a complainer. Since then, I haven't heard anything positive come out of her mouth at all unless it's in regards to herself....she's one of <i>those</i>...so I've decided, finally, to get over it. Pouting session over. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This does not change the fact that life is ridiculously busy and sometimes exhausting, so the updates may still be few and far between. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm not sure I can take the time to fill in the blanks, but let's just say Harrison is bigger now. And has more teeth. He also has grown quite a bit of silky, curly blond hair, is getting ready to walk, and is the most beautiful little boy of all time. The past few months have been filled with firsts...first Halloween, first Thanksgiving, first Christmas...all the fun days. First pair of shoes, first bump on the head...he plays games with us, he dances better than most people I know, he gives the best hugs, kisses with his mouth open, has taken to cuddling with his stuffed animals, and knows how to use a phone. And how to use random objects as a phone. He has some favorite TV shows, knows how to pat-a-cake, and becomes very flexible and acrobatic when diapers and clothing are being changed. He loves to people watch, would rather ride in the "stuff" part of the grocery cart than the seat part, is not a huge fan of sharing Mommy or Daddy with anyone else, and he's never met a food he doesn't like. He ignored the wrapping paper and boxes at Christmas, fully appreciating every single gift he received, he only says "Mama" and when he's really, really mad at me, and well....we love everything about him. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Most nights, we fall into bed exhausted but happy. And then we wake up bright and early before the sun comes up, still exhausted, but we get greeted to Harrison standing in his crib giggling and smiling and ready to jump into our arms. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It pains me to think that his first birthday is right around the corner. This year flew by and took forever all at the same time. It feels like a lifetime ago that we were bringing him home from the hospital and our old lives without him are just a faded blur. It;s hard to comprehend that this little ball of energy that can move faster than we can chase him and looks more like a little boy than a baby has only been here for a matter of months. When the world rang in the New Year, I saw so many people bidding good riddance to 2011 and cheering the opportunity to close the door on it forever. I'm sorry for those people and whatever it is they went through, but I am happy to say they 2011 is when my real life started, when it found meaning, when I learned what love is, and when I realized how important the little things are, and how umimportant so many things I cared about before were. Harrison is the best adventure I've ever been on, and I can't wait to see what he has in store for us. </span>RunLikeAGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022453309399517582noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3343792683925260400.post-66778796569515636782011-10-10T10:50:00.000-05:002011-10-10T10:50:39.240-05:00Harrison's Number Two<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yep, you guessed it! Harrison now has TWO teeth! Oh, is that not what you thought I was going to say? Well what....oh wait.....you're </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">gross</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">. Anyway, H-tooth part deux is right next to the other one, so he's got a reverse chipmunk smile and as if it were possible, he is now even cuter. He is also moving faster than ever, has learned how to get up the step from the living room to the rest of the house (very easily, I might add) and how to get back down. That part is kind of a rolling belly-flop thing that left him looking a little stunned afterwards. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The way Harrison is moving around can still not really be classified as a crawl. He pulls with his arms, pushes with his feet, and does it so well that I'm not sure he still plans on actually crawling at all. Especially since he is also pulling himself up to a standing position. Yeah, we have </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">lots</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> going on right now. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We took our third post-birth trip to Houston this weekend and he was an amazing little trooper the entire way there. Unfortunately, he was alone in the backseat for the ride home and cried for four hours on the way back to Dallas, taking a couple of short breaks to nap and reenergize for the next stretch of crying. That sort of killed any urge I had to drive back to Houston anytime soon. We'll be flying next time for sure!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We are having a great time in our house. Always lots of work to do, but it's still so much more fun than cramming our whole lives into a tiny second-floor apartment. This weekend will be Harrison's first trip to the State Fair, soon after will be his first Halloween, then Thanksgiving. I love this time of year, and these are all the things I was looking forward to last year at this time when I was pregnant. It's here! And HE'S here! I am so happy with my life...</span>RunLikeAGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022453309399517582noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3343792683925260400.post-22615209533541137532011-09-22T13:47:00.000-05:002011-09-22T13:47:58.957-05:00STOP THE PRESSES!!!!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This just in...on the front page of Yahoo! (as opposed to the back one), the headline is this: "Beyonce talks pregnancy changes." In the article, she makes stunning revelations about having a heightened sense of smell, and going so far as to say that some smells even make her stomach turn. What??? No really, read for yourself...</span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Beyonce descended from the palace made of clouds in heaven that we imagine she lives in to make an appearance Wednesday night at the New York launch party for her third scent (called "Pulse"). Bey was happy</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><a href="http://us.lrd.yahoo.com/_ylt=AiOXVxAz8DIfWTgx7j5.3zwexCUv/SIG=12apqdlnv/**http%3A//old.news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20110922/ap_en_mu/us_celeb_q_a_beyonce" style="color: #6b3f98; font-size: 14px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: initial; text-decoration: none;">to discuss</a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">her pregnancy with reporters, and revealed she's experiencing cravings and a heightened sense of smell, just like non-Beyonce pregnant women have been since the beginning of time. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">"My nose, I smell everything from a mile away," she told the Associated Press. "Usually it is food, it is onions or something that I just can't tolerate."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-family: Georgia; font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small; line-height: normal;">I didn't make it past that first paragraph because a) I don't care, b) "Bey" does not live in a cloud palace in the heavens, or no one would be trying to go there when they die, and c) I was happy to simply take from this the irony that she is griping about smells at a launch party for her third perfume. </span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-family: Georgia; font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small; line-height: normal;"><br />
</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-size: small; line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In other news, Harrison has the runs. Big time. Maybe twenty dirty diapers in the past four days, but who's counting? Daycare for one. They actually called us yesterday to tell us Harrison seems fine but that he's "not feeling well." Well, which one is it? Oh wait, I get it. "Not feeling well" is code for "please come get your kid and take him home because you do not pay us enough to deal with this amount of poop." Ok, fine. I took him home and let him play naked on the floor to air out the diaper rash and we had a good time. </span></span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-size: small; line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-size: small; line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He also has a new tooth and finds it quite fascinating. He likes to twist his tongue upside down so he can feel what he's been working so hard for all these months. Hopefully the next ones will happen a bit more quickly. </span></span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-size: small; line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-size: small; line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Harrison is officially mobile now as well. Not quite crawling, but pulling with his arms and pushing with his feet so that he gets where he wants to go (the electronics under the TV) pretty quickly, and then uses objects he shouldn't be touching to try to pull himself up. HIs new favorite toys are things that are not toys and are not his. The rubber spatula is a new favorite. Remote controls are good, Daddy's knick-knacks that he is unwisely storing on a low-lying shelf. The toy budget just got a whole lot smaller now that I can just grab something without sharp edges or small parts and hand it to him. His eyes light up like it's Christmas and he even takes a moment to turn the object over in his hands a few times to relish its beauty and craftsmanship before putting it in his mouth. </span></span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-size: small; line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-size: small; line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ok, now honestly...of the two stories above, which one was more news-worthy and fascinating? </span></span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-size: small; line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-size: small; line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The one about this:</span></span></span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VxfRRou2e_M/TnuCUSRY1uI/AAAAAAAAADU/qWh3iFPCJqg/s1600/Bey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VxfRRou2e_M/TnuCUSRY1uI/AAAAAAAAADU/qWh3iFPCJqg/s1600/Bey.jpg" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-size: small; line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-size: small; line-height: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Or the one about THIS:</span></span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-family: Georgia; font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small; line-height: normal;"><br />
</span></span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JXLIUHvy3WQ/TnuCo9zg35I/AAAAAAAAADY/mgT-Pc2jlOc/s1600/Harrison+-+6+Months+122.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JXLIUHvy3WQ/TnuCo9zg35I/AAAAAAAAADY/mgT-Pc2jlOc/s320/Harrison+-+6+Months+122.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">THAT'S WHAT I THOUGHT!!</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #484848; font-family: Georgia; font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small; line-height: normal;"><br />
</span></span></span>RunLikeAGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022453309399517582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3343792683925260400.post-28437257158609857062011-08-31T11:14:00.000-05:002011-08-31T11:14:39.363-05:00MOVED! Ish...We are officially in our new house! And someday, hopefully sooner than later, it will feel like <i>our</i> house, and not the house of BettyWhite/Betty Davis, who not only had horrible taste (which we already knew), but also had severely questionable decision-making skills. I'll elaborate on that shortly.<br />
<br />
The move went pretty smoothly, actually. I bet Peyton was a little skeptical when the three old white men I hired showed up to move us. But they worked their butts off and did a great job and later revealed that they actually aren't old at all. Never judge a book by it's cover, I guess? One of them told us a story about how some 72 year-old woman thought he was her age, but he had to correct her and tell her he was only 52. They had pretty worn book covers, ok? It was an easy mistake to make. Very worn. Leathery and missing a few pages....anyway...<br />
<br />
Instead of making all the trips back and forth with Peyton for the small stuff, I stayed at the house and painted. The previous owner was a smoker with a dog. Oh, and did I forget to mention she did a great job hiding the sixty-something dog pee stains with strategically placed throw rugs? We found that part out the day before closing, when we also discovered that she had used heavy-duty two-sided tape to hold the biggest rug down, so....the carpet is making an exit soon. Obviously. So back to painting...first of all, I'm still trying to figure out why we didn't hire someone. Of the three rooms we started with, zero of them are done, one has a great color, one has a decent color, and one is being repainted in a to-be-determined new NEW color. I have to say, though, it looks a lot better than it did. Let's just say her tastes didn't coincide with ours. At all. Here is a list of the colors we are painting over:<br />
<br />
Rotting Avocado<br />
Camel Fur<br />
Blood Disorder<br />
Borrring<br />
and my personal favorite...Defecated Mustard<br />
<br />
That last one is appropriately spread all over the hall leading to the bathroom. I will miss these colors as much as I miss our apartment.<br />
<br />
So now that we officially live there, all the fun little things we didn't pay attention to are coming to light, and it's making our to-do list a little daunting. But really, I could care less. I love the house. All the dumb little things the seller did can be fixed, and all the stupid little things she didn't do can also be fixed, and even with boxes everywhere and half-painted walls, it already looks better than it did and a lot more like <i>us</i>. Well, a little more, at least. As we were laying in bed the other night, I looked up and said, "Have you ever seen an uglier ceiling fan in your life?" Peyton said, "Yes. In the living room." <br />
<br />
Harrison loves his new house and could care less what anything looks like. He has a huge living room to play in, another huge living room to eventually play in, a room that he clearly feels comfortable in, because he's slept through the night every night we've been there. (Knock on wood. Now.) He loves the backyard, which has lots of leaves for him to grab and put in his mouth. The kitchen is big enough to put his jumpy in there while we cook, so he doesn't have to be alone. Now that I think about it, this is really Harrison's house and he is letting us live there too. Sweet boy. By the way, best compliment we've heard so far, "He's so adorable, I can't even stop looking at him." Yeah, welcome to our world.<br />
<br />
Now about Zoe. She may or may not be a permanent resident, it's still up in the air. Given that the other dog already laid out the blueprint for where it's ok to pee in the house, her following in his footsteps would really just take the carpet from Unacceptable Level Yellow to Unacceptable Level Yellow-er. But at the same time, I really find it annoying that she can spend twenty minutes in the backyard and then comes inside to poop. She's pretty much an idiot and I don't really like her they way I used to. I know that's a sad thing to say, but it's true. Also infuriating is when I am dieting and therefore only allowed a certain amount of food, and she jumps onto the coffee table and eats my dinner when I leave the room. You don't mess with my when I'm hungry, I can't believe she hasn't figured that out after all this time. So now that I've advertised so heavily, anyone want her? She's a <i>great</i> dog...<br />
<br />
This weekend, my aunt and cousins are coming to stay with us and help with little odds and ends around the house and I am SO EXCITED TO SEE THEM! Maybe we can make all the doorknobs match while they are here.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
RunLikeAGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022453309399517582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3343792683925260400.post-17769067207420375292011-08-22T14:48:00.000-05:002011-08-22T14:48:57.925-05:00Harrison Bought a HouseSuch a busy time in our lives, sorry for not updating recently. We close on our new house on Friday and are thrilled to be moving! I really can't get out of the 2nd floor apartment fast enough. And as if I needed further motivation, we have become infested with tiny ants in the past few days. We thought it was limited to the kitchen, where they have been helping themselves to fresh baked loaves of bread, dog food and some delicious leftovers, but no...Peyton saw one on the shower head today. Good. Drown, you stupid freeloaders! So the ants go marching onto the list of things I won't miss in four days. Other items include: having to move the coffee table against the couch to have room to spend time on the floor with Harrison, thus trapping anyone on the couch and making it impossible to walk through the living room without walking on the coffee table (which I have done) or doing dancer-type leaps over Peyton while he plays video games (which I do beautifully). Also not going to miss the ethernet cable which runs from our closet, down the hall, over the half wall in the dining room and into the living room. If I ever trip and fall with Harrison in my arms, I will sue the person responsible, which will be counter-productive, as we share a bank account, but my point will be made nonetheless. I will not miss lugging 80lbs of anything up our hot staircase, which we have had to curtain off ghetto-style in order to not send our $275 electric bills into the $300 range. I will not miss vertical blinds, parking 30 yards away, never checking the mail because it's too hot, and having to drive somewhere to pick up deliveries. All of these things can go to hell. I also will not miss Zoe. What? Who said that? Peyton, are you typing right now too? I do not wish her to go to hell, though. She probably already thinks she's there anyway. <br />
<br />
Other changes we have made: We traded in Harrison for a baby who can sit up and it's been a dream...just lovely, I tell you. We named him Harrison as well, so there shouldn't be any confusion. New and talented Harrison is also eating from a delightfully healthy and 100% organic menu of avocados, bananas, carrots, butternut squash, peaches, pears, zucchini, sweet potatoes, green beans, peas, brown rice and oatmeal, and soon to include mangos. I, as the acting chef of these delicacies, find them all to be quite delicious and so does New Harrison, who gets a little fussy if you don't feed him at the quick pace he desires. When he isn't eating or sitting up, he is trying his hardest to crawl, but just isn't quite there yet, much to my relief. Besides the part about him just growing up <i>so fast</i>, I'm really just not ready to go into 24/7 chase mode just yet. However, he is really cute when he tries, and has started to do a little thrust-and-grunt move which he thinks is helping. It's not. But it does help me laugh! Here's a video:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NXN4UMJWblY">Harrison's New Moves</a><br />
<br />
Over the weekend, Harrison also discovered the art of throwing a fit for no reason. Up until now, we could brag about how he never cries unless he's tired or hungry or not feeling well. Lol. And lol some more. He now has made the connection between crying and getting picked up, and therefore spend about 90% of his waking time this weekend in our arms, while we decide how we're going to handle this in the future. For now, if we set him down right in front of us, and make sure he's still touching our leg or leaning on us, it's not good enough. He can and will throw himself at us with arms outstretched and burst into tears. It's just sad and cute enough that it works for him at the moment. We'll have to do something soon, though. The kid's heavy! Throw in a double ear infection though, and he can have whatever he wants for a few days. <br />
<br />
Yeah, he's probably going to end up a tiny bit spoiled. And yeah...I'm probably not too worried about it. <br />
<br />
<br />
RunLikeAGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022453309399517582noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3343792683925260400.post-61583163136372786862011-08-10T13:32:00.000-05:002011-08-10T13:32:36.318-05:00It's too HOT to be pleasant!Normally I would feel compelled to consider my audience and turn on my brain-to-mouth (or in this case, brain-to-phalanges) function, but I just don't feel that way today. Whatev...it's <i>my</i> blog. You're lucky I even just bothered to look up the correct spelling of phalanges, to be honest. Saved myself some real embarrassment though, I must say. <br />
<br />
So chalk it up to PMS or lack of sleep or something, but I just can't get it up for anything this week. I don't feel like working, exercising, being nice to people, or functioning in any capacity that could be deemed <i>necessary</i>. Needless to say, it's really not a good time for my bank to choose to F with me (and yet they have), for the hospital to ignore my requests to file Harrison being born with our insurance (morons), or for me to have to pick up my glamourous cube dwellings and move them to a back corner where I will be surrounded by...OMG...there are no words for these people, why would I even try to explain it? My days will now be filled with comments about my unmarried status, Loudmouth complaining about everyone else being loud, and Afroduck calling Obama her "boyfriend". Geeeeeeeeez, it hurts to think about! I was just telling Peyton that I don't know how I could get through my day without the option of visiting Harrison whenever I feel like it and I think that little perk just became incredibly huge. Who knows? Maybe daycare will have to change our enrollment to "part time" due to all the hours I will soon be spending down there taking care of H myself. <br />
<br />
Just to get it out of my system (which is running on fumes right now), I'm going to create a quick bitch-list, and then hopefully go about my day feeling a bit more calm and maybe even motivated. (motivated to <i>nap</i>, maybe...)<br />
<br />
1. I had a dream last night that people were assuming horrible things about me because Peyton and I aren't married and asking me questions about how old Harrison was when I abandoned him and who was going to act as his mother since it obviously wasn't going to be me. Thanks, two hours of sleep, for filling my head with <i>that</i> crap during the only period of rest I got the whole night! So why <i>wouldn't</i> my j-ass co-worker choose today to make a similar comment to my face? In real life? Do you like how I hyphenated j-ass? I shortened it, but left the ass word. Nice, huh? What a dick...<br />
<br />
2. Here is me being sensitive about yesterday's Galleria incident. If you're going to off yourself, do it in the privacy of your own home and don't throw yourself into a sea of ice-skating children!! WTF! The off-the-charts selfishness of this one just KILLS ME, and I also have now lost my desire to go near the mall for a while since I have other things I'd rather have filling my head than the image of a bloody ice rink and crying babies. (If they decide to go with the "he fell" version of the story, which I'm sure some ambulance-chasing lawyer has already approached the guy's gf about) then I will take back my rant. But he didn't fall. Just so you know. <br />
<br />
3. I really am sick of it being this hot. I mean, come on already, this is just stupid at this point. And just to give me something else to be pissy about, there are idiots running around Dallas stealing air conditioners for the <i>metal</i>. They stole ten from a church...and someone else stole some 70-something year old lady's from her house and she <i>died from the heat</i>. PLEASE God, give me a stack of free passes to Hell so I can hand them out. I'd be SO good at it right now. Just one less thing for You to have to worry about anyway, what with American politicians giving you the middle finger every day. You deal with them, I'll deal with the local scum. Deal?<br />
<br />
4. Coffee no longer tastes good to me. This has been going on for close to two weeks and you would not belieeeeve how pissed I am about it. My teeth are now permanently clenched, which feels amazing. Not to mention the fact that it could very well be part of the reason for my delightfulness over the past couple of days. <br />
<br />
5. This is the at least the seventh blog entry I have written this week, and the only one that's getting posted because it's also the nicest. You should have seen my rant about the stupidity of a little product called BinkySpritz. <br />
<br />
And now it is time to go visit Harrison for the second time today. There will probably even be a third.<br />
<br />
<br />
RunLikeAGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022453309399517582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3343792683925260400.post-74420032520413092142011-07-20T12:15:00.000-05:002011-07-20T12:15:33.563-05:00Reason, Season, or Lifetime<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><br />
</i></span><br />
<em><span lang="EN"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">People come into your life for a reason, a season or a lifetime.</span></span></em><i><span lang="EN"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span> <em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When you figure out which one it is,</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span> <em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">you will know what to do for each person.</span></em></span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></em></i><br />
<i><span lang="EN"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When someone is in your life for a REASON,<br />
it is usually to meet a need you have expressed.<br />
They have come to assist you through a difficulty;<br />
to provide you with guidance and support;<br />
to aid you physically, emotionally or spiritually.<br />
They may seem like a godsend, and they are.<br />
They are there for the reason you need them to be.</span></span></i><br />
<i><span lang="EN"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then, without any wrongdoing on your part or at an inconvenient time,<br />
this person will say or do something to bring the relationship to an end.<br />
Sometimes they die. Sometimes they walk away.<br />
Sometimes they act up and force you to take a stand.<br />
What we must realize is that our need has been met, our desire fulfilled; their work is done.<br />
The prayer you sent up has been answered and now it is time to move on.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i><br />
<i><span lang="EN"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Some people come into your life for a SEASON,<br />
because your turn has come to share, grow or learn.<br />
They bring you an experience of peace or make you laugh.<br />
They may teach you something you have never done.<br />
They usually give you an unbelievable amount of joy.<br />
Believe it. It is real. But only for a season.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i><br />
<i><span lang="EN"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">LIFETIME relationships teach you lifetime lessons;<br />
things you must build upon in order to have a solid emotional foundation.<br />
Your job is to accept the lesson, love the person,<br />
and put what you have learned to use in all other relationships and areas of your life.<br />
It is said that love is blind but friendship is clairvoyant.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i><br />
<i><span lang="EN"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">— Unknown</span></span></i><span lang="EN"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<i><span lang="EN"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></i><br />
<span lang="EN"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Thank you, Jamee T., for sending me this today. I really needed it! It helps me to sort through a lot of mixed emotions I've been having lately, which is no small task. </span></span><br />
<span lang="EN"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span lang="EN"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Since Harrison's arrival, I've been getting pretty picky about who is in our lives. Clearly, drug-addicts, child-abusers and the sort need not apply. But there is this other gray area that I'm trying to wade through, and I'm not sure where to draw the line. Sadly, even family is included in the gray, and it breaks my heart. For them, more than for myself, but most of all, for Harrison. He is such a wonderful baby and his personality is really starting to shine through and there are people who simply are not interested, and it's sad to me. They are missing out on so much and there are no re-do's. I've been reaching out to the people that I feel should be, need to be, or I thought would want to be a part of his life and I'm really surprised at some of the results. There are people in my own family who will never even meet him, and others who will only meet him once. I'm not talking about distant relatives either. No, "distant" would never describe someone who grew up in the same house as you, now would it? As far as friends go, I've never expected my baby to become the center of anyone else's universe - you'd only get in my way, anyway. But the feeling of being shut out? Not something I expected. </span></span><br />
<span lang="EN"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span lang="EN"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So lately, I'm a little hurt and wanting to react, but trying not to. I'm not ready to end any friendships over it. But I guess what I am ready to do is start figuring out which category people fall into and reset my expectations accordingly. </span></span><br />
<span lang="EN"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span lang="EN"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the meantime, my very best friends are living under my own roof, which is more than I could ever ask for anyway.</span></span>RunLikeAGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022453309399517582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3343792683925260400.post-8410600479765834212011-07-18T11:06:00.000-05:002011-07-18T11:06:15.855-05:00The Tiredness Just Never Ends.I just did something that I've been doing a lot since Harrison was born...I wrote a whole blog entry and then deleted it because of how all over the place it was and the complete lack of sense it made. I used to be able to just rattle off whatever was going through my mind, do a quick spell check and post. Now I have to proofread everything very carefully and ask myself if anyone other than me will have any idea what I'm trying to say. My brain has been partially deactivated, and I'm just now starting to realize what a huge effect that has on things. <br />
<br />
You know what's really helpful in keeping yourself on top of things and getting through every day more or less unscathed? Sleep. You know what simply is never going to be in full supply again? Sleep. You know what pregnant women THINK they are missing out on and look forward to being able to do again? Ha! Sleep. Uncomfortable as it may be, pregnant sleep is still much more effective than post-pregnant sleep. And guess what? You're not going to be doing much of it for a very, very, very long time. Even when you do, and your sweet little baby is doing you the gigantic favor of sleeping through the night, you'll still wake up every time he makes a sound. Or maybe he won't make a sound. That will wake you up too, because WHY ISN'T HE MAKING A SOUND? And let's just say that everything falls into place you both get a full eight hours one night...or even two or three nights in a row. It's simply not enough to make up for all of the sleep you have lost over the last few months. Not to mention the fact that once he's sleeping through the night consistently, it becomes ten times harder to get up with him on the nights he wakes up for whatever reason. <br />
<br />
Yesterday, we left the house for thirty miserable minutes to go buy Harrison some new clothes. It was 174 degrees outside, I felt sick as soon as I shut the front door behind me, and twelve seconds after Peyton put the car in drive, Harrison started crying. As I reached for something to soothe him, I realized that I had just walked out the door with my purse in hand and nothing else. My purse, mind you, contains absolutely nothing of importance. You would think that after five months of practice, I would have the simple step of "pacifier - check" down pat. Or that maybe, care and concern for my baby would lead me to grab a bottle of <i>something</i> for the car ride, what with the death-heat I was dragging him into and all. But no...my brain had shut down for the day at around three o'clock and this was well past four. Poor Harrison. Poor everyone involved, really. <br />
<br />
This is how life has come to be and I am trying my best to accept it and to put steps in place to make sure I come across as a functioning human being. For example, it just took me six tries to type the word "functioning" and three of those attempts resulted in an offensive word. Sending emails has become a scary thing. My grammar and spelling skills are half what they used to be, which is awesome, since that's one of my biggest pet peeves. I've come to work with half my make-up on, I frequently leave my lunch in the microwave for half an hour or more, I get up from my desk to go to the printer, and do three other things instead, none of which involve the printer in any way. Which is fine, because half the time, when I do make it to the printer, I get there only to realize that I never hit "print". <br />
<br />
Sad to say, I'm averaging eight hours of sleep per night. But the nights that I sleep for eight <i>straight</i> hours without waking up are few and far between. Who knows when I'll finally catch up from that first month, when I only slept eight hours total. I would love to not know what three o'clock in the morning looks like, but it has actually become very familiar, although we are not friendly with each other. It's also quite possible that eight hours is just not enough anymore. Taking care of a baby, as fun as it is (and it really, really is) is absolutely exhausting. Magical too, though.<br />
<br />
My advice for anyone who is pregnant right now: <br />
Get a pregnancy pillow. Now.<br />
Start writing everything down. Your memory is NOT coming back.<br />
Sleep when the baby sleeps. Every. Single. Time.<br />
Do not get a video monitor.<br />
Daddy can do the dishes and the laundry.<br />
If you can take a two hour nap while the baby sleeps on your chest, do it. No one is getting spoiled. Trust me.<br />
Cry-it-out is the dumbest thing I've ever heard. <br />
And I hate to admit this one, because I was 100% opposed to the idea...get the baby into his/her own room as soon as you can. You're going to jump out of bed every time you hear a sigh while they sleep in your room.<br />
Keep the monitor turned down low. You need to hear, "AAAAAAHHHH!" You <i>don't</i> need to hear "Eh."<br />
<br />
Not to scare anyone of course. Babies are, after all, the best reason to lose sleep there is. And brain cells.RunLikeAGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022453309399517582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3343792683925260400.post-50477324095576179202011-07-07T08:48:00.002-05:002011-07-07T08:48:45.881-05:00Home-Hunting<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">We are house-hunting for our first house as a family, and it’s starting to hit me just how important this is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Without sweet baby Harrison in the picture, it would be all about floors and room dimensions and fixtures and lighting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It would be about finding just the right house to suit our taste.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He brings to light, however, that there is an entirely different angle that has to be considered as we search for our new place to live.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s something intangible that we can’t just list under our “needs” and “wants”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Likewise, it’s something I can’t even really put into words. We are not just looking for a house for Harrison, we are looking for a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">home</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But how will we know the difference? <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">Growing up, my parents moved us around much more than I would have liked, and it never felt like we stayed anywhere long enough to feel attached to the place we lived.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once, we did live in a certain house for about three years, and it came the closest to being a home to me, but once again, we moved away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not really sure what it was about that house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember the day we moved in, I counted the steps from the doorway of my bedroom to the kitchen table.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was seven.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every day after that, I made sure to get myself to breakfast in seven steps or less.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I practiced jumping from my bedroom door onto my bed, without having to touch the carpet, which was actually lava, so I could live to see another day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My closet door opened just the right way so that the light from it would shine on my bed instead of towards my door, allowing me to stay up late reading well after bedtime, without getting caught.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the long, skinny bathroom with the tub at the end, my best friend and I shampooed the floor and flung ourselves to the other end, slipping and sliding into the door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a big bay window at the front of the house, where we always placed our Christmas tree, and each room of the house led to another, so I could literally run laps around the inside of the house if I felt the need to, and I often did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was the house where we brought home my new baby brother, and hung framed paintings I had made on his walls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I learned to do (and hate) my own laundry, and also learned that valuable lesson that dish soap and dish<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">washer</i> soap are not the same thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Outside of our house, the streets were hilly and perfect for bike-riding adventures.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every friend I cared to have lived within riding distance, and the neighbors without children would let us use their pools during the summer if we didn’t feel like going all the way to the yacht club.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, that house was the closest to home I have ever been, and it has now been twenty-three years since we moved away, and it’s a place I still drive by every time I get the chance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It has even been for sale a few times and my heart would race at the possibility of getting to live there again, but it would never be the same now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">I want what I had in that home for Harrison, but I want it for much longer than just a couple of years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So now, when we walk into a house, I try to picture all of the memories that will be created there, all the magic that will happen, all the growing up that will take place…and it has nothing to do with anything but a feeling, I guess.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Also, some practicalities, like “will we have plenty of space to bake cookies together?” and “will Harrison be able to sneak out of his bedroom window someday?” (every kid needs that option, no matter what you say.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I try to imagine him waking up on Christmas morning and running to the Christmas tree…should he run down a flight of stairs?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Should the tree be next to a fireplace?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Will there be plenty of kids on the block so he can share his new toys?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Can the backyard be another world if it needs to be?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is there at least one overgrown yard, hiding a run-down house so he’ll have a place to be the subject of his scary stories?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">These are all important things to a kid, things I lost too soon and never got back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Part of keeping our house a home will fall to us, his parents, but part of it will just already be there, in whatever house we choose, waiting for Harrison to wake up its magic and bring it to life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">No pressure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>RunLikeAGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022453309399517582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3343792683925260400.post-56543600855737205232011-06-28T09:51:00.002-05:002011-06-28T09:51:45.786-05:00Harrison This, Harrison That...<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have a friend...scratch that...HAD a friend who recently made me lose steam for blogging about Harrison. Within an hour of my last blog post, she deleted me as a friend on Facebook and then got all passive aggressive and pretended it was an accident. It was pretty gross. So I'm just going to start this one by saying this: </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If you have any problem with my happiness...get lost. If you feel like I'm undeserving of what I have...get lost. If you resent me for having what you want...get lost. If you can't handle me bragging to the world about the most perfect human being ever created...get lost. If you consider me going on about how great my life is now a "rant"...you get the idea. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And now that we have that out of our systems, I will go back to yapping about my child anytime I feel compelled to, and now happens to be one of those times. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Harrison Peyton Ker...ooooh, you silly little man. Who told you it was ok to grow up this fast? I'd like to have a talk with them. Within the past three weeks, he has taken to rolling over (both ways), holding his bottle himself (sometimes even using his feet), watching grown-up movies with mom and dad, recognizing certain people, reaching for us, and last but not least...."eating" rice cereal. If you can even call it that. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here's my new diet plan. Harrison taught it to me. I'm going to strip down to my undies, grab a bowl and a spoon, and feed myself tiny spoonfuls of goo, letting at least half of it dribble back out of my mouth and into my lap. That way, I get to taste all the gourmet delights that come my way without having to deal with the calories. And if someone could just have a bubble bath ready and waiting for me when I'm finished, that would be pretty special. Harrison is not a rice cereal fan. I think he's starting to get used to it, but I read that babies sometimes have to try something fifteen times before developing a taste for it. Awesome. Only nine more feedings until he makes his final decision. I think it looks like paper mache paste, and could care less if he ever wants it, but we keep </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">trying</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> to do what the doctor says. Listening to him is starting to feel like listening to your parents tell you what to do. You know they know best, but it doesn't make following directions any less annoying. Most of his instructions are met with an internal response by me of, "Ugh! Whatever....fine." On the outside I just smile and nod. But in two months, when he asks how the rice cereal went, I may pretend it was great and that we didn't start vegetables three weeks early. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Also on the list of new activities is giggling. Harrison is now a pro at laughing, but seems to prefer to save his energy for when daddy is acting like a goofball. Which is a lot. YouTube video to follow shortly. But be warned...Harrison laughing is the best thing in the history of ever, and all other things in life may seem to fall short after you experience it. How's THAT for bragging?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'll leave you with some photo evidence of foot-assisted bottle-holding, in case you thought I was kidding. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vmQtxLdn-Cc/TgnqDAI5U7I/AAAAAAAAACw/gzrbhAX4VWc/s1600/Harrison+holding+bottle+with+feet.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vmQtxLdn-Cc/TgnqDAI5U7I/AAAAAAAAACw/gzrbhAX4VWc/s320/Harrison+holding+bottle+with+feet.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span>RunLikeAGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022453309399517582noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3343792683925260400.post-30025039899382167992011-06-07T15:51:00.000-05:002011-06-07T15:51:29.437-05:00The Grass is Greener Over Here<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #330000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Families with babies and families without babies are sorry for each other." ~Ed Howe</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #330000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #330000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ain't </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">that</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> the truth? I remember reading this quote when I was single and had plans to stay childless forever. I saw screaming kids go running from their mothers in the mall and would take comfort in knowing that would never be me. I remember sitting on the patio one night with Peyton and high-fiving each other for not having kids and getting to do whatever we wanted, whenever we wanted. Kids, to a person without them, especially to someone who doesn't want them, look like nothing more than an unpotty-trained obligation. They look like a commitment too overwhelming to ever consider, and a lot of the time, they look dirty and gross too. </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #330000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #330000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">All of those things are true. </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #330000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #330000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What the people without children don't understand though, is how wonderful all of that stuff is. I don't get to go to happy-hour anymore, because instead, I have to come home to an adorable baby who is bound to be doing something new and unexpected today, and needs me to take his picture. </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #330000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I used to look over at mini-vans at red lights and feel so badly for the women driving them. Poor ladies not only had to put up with incessant yapping from the back seat, they had to drive a nerdy car too. Lucky me. Sitting in my convertible by myself, listening to whatever I want to. Now, I play songs by Moose A. Moose for my four month old, who probably doesn't care what's on the radio, because </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">like the songs. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #330000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #330000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Everything I do for Harrison, right down to cleaning poop from places I didn't know poop could go, makes me ten times happier than anything I ever did for myself. As I sat in the massage chair getting a pedicure the other day, I grew increasing more frustrated with how long the woman was rubbing my legs before painting my toenails because I just wanted to get home to my baby. Who even cares if my legs are massaged? What I have to go home to now is more rewarding and exciting and fun and interesting and fulfilling than anything my life every provided me before. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #330000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; color: #330000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've been on both sides of the fence. The thing is, people who don't want kids can always change their minds. People who have them would never want to. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #330000; font-family: georgia, 'bookman old style', 'palatino linotype', 'book antiqua', palatino, 'trebuchet ms', helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, 'avante garde', 'century gothic', 'comic sans ms', times, 'times new roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #330000; font-family: georgia, 'bookman old style', 'palatino linotype', 'book antiqua', palatino, 'trebuchet ms', helvetica, garamond, sans-serif, arial, verdana, 'avante garde', 'century gothic', 'comic sans ms', times, 'times new roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don't miss happy hour. And there's beer in the fridge.</span></span></span><br />
<br />
</div>RunLikeAGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022453309399517582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3343792683925260400.post-84849761353133140262011-06-01T13:35:00.000-05:002011-06-01T13:35:03.797-05:00Sometimes Reading is for Stupid People<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Since baby Harrison has come along, time has become so much more precious than it used to be, for many reasons. Every minute of the day is like money being spent, and naturally, we want to spend it on things we want and need, not the things that don't matter. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For that reason, I would like to say, that if the book I am currently reading was an actual book and not a downloaded iBook on my iPad, I would throw it out the window right now. I have spent five-hundred pages of my life (which equals who knows how many hours) getting into this dumb story about this girl trying to figure out what killed her brother and a few other people in town. A murder mystery, right? Not so much. Some idiot character in the book actually saw her brother get killed and just didn't want to tell anyone (until page 502) because it turns out, he was eaten alive by a walking corpse wearing a 3-piece suit in a cemetery. Are you f*&!ing kidding me?! There is a giant pile of laundry in the corner of my bedroom that needs folding!! Oh, and by the way, he was gay and dying of AIDS but was scared to tell ya, lady. THAT'S the part of the story she found unbelievable, by the way. "But...why didn't he just</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> tell </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">me he was gay?" Beware the FREE DOWNLOADS on iBooks. When was the last time you walked into a Barnes & Noble and were just handed a book? "Here. Free of charge. Our gift to you." NEVER. I should have thought of that two weeks ago when I started this..."novel". NOTHING worth having is ever free. </span><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"He looked back as the creature popped out one of Nick's eyeballs, devouring it with what looked like an insatiable hunger."</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There are no words...</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Anyhoo, that wasn't even going to be my point, but this just happened to me last night, while Peyton was out of town and my time was therefore all-the-more precious. There are no less then nineteen other things I could have been doing that I would not be embarrassed to talk about today. Now I've totally forgotten what I was going to say in the first place - which adds about ten minutes to the amount of my life this book stole from me, because that's how long I just wrote about it. Sheesh. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The good news is, this led me to discovering an app called Overdrive Media Console, which allows you to download eBooks and audiobooks from your local library for free. So next time, I won't have to worry about the cost of a book, and can just read something worthwhile instead. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Seriously...he got eaten alive.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm so sorry, Harrison.</span>RunLikeAGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00022453309399517582noreply@blogger.com0