I have been STUCK at 150 for months now. MONTHS. I always say I don't get hung up on the numbers, especially when I can see by the gaps in my pants that I'm getting leaner (I am now wearing the belt I had before I was pregnant with Grace, the belt I wore when I was 140/145). But that number, oh, it was beginning to taunt me. So I made myself a strict rule: no snacking WHATSOEVER after dinner. Sometimes we eat pretty early, so that's kind of hard for me. But I did it for four days, and what do you know? 149.
I will probably go back to light snacking after dinner because I have a tendency to get hangry. I go from me to slavering wolverine in about five minutes. It's quite the metamorphosis.
Or, thanks to the Ambien, I sometimes find myself in the dark kitchen in the middle of the night chowing down on some cheese or an apple. It's very disconcerting. Actually, I did that pre-Ambien, too (mostly in college, for whatever reason), just not as frequently.
And now all of you have this terribly attractive image of a Naomi Wolverine tearing through a refrigerator. You're welcome.
My children have been very fragile lately. Grace especially. Everything makes her cry. It's like a preview of Life with Teenage Girls. "Whoops, I forgot my library card, guys; we'll come back later." WAAAAAH! "Oops, you got a tiny drop of water on your shirt." WAAAAAH! "Hey guys, it's time to go to the gym. Have fun!" WAAAAAH! "Hi babies, did you have fun at the gym? It's time go home!" WAAAAAH!
Seriously. I don't know what to do with this child. Do I hug her all day to make her feel more secure? Do I walk away every time she pulls this so she knows it's not okay to wail instead of using words? Do I make her sleep on a bed of raw steak and nails to make her tougher?
This child has been verbal since, like ten months (yeah, I know the age gets shorter every time I talk about it). She has been able to express herself with ease for at least a year. So why am I shouting "USE YOUR WORDS OH MY GOSH PLEASE JUST USE WORDS I CAN'T HANDLE THAT SOUND YOU'RE MAKING WHY ARE YOU DOING THAT!" at least ten times a day?
And yes, smart alecks, I know that shouting at your kids teaches them the OPPOSITE ("CALM DOWN! WHY WILL YOU NOT CALM DOWN! STOP SHRIEKING!"), but sometimes the wolverine just busts through.
It's not always like this. Grace, out of nowhere this morning, as I'm bumbling around the kitchen in my half-alive state, trying to make us breakfast: "Mommy, I love you SO MUCH." Emmy, while yanking my hair out by the roots at bedtime: "I like your pretty red hair!"
Those moments are very sustaining, but I'm looking forward to having my children back any day now. They will come back, right? This has been a very long low phase for them, and I'm kind of sick of it.
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Friday, July 27, 2012
Attitude
I love how my kids think they know better than I do. I expect this when they're teenagers, but no one ever told me that toddlers and preschoolers were just teenagers with less muscle.
We went to the playground today, which was a bit of a fight anyway. This is a newly developed area, so we don't have shade, and the sun up here in the mountains is like laser beams. The slides are always on fire, and someone always she feels the need to test my assertion that she'll burn her tender thigh skin if she goes down that slide, don't go down that slide, okay, then I will let you see for yourself. Again. Don't even expect me to comfort you.
Where was I?
Yes. Playground. The other great thing about this playground is that it's built in a depression in a low field that is next to a marsh (a marsh in Utah? why yes, it is possible, and even though it's the one thing we were most looking forward to about moving away from Jefferson, WI, we still managed to move right next to one without knowing about it until it was too late). So if it even thinks about raining, or if the sprinklers on the field are pointed the wrong way, we have playground soup.
It rained for five seconds this morning. So we got there today ("Check the slides first! No, check them! With your HAND!"), and half the playground was covered in water. Grace went running ahead as always and started picking up handfuls of dry wood chips to try to cover it over. This works sometimes, when there's a tiny puddle at the bottom of a slide. But this was more like 20 puddles merged into one huge one under the entire play structure. We probably could have gone fishing if we'd wanted.
"You won't get very far throwing wood chips in the water, Grace." She just turned to look at me like, "Oh? Watch me."
Emmy trotted up to help, and together they threw enough dry wood chips into the water to do absolutely nothing. Grace gave up a few minutes later and came over to play by me at the pavilion. Emmy soldiered on dutifully, trucking great handfuls of wood chips to the puddle.
"Don't go in the water!" I yelled. I know that my children hate nothing more than wet clothes and wet shoes, but they always forget this. It's amazing that I remember these things better than they do, even though I'm the one who loses her keys daily.
And what do you know? Fifteen seconds later, Emmy erupted in shrieks and protestations about her wet shoes and butt. She trudged over, emitting that horrible noise toddlers make when they're miserable but not actually in pain, something between a groan and a whine and a scream, like a cow in labor, or at least what I imagine a cow in labor sounds like. The whole way over, she glared at me like it was somehow my fault. She continued glaring at me as she plopped down on the ground in front of me, mumbling, "Take off da shoes. Got to take off da shoes."
Then I warned them about hitting their heads while crawling under the picnic tables. This is also a warning that must be tested. I never actually forbid them from doing these things. I'm still under the delusion that one day they will learn from experience. But I'm pretty sure Emmy is too brain-damaged from learning to crawl too young, and Grace's I'll-prove-you-wrong reflex gets stronger every day, so I really don't know what I'm thinking.
Not five seconds later, Emmy conked her head on the bottom of the picnic table, and just gave up. She rolled up onto the bench next to her and lay down, sobbing. I came over to comfort her, but it was hard not to laugh in her face. She shot some more accusatory glares at me, but let me pick her up and carry her around for a minute.
We went home after that, and now they are sleeping about as soundly as they ever do, so I guess all that physical and emotional trauma is good for wearing them out.
We went to the playground today, which was a bit of a fight anyway. This is a newly developed area, so we don't have shade, and the sun up here in the mountains is like laser beams. The slides are always on fire, and someone always she feels the need to test my assertion that she'll burn her tender thigh skin if she goes down that slide, don't go down that slide, okay, then I will let you see for yourself. Again. Don't even expect me to comfort you.
Where was I?
Yes. Playground. The other great thing about this playground is that it's built in a depression in a low field that is next to a marsh (a marsh in Utah? why yes, it is possible, and even though it's the one thing we were most looking forward to about moving away from Jefferson, WI, we still managed to move right next to one without knowing about it until it was too late). So if it even thinks about raining, or if the sprinklers on the field are pointed the wrong way, we have playground soup.
It rained for five seconds this morning. So we got there today ("Check the slides first! No, check them! With your HAND!"), and half the playground was covered in water. Grace went running ahead as always and started picking up handfuls of dry wood chips to try to cover it over. This works sometimes, when there's a tiny puddle at the bottom of a slide. But this was more like 20 puddles merged into one huge one under the entire play structure. We probably could have gone fishing if we'd wanted.
"You won't get very far throwing wood chips in the water, Grace." She just turned to look at me like, "Oh? Watch me."
Emmy trotted up to help, and together they threw enough dry wood chips into the water to do absolutely nothing. Grace gave up a few minutes later and came over to play by me at the pavilion. Emmy soldiered on dutifully, trucking great handfuls of wood chips to the puddle.
"Don't go in the water!" I yelled. I know that my children hate nothing more than wet clothes and wet shoes, but they always forget this. It's amazing that I remember these things better than they do, even though I'm the one who loses her keys daily.
And what do you know? Fifteen seconds later, Emmy erupted in shrieks and protestations about her wet shoes and butt. She trudged over, emitting that horrible noise toddlers make when they're miserable but not actually in pain, something between a groan and a whine and a scream, like a cow in labor, or at least what I imagine a cow in labor sounds like. The whole way over, she glared at me like it was somehow my fault. She continued glaring at me as she plopped down on the ground in front of me, mumbling, "Take off da shoes. Got to take off da shoes."
Then I warned them about hitting their heads while crawling under the picnic tables. This is also a warning that must be tested. I never actually forbid them from doing these things. I'm still under the delusion that one day they will learn from experience. But I'm pretty sure Emmy is too brain-damaged from learning to crawl too young, and Grace's I'll-prove-you-wrong reflex gets stronger every day, so I really don't know what I'm thinking.
Not five seconds later, Emmy conked her head on the bottom of the picnic table, and just gave up. She rolled up onto the bench next to her and lay down, sobbing. I came over to comfort her, but it was hard not to laugh in her face. She shot some more accusatory glares at me, but let me pick her up and carry her around for a minute.
We went home after that, and now they are sleeping about as soundly as they ever do, so I guess all that physical and emotional trauma is good for wearing them out.
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Mmmm.
I make myself a shake every morning for breakfast. Yogurt, protein powder, spinach, banana, cocoa powder, and berries. It's better than it sounds, and I actually stay not starving until lunch, which is a small miracle.
So I go through a lot of berries. Lots and lots and lots of berries. And it's friggin expensive. Fresh berries cost dollars per ounce, and even frozen berries are pretty expensive at most stores (if you go through a half a cup a day). So I found these at Costco for, like, nothing, and because I'm so excited about how cheap they are, I choose not to question their origin. Which is probably why I never really looked at the packaging:
Nature's Three Berries. Tell me, does this sound both inaccurate and a little defensive?
Aren't there more than three berries that occur in nature? Avocados are berries. So are grapes, persimmons, tomatoes, strawberries, and about a thousand other things. Or are these Nature's very favorite berries, like Nature gave birth to hundreds of different kinds of berries and these are her three special children.
I feel like "nature" should really be in quotes. Perhaps these berries are really hatched in the bowels of some alien spacecraft, aliens whose only demands are tribute in the form of unwanted Costco employees. I bet Scully is running around a Kirkland factory right now, freeing all the no-shows and pot smokers.
I also just found this picture on my photobucket account. This is what Emmy does with her sandwiches when she feels that simply not eating them is not protest enough:
I swear I did not teach her this.
So I go through a lot of berries. Lots and lots and lots of berries. And it's friggin expensive. Fresh berries cost dollars per ounce, and even frozen berries are pretty expensive at most stores (if you go through a half a cup a day). So I found these at Costco for, like, nothing, and because I'm so excited about how cheap they are, I choose not to question their origin. Which is probably why I never really looked at the packaging:
Nature's Three Berries. Tell me, does this sound both inaccurate and a little defensive?
Aren't there more than three berries that occur in nature? Avocados are berries. So are grapes, persimmons, tomatoes, strawberries, and about a thousand other things. Or are these Nature's very favorite berries, like Nature gave birth to hundreds of different kinds of berries and these are her three special children.
I feel like "nature" should really be in quotes. Perhaps these berries are really hatched in the bowels of some alien spacecraft, aliens whose only demands are tribute in the form of unwanted Costco employees. I bet Scully is running around a Kirkland factory right now, freeing all the no-shows and pot smokers.
I also just found this picture on my photobucket account. This is what Emmy does with her sandwiches when she feels that simply not eating them is not protest enough:
I swear I did not teach her this.
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
No Mojo
I am writing an entry just to make myself write. I feel like I've lost my mojo in the last couple months, and I can't get it back. Maybe I spend too much of it writing what I think are hilarious Facebook status updates, and then when I come here, there's nothing left.
I am doing Cough to 5k (COUCH. I meant COUCH.). I'm repeating pretty much every week. My body is so unfamiliar with the impact of running that my shin bones are curling up into themselves and shrieking after every run. It's okay. I've had them checked out. They are not injured, just really, really pansified.
However! The week I started running, swimming got a hundred times easier. I was stuck at 2000 yards for a long time, and now I'm up to 2500-2700. Woo!
Jeremy will be gone again soon. It's been a while, so I don't mind. Also, the weather is good, I'm not fighting off seasonal affective disorder (or whatever happens to me every year between November and February), and the kids are to the age where they aren't horrible at least 50% of the time. But I still need a project, or something to do. The hottest parts of the day are HOT here, and we don't have shade. I think we will be spending a lot of time in the apartment pool.
I think I'm going to pretend we're moving soon (even though we're not; thanks a lot, roosters) and empty the apartment of anything unnecessary. I have a bunch of clothes that are too big now, so that will be fun. Perhaps a bonfire is in order.
Jeremy will come home to five outfits, three computer games, and seven empty wine bottles, and he will just have to like it.
I am doing Cough to 5k (COUCH. I meant COUCH.). I'm repeating pretty much every week. My body is so unfamiliar with the impact of running that my shin bones are curling up into themselves and shrieking after every run. It's okay. I've had them checked out. They are not injured, just really, really pansified.
However! The week I started running, swimming got a hundred times easier. I was stuck at 2000 yards for a long time, and now I'm up to 2500-2700. Woo!
Jeremy will be gone again soon. It's been a while, so I don't mind. Also, the weather is good, I'm not fighting off seasonal affective disorder (or whatever happens to me every year between November and February), and the kids are to the age where they aren't horrible at least 50% of the time. But I still need a project, or something to do. The hottest parts of the day are HOT here, and we don't have shade. I think we will be spending a lot of time in the apartment pool.
I think I'm going to pretend we're moving soon (even though we're not; thanks a lot, roosters) and empty the apartment of anything unnecessary. I have a bunch of clothes that are too big now, so that will be fun. Perhaps a bonfire is in order.
Jeremy will come home to five outfits, three computer games, and seven empty wine bottles, and he will just have to like it.
Monday, July 2, 2012
Stupid chickens
We have looked at many houses over the last week. We had a short window of time to find something. Most places are rented out within a few weeks of being posted, so not much was available before now for the end of July.
We haven't found anything--at least, not anything that would make a move worthwhile. There have been a few houses that were kind of okay but had one or two big things we didn't like.
There was one house that was perfect in layout and number of rooms. It was obviously cared-for, very clean, had a fenced-in yard and a new back deck. But it was in a seedy neighborhood. Which is still okay with me (you can't win everything on our budget). And kind of far from Jeremy's work and most of our friends. Still, it was that great of a house that we were thinking of moving anyway.
But then. THEN! We went out to look at the backyard, and the neighbors behind us have these gigantic roosters. These things could eat Emmy whole.
Apparently she saw that, too, because as soon as they started crowing (and crowing and crowing and crowing), she burst into tears and hightailed it for the house.
I have nothing against farm animals. I'm from the boonies of South Dakota, which has more farm animals than people. But in the middle of the city, you don't really expect or want aggressive roosters for backyard neighbors.
So we'll be staying here until March. If we wait too much longer to re-sign the lease, someone will rent our apartment, and then we'll most likely have to settle for something we don't especially love. In the meantime, we hope our house will sell so we can raise the budget a little bit (so many great-looking houses just $100/month or so above our absolute upper limit). Or maybe a tornado will eat it.
I have been going to a chiropractor for a couple of months now, and boy do I wish I'd gone sooner. I no longer feel like an old woman from the hips up. He also does physical therapy, which I did not know until I asked him if he could help me with a shoulder thing. "Sure!" he says, and starts poking around my shoulder muscles like he's testing a half-cooked roast. It... hurt.
He says, "I think this blah blah blah thing will help." Where "blah blah blah" is some medical-ish sounding business that also means, "five minutes of excruciating pain while I pinch this shortened muscle." But it totally worked. I have better range of motion in that shoulder than I have in, oh, ever. I can also now lift more with that arm than I can the other. Perhaps my right shoulder will be "bothering" me next time I go in.
I hope my chiropractor doesn't turn out to be Norman Bates-y, too.
Emmy was sick for the last week. Those crayons are what caused it, I think, because no one else had any problems. She got to the point where I said, "Okay, tomorrow I'm calling the doctor," so of course she woke up the next day completely fine.
Then yesterday she swallowed a marble.
We haven't found anything--at least, not anything that would make a move worthwhile. There have been a few houses that were kind of okay but had one or two big things we didn't like.
There was one house that was perfect in layout and number of rooms. It was obviously cared-for, very clean, had a fenced-in yard and a new back deck. But it was in a seedy neighborhood. Which is still okay with me (you can't win everything on our budget). And kind of far from Jeremy's work and most of our friends. Still, it was that great of a house that we were thinking of moving anyway.
But then. THEN! We went out to look at the backyard, and the neighbors behind us have these gigantic roosters. These things could eat Emmy whole.
Apparently she saw that, too, because as soon as they started crowing (and crowing and crowing and crowing), she burst into tears and hightailed it for the house.
I have nothing against farm animals. I'm from the boonies of South Dakota, which has more farm animals than people. But in the middle of the city, you don't really expect or want aggressive roosters for backyard neighbors.
So we'll be staying here until March. If we wait too much longer to re-sign the lease, someone will rent our apartment, and then we'll most likely have to settle for something we don't especially love. In the meantime, we hope our house will sell so we can raise the budget a little bit (so many great-looking houses just $100/month or so above our absolute upper limit). Or maybe a tornado will eat it.
I have been going to a chiropractor for a couple of months now, and boy do I wish I'd gone sooner. I no longer feel like an old woman from the hips up. He also does physical therapy, which I did not know until I asked him if he could help me with a shoulder thing. "Sure!" he says, and starts poking around my shoulder muscles like he's testing a half-cooked roast. It... hurt.
He says, "I think this blah blah blah thing will help." Where "blah blah blah" is some medical-ish sounding business that also means, "five minutes of excruciating pain while I pinch this shortened muscle." But it totally worked. I have better range of motion in that shoulder than I have in, oh, ever. I can also now lift more with that arm than I can the other. Perhaps my right shoulder will be "bothering" me next time I go in.
I hope my chiropractor doesn't turn out to be Norman Bates-y, too.
Emmy was sick for the last week. Those crayons are what caused it, I think, because no one else had any problems. She got to the point where I said, "Okay, tomorrow I'm calling the doctor," so of course she woke up the next day completely fine.
Then yesterday she swallowed a marble.
Thursday, June 28, 2012
The Biggest News of the Year
So my kids' pediatrician may have murdered his wife last fall. For a week after I found this out, I scoured the Internet for every news article about her death, and it does not look good. Either he did it, and he's a very messed up individual, or he's innocent, and his son is a liar and a horrible person. That's not really a win-win situation.
But he's a fantastic doctor. So we'll keep going. I don't imagine he'll start offing patients anytime soon. I suppose I could be wrong, but I think the chances are greater that I'll get hit by a car on the way to a well-child appointment.
In the meantime I handle it by making really tasteless jokes about it to Jeremy. You would be appalled. I can't help it. There's the doctor I know: warm, caring, gentle with children. Then there's the father his son describes: unstable, vicious, crazy up to eleven. I have to relieve the dissonance somehow, so I make not-funny wisecracks about the Murderer Pediatrician.
Emmy ate a bunch of bath crayons a few days ago and has since had some... issues. I will not tell you how I know it was more than one bath crayon. She still talks about it. "My crayon! Is gone! I had a crayon, and now it's gone!"
Sometimes I think her disdainful independence and strange ways of doing things are a sign of great intelligence. And then other times I think it's just all the brain damage from crawling into so much furniture at a young age.
So we may be seeing Dr. Murder sooner rather than later. I am strangely looking forward to it.
Oh, AND! You may remember my niece who has been through so much going back and forth between my sister's home and her bio dad's home and all the stupid insanity child services put them through.
She was officially adopted by my sister and her husband yesterday.
But he's a fantastic doctor. So we'll keep going. I don't imagine he'll start offing patients anytime soon. I suppose I could be wrong, but I think the chances are greater that I'll get hit by a car on the way to a well-child appointment.
In the meantime I handle it by making really tasteless jokes about it to Jeremy. You would be appalled. I can't help it. There's the doctor I know: warm, caring, gentle with children. Then there's the father his son describes: unstable, vicious, crazy up to eleven. I have to relieve the dissonance somehow, so I make not-funny wisecracks about the Murderer Pediatrician.
Emmy ate a bunch of bath crayons a few days ago and has since had some... issues. I will not tell you how I know it was more than one bath crayon. She still talks about it. "My crayon! Is gone! I had a crayon, and now it's gone!"
Sometimes I think her disdainful independence and strange ways of doing things are a sign of great intelligence. And then other times I think it's just all the brain damage from crawling into so much furniture at a young age.
So we may be seeing Dr. Murder sooner rather than later. I am strangely looking forward to it.
Oh, AND! You may remember my niece who has been through so much going back and forth between my sister's home and her bio dad's home and all the stupid insanity child services put them through.
She was officially adopted by my sister and her husband yesterday.
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
I love planes
I spent the weekend in Denver. It was, of course, fantastic.
My sister and I went to the zoo with the kids on Friday. I always love the zoo in theory, but then hate it when I get there and realize I have to deal with other people. Also, other people's children. People who wander around aimlessly in traffic like sun-poisoned camels. I am sure I am guilty of this myself at times, so I haven't yet stabbed anyone, but I've come close.
There's a little play area with a creek for the kids to splash in at this zoo. It's a neat idea. I hung out there for a while with my sister's kids. When I first got there, I sat down on the edge of one end with my niece and quickly realized I'd intruded on a mommies group of some kind. This isn't a bad thing all by itself. Most of my favorite people are moms.
But these were... well, I kept getting looks like, "Are you one of us? No, you couldn't possibly. You don't have that organic raw vegan healthy glow about you. And that child with you has a smudge on her dress. Hmm. Maybe you're someone's cousin." This was mildly amusing to me, but it got really hilarious when they started talking about their children and preschools and wait lists. At first I thought they meant the children who were with them, the tiny toddlers splashing at their feet.
And then I realized that all these women were pregnant--some not even showing yet--, and they were talking about their unborn children. I almost had a brain aneurysm. Is this a thing? I mean, is there a preschool that is actually so FANTASTIC that you need to wait-list your -7 month old? Really?
I also got to watch my sister kick some butt on the Tough Mudder in Beaver Creek. It was almost a half marathon up and down a mountain (twice), with obstacles. Some were easy, or so says my sister, who is a machine. And some were hard. Like a vat of ice that you had to dive into and then under a wall, and then haul your frozen rear back out by the power of your arms and the adrenaline induced by the fear of dying in a vat of ice.
It was not a spectator-friendly event. I only got to watch about five of the 25-odd obstacles. This mostly involved taking a ski lift up to the top of a mountain, waiting in line for a beer, and then running up and down half the mountain in a panic several times wondering if I'd missed her going by. I hadn't. It was just a lot longer of a course than it was supposed to be.
Did you know that using twice the amount of sunscreen you normally do is not enough if you're at twice the elevation you're used to? I did not. I also didn't think to wear a hat. I now appear to have mange and a dirty forehead. But really it's just seared flesh. Nothing catching. If I'm ever at 10,000 feet all day again, I will drape myself in muslin from head to toe.
I flew back home Monday afternoon. A lady came and sat down in the terminal across from me about an hour before boarding. She got out her laptop and headphones, which I thought meant quiet.
But no. She was Skyping. Loudly. About Gary, who just gives her so much b***s***, and she's so sick of it, and it's over between them. Why can't she find a guy who isn't so skittish or annoyed by her career? She needs to live, you know. And MOM. Oh my goodness, MOM is just being so awful about the whole thing. Mom wants her to quit her job and find something else so she can get a man, but she REALLY isn't looking for a man right now, you know? And so on. For an hour. Or so I presume. I moved after ten minutes, but she was still yakking away when boarding started. I felt sorry for her. What girl hasn't been there, right? But for a grown woman to be so unaware of her surroundings is baffling.
I arrived safe and sound (obviously), and all day for two days now, all I've heard is, "Mommy, I missed you!" and had tiny arms flung around my neck, leg, arm, and torso. I missed them, too. Like, really missed them, which I didn't even realize until Jeremy picked me up and I saw them in the back seat. I could have happily stayed longer, but it's good to be home.
My sister and I went to the zoo with the kids on Friday. I always love the zoo in theory, but then hate it when I get there and realize I have to deal with other people. Also, other people's children. People who wander around aimlessly in traffic like sun-poisoned camels. I am sure I am guilty of this myself at times, so I haven't yet stabbed anyone, but I've come close.
There's a little play area with a creek for the kids to splash in at this zoo. It's a neat idea. I hung out there for a while with my sister's kids. When I first got there, I sat down on the edge of one end with my niece and quickly realized I'd intruded on a mommies group of some kind. This isn't a bad thing all by itself. Most of my favorite people are moms.
But these were... well, I kept getting looks like, "Are you one of us? No, you couldn't possibly. You don't have that organic raw vegan healthy glow about you. And that child with you has a smudge on her dress. Hmm. Maybe you're someone's cousin." This was mildly amusing to me, but it got really hilarious when they started talking about their children and preschools and wait lists. At first I thought they meant the children who were with them, the tiny toddlers splashing at their feet.
And then I realized that all these women were pregnant--some not even showing yet--, and they were talking about their unborn children. I almost had a brain aneurysm. Is this a thing? I mean, is there a preschool that is actually so FANTASTIC that you need to wait-list your -7 month old? Really?
I also got to watch my sister kick some butt on the Tough Mudder in Beaver Creek. It was almost a half marathon up and down a mountain (twice), with obstacles. Some were easy, or so says my sister, who is a machine. And some were hard. Like a vat of ice that you had to dive into and then under a wall, and then haul your frozen rear back out by the power of your arms and the adrenaline induced by the fear of dying in a vat of ice.
It was not a spectator-friendly event. I only got to watch about five of the 25-odd obstacles. This mostly involved taking a ski lift up to the top of a mountain, waiting in line for a beer, and then running up and down half the mountain in a panic several times wondering if I'd missed her going by. I hadn't. It was just a lot longer of a course than it was supposed to be.
Did you know that using twice the amount of sunscreen you normally do is not enough if you're at twice the elevation you're used to? I did not. I also didn't think to wear a hat. I now appear to have mange and a dirty forehead. But really it's just seared flesh. Nothing catching. If I'm ever at 10,000 feet all day again, I will drape myself in muslin from head to toe.
I flew back home Monday afternoon. A lady came and sat down in the terminal across from me about an hour before boarding. She got out her laptop and headphones, which I thought meant quiet.
But no. She was Skyping. Loudly. About Gary, who just gives her so much b***s***, and she's so sick of it, and it's over between them. Why can't she find a guy who isn't so skittish or annoyed by her career? She needs to live, you know. And MOM. Oh my goodness, MOM is just being so awful about the whole thing. Mom wants her to quit her job and find something else so she can get a man, but she REALLY isn't looking for a man right now, you know? And so on. For an hour. Or so I presume. I moved after ten minutes, but she was still yakking away when boarding started. I felt sorry for her. What girl hasn't been there, right? But for a grown woman to be so unaware of her surroundings is baffling.
I arrived safe and sound (obviously), and all day for two days now, all I've heard is, "Mommy, I missed you!" and had tiny arms flung around my neck, leg, arm, and torso. I missed them, too. Like, really missed them, which I didn't even realize until Jeremy picked me up and I saw them in the back seat. I could have happily stayed longer, but it's good to be home.
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