Thursday, September 27, 2007

Sleeping balloons

So we brought home two balloons from Red Robin on Wednesday. The helium lasted for, oh, 10 hours--much to Grace's dismay. We arrived home on Thursday and Grace found them on the floor. Lifeless.

"Oh no! They're sleeping!" she cried. She helplessly threw them in the air. Repeatedly. "Wake up, wake up, wake up."

It was cute, yet sad, all at the same time.

10 days to go. 10. I'm tired of dreaming about the marathon. Tired of envisioning a long hill that I can't tackle.

Thursday, September 13, 2007


So Kendall and Grace seem to be acclimating to their new daycare. No longer does Kendall cry when I pick her up. In fact, she now runs over to grasp my thighs and show off her new pigtails that Miss Marcy braids every day. Funny how I can't even pull a brush through her hair, yet she allows Miss Marcy to practically put corn rows throughout her head.

And so I picked her up and she's got these Pippi Longstocking braids, the kind that bend up at the end as though wires twist them toward the clouds.

"Look, I'm a princess," she tells me.

Wow. You look beautiful, I say. She kind of blushes.

We find Grace, and I load them into the truck, and I pass around milk, water, and bags of buzzy-buzzy bee cereal (known nationally and beyond as Honey Nut Cheerios.) Well, the milk and Cheerios must've hit the spot for the little princess, for once we get home, she runs off to some far corner of the house where one can quietly squeeze out a number two into the Pamper. She comes running out, beaming, relieved. I can smell her as she approaches.

Did you go in your pants?

"Mommy, Mommy. I'm a princess and I made a princess poop, a giant princess poop."

I haven't seen a child look so proud over a bowel movement that wasn't made on the toilet.


On Tuesday Christine and I headed out for six miles in a slight drizzle. We begged for the clouds to hold off, for we always joke how we've never been caught in a serious storm. We'd done sleet, snow, and slight rain. Damn, we'd make great postal workers. But we've never endured a downpour together.

That changed at about 2.45 miles into the run. 2.45 is the Route 100 turnaround where all of a sudden the water began pelting, and she began cursing, and I began laughing. Running in the rain is grand for the soul for it truly is cleansing of some impurity of life. It takes you back to childhood of running through forbidden puddles. Stomping in puddles really is fun. And it really is harmless--unless you're wearing really expensive shoes or wearing a white linen dress.

Well, the rain was so heavy it was raining buckets of cats and dogs. Not just buckets. Not just cats and dogs. Big freakin' buckets that contain Marmaduke dogs and round-bellied cats. At mile five, we agreed that we won't cut it short because it was too late. Nothing was dry. My shirt slapped against my stomach repeatedly, my shorts clung to my thighs, and my socks squished out water. So we crossed an intersection where water has gathered. In a blonde moment, I yelled at Christine to "watch out for the puddle." For some reason she found this profoundly hysterical, and I guess it was, because we were already drenched.

"Watch out for the puddle? I'm f*cking soaked," she yips at me.

Back at my house, I gave her a Princess Jasmine towl so she could strip down to her underwear to drive home.

You can't buy that kind of fun.

Sunday, September 9, 2007

Crazy days

Kendall is quite the card. She is going through this phase of trying to hold on to being the baby and wanting to be one of the "big girls." Today she insisted on doing practically everything on her own--including putting on Grace's Disney princess shoes (too big and on the wrong feet), using silver steak knives to fix the umbrella stroller, and deciding when I could open the pantry and refrigerator doors. She's the Huggies-wearing commander in chief who barks orders at everyone else.

Saturday, September 8, 2007

Fighting age

Good thing about today:

I ran a 15k race (9.3 miles) in just under 1:24. One second to spare. Although, the clock posted 1:25:03. It took me four seconds to get to the starting line due to the crowd. So I'm somewhat pleased, though I anticipated finishing a minute earlier. But the satisfying part: overtaking my biggest rival during the past year of racing. She'd pass me, I'd pass her. Then I'd walk, thinking I was going to toss my granola bar. She'd pass me. I'd catch her. I'd walk again. She'd pass. Finally, with maybe 25 yards left, I had her in my sights. And I went for the kill with my husband screaming at me to "go get her, go get her." She turned and saw me charging like a marriage-hungry bride at one of those Filene's wedding gown sales. She picked up the pace, but it was too late. She was toast.

It felt good. Damn good.

Bad thing about today:

I got an eye exam. Well, my prescription hasn't changed, but the eye doctor could tell I had a secret that I really hadn't told anyone. "I bet you're having trouble reading, aren't you?" How did he know. Freakin' psychic. "Um, kinda." "Hmmm, for how long?" "Oh, maybe a year or so."

And then he delivered the passage that I didn't want to hear:

"Well, maybe we should look into some bifocals."

Bifocals? Me? Not in this... summer.

Let's see how I've fared medically this summer.

Chest pains. Got the EKG. Bad mammogram. Got the CT scan. Now my eyes are going? Fuggetaboutit. Ok, ok, he agreed. Maybe not now. But down the road. He cut me some slack. Get the weakest pair of reading glasses at the supercenter and use them when you need them. Ha. I could use them every time I read. I could use them to brush my teeth. I could use them to pluck my eyebrows. And when could I really use them? When I'm searching my head for those wirey grey hairs that seem to be standing on end every two weeks or so.

I did take the girls to the supercenter, and I did buy the glasses. Cute little torties. Obviously I was more concerned with finding the eyewear than paying attention to my girls. For when Mark returned home, he looked at Grace and asked what was with her hair. She had a huge wad of a blue knot sticking out the side of her head. Turns out that when she spit out her blue liquid Advil last night (fever), it congealed into her scalp and it appeared that she had a wad of cotton candy stuck to her noggin. Well, it was Wal-Mart, and I really don't care what the other people thought. As long as I look fine in my glasses, I'm good. Besides, without them, I might never know what these kids look like up-close when we head to the store.