Monday, February 16, 2015

36 Years!

Holy wow. When did my life get half way over? Okay, not quite halfway, but close. Once I turn 70 I plan to engage in all sorts of risky behaviors. No, I'm not going to go the sex, drugs and rock n' roll risky route, but more like skydiving, hiking alone in deserted forests and mountains, and riding a motorcycle risky, (although after a birthday conversation with my brother, apparently riding a horse is much more statistically and, considering the skill I have with horses, really dangerous). So I'm practically half way through.

Before I do all that fun stuff though, I've got a few goals I need to accomplish:

1. The 18 minute 5K. Seriously, if once upon a time (it does seem like a fairy tale right now) I could run a 4:33 1500, I ought to be able to put together three sub-6 minute miles and some change before I turn 40. Now if I could just get my foot to stop complaining, my knees to cooperate, and my new shoulder injury to calm down.

2. Write a book.  I've been working on this one for, oh you know, 15 years, but hey, the 16th year is the charm, right? That's what they say, isn't it? "Any (wo)man who keeps working is not a failure. (S)He may not be a great writer, but if (s)he applies the old-fashioned virtues of hard, constant labor, (s)he’ll eventually make some kind of career for h(er)imself as a writer."
- Ray Bradbury
3. Patience and Love. With the exception of when I'm trying to kill a 5K, I would like to exude more patience and more love. And that 18 minute 5K might take some patience.
I am patient. I am patient. I am patient. Got that kids? I am patient. Even if you keep tapping me on the arm while my arms are full and even when you pull at my new shirt, I am patient. And I love you. Stop yelling at me. I love you.

Friday, February 13, 2015

A Story To Illustrate My Child's Problem-Solving Skills

My children may be headed for brilliant criminal lives. Good thing I am here to thwart them.

Yesterday H was determined to find an outfit that matched her doll's. She tore apart the house looking for a shirt that she knew had a matching doll outfit. She couldn't find it. I figured she had given up when she started asking me for snacks.

"Mom, do we still have some cherries left?"

"Yes, but they're all gross and old. You don't want them."

"Yeah, I do. I looooove cherries," said H. "Please, please, please, can I have cherries?"

I was surprised at her sudden love of cherries. I mean, she likes cherries, but she was suddenly desperately in need of cherries. "Fine," I said shrugging. "Don't eat them if they're all shriveled up and moldy." I tossed the container on the counter. "And be careful to wash your hands after you eat them."

"Cherries stain? And they don't come out?" asked H.

"Yes," I said, surprised again that she had actually listened to one of my earlier cherry lectures. "They're terrible for staining clothes."

She began stuffing cherries in her mouth and I got distracted.

About a half hour later, I'm in the laundry room sorting socks and Hannah comes in, holding a dress. A nice blue church dress that I bought for K for Easter last year. A dress that has a matching doll dress. The dress has a bright red stain on it. It looks like someone took a marker and colored all over it.

"I don't know what happened to this dress," says Hannah. "I'm sorry, but is it a play dress now?"

I don't remember any markers missing. I grab the dress and stare at the stain. This dress has been hanging in a closet for awhile now. No one has worn it. How did this happen?

"You girls," I say, but since I have no idea how it happened or when, I just spray it and start scrubbing to see if maybe it will come out. If it is marker, it has a good chance. It comes right out. This is a fresh stain. And suddenly cherries make sense to me.

"H, it is not okay to take a nice dress and rub cherries into it to try and make it a play dress. You have to find some other clothes to match your doll, not ruin good clothes." I remain calm, amazed at the planning and execution that went into this.

Instead of fireworks of denial, which is the usual response, H is pretty contrite. She even admits to her diabolical plan.

Yeah, she's a problem solver alright.