Presenting: Girl with curls and a crown

We went to a local children's museum yesterday and the girls got to sculpt faces with clay. Loaf refused to let me photograph hers, ripping off the clay parts before I could snap a photo, but Peanut was quite proud of her work:



I asked her what it's named and she said, "Girl with curls and a crown." Good name, don't you think?

Wordless Wednesday: Sister kisses

That middle one is worth a 1,000 words, no?

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Watermelon, watermelon

So you know what we did this weekend? A whole lotta nothin'.

Aside from a bike ride, a trip to Target, a hike at a local nature preserve and a visit to the ice cream parlor, we passed the days in our own yard. I lounged around in a chair with my feet up reading a book while the girls splashed in their pool nearby. We ate lunch outside on a blanket every day and lounged around looking at the sky. We grilled and drank lemonade and ate watermelon.

Lots and lots of watermelon. Mmmmm.





How was your weekend? Did you do anything fun?

Our annual opening of the pool

I know.

Not what you expected.

But that's as good as it gets around here. Although, in actuality, it's really quite great.


Brrrr. That hose water is chilly.


But not too chilly to squirt your sister.


Squirting your sister is hee-larious.


Ready for a dip.

Dance (or don't). It's all the same to me.

I am sitting on the floor of my daughter’s dance studio watching her and her classmates rehearse the number they will perform in their ballet recital in just over three weeks.

They dance to a French song. Don't ask me the name because I don’t know. But before me is a line of about a dozen little girls wearing black leotards and pink tights. With one hand on one hip, they lip-sync the lyrics while the other hand moves through the air in time to the music.

Correction: Make that one dozen minus one.

My daughter – Peanut – is staring up at the ceiling. Her eyes are huge and round and she has a slightly checked-out look. The girls on either side of her smile and sway to the music. She fiddles with the band of her dance skirt and stares off into space.

Then, the girl on the far right steps forward and does a short solo. She glides two or three steps to the right, then the left. Then she twirls and steps back in line.

The girl to her left follows suit. And so on, down the line.

Peanut continues to roam about in her own world, maintaining her deer-in-the-headlights stare. She appears to be focusing on some random point a few feet over my head.

When her turn comes, she stands there looking forward.

Oblivious.

The girl to her left nudges her.

“It’s your turn,” she says urgently. “Go! Go!”

It takes a moment for Peanut to realize what the girl is saying to her, but then the recognition comes. She smiles, takes her step forward and takes about 10 steps to the left – almost covering the entire length of the line. Then she goes all the way to the right. And then back pretty far to the left again.

Finally, she does her twirl and steps back in line.

After that, she is partly engaged in the song. She sort of mouths the words and sort of does the hand motions. But then the lead girl on the right turns and dances off. The girls after her follow to form a big circle on the stage.

Peanut? Just. Stands. There.

Again, the girl next to her prompts her to Go! Go!

So she goes.

In the wrong direction.

She walks right into the girl behind her, then corrects herself and races to close the huge gap that’s now in the circle.

The mother next to me leans in and says, “That was my daughter last year. Always out to lunch.”

I nod, trying to decide if that statement was supposed to make me feel better for Peanut, because honestly it didn’t.

The girls loop around and once again form a line.

The song finishes. They all curtsy. Peanut is beaming.

I sit with my back against the wall, mouth slightly agape, pondering what I just witnessed. The room explodes in applause from the mothers who have been invited here today to dance with their daughters.

I applaud too. Peanut races into my arms and I fold them around her and plant a huge kiss on her cheek.

“Did you like it, Mommy?” she asks.

I signed her up for dance class hoping she would have fun, spend some time with her friends and experience something different. I never had any aspirations of her being invited here. And even if she were, I wouldn’t want her to go. Ballet is a harsh world.

I peer into those big green eyes and see how happy she is.

“I loved it,” I say truthfully.

She may be a bit of a space cadet, but she’s my little space cadet.

And you know what’s cool about space cadets? They find ways to reach the stars.

Wordless Wednesday: Triathlon - the next generation

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What I learned in my first triathlon

Today I finished my first triathlon. It was not easy. At times, it was downright difficult, but I did it. Scratch that one off the Bucket List. Here’s the short version of what happened:

- I had a lot of trouble on the swim and actually swam way off course three times, but finished it (and NOT LAST!)

- I was plagued with stomach cramps for half the bike and half the run, but pushed through it and finished the run really strong and felt fantastic about it.

Want to hear all the gory details or see some pictures? Just keep reading:

Pre-race
I woke up at 3 a.m. this morning and couldn’t get to sleep. I could actually feel the nerves and adrenaline buzzing through my body. I couldn’t stop thinking about the day ahead – what would it be like? Would I get hurt? How cold WOULD that water feel? (For the record, 62-degrees feels pretty cold at first, but you get used to it quickly.) Most of all, would I finish?

Around 6 a.m., my alarm went off and I went to the kitchen. I had carefully planned my breakfast: oatmeal, a bit of yogurt and lots of water. But I could barely finish the oatmeal. My stomach was in knots and I had no appetite. I did my best and got most of it down, but I couldn’t even fathom the idea of the yogurt so I skipped it.

I dressed, got the girls fed and dressed and then we all (my mom too) piled in the car and drove off. The ride was 40 minutes and my stomach was flopping with anxiety the whole time.

We arrived, used the port-a-johns and found the transition area.



I got body marked (Coolest.Thing. Ever. This made me feel totally badass.) and I set up my area. It was teeny. My stuff was squished in right against the women on either side of me.

Waiting to get body marked.


They put your age on the back of your leg. For the race, your age is how old you'll be at the end of the year. So? Today, I unofficially turned 40.


Marked and ready to go


Around this time, I must have started feeling better, because I got hungry. I ate a Power Bar and had some more water then pulled on my wetsuit and headed down to the beach for the pre-race meeting.

At this point, we watched the first two waves for my race take off. It was so cool. Some of those men were so fast – they were out of the water before they even it got wet it seemed.

My mother-in-law arrived at this point and before I knew it, it was time for my wave to start. Hugs and kisses to all, and I walked down to get in line.

Look! It's Batgirl!


Hugs all around


Swim

The half-mile swim took place in a lake. It was a beach start. I was in the third and final wave, which included women and first-timers.

Waiting to start


A year ago, when I started this adventure, swimming was the part of the tri I feared the most. I could only dog paddle. But I took a stroke clinic, practiced like crazy, and have come to the point where I feel pretty confident and can easily swim a mile in the pool.

Did you get that? Because there is a very key, three-word phrase there: In. The. Pool.

Prior to today, I had never done an open water swim. And despite cautionary advice from two experienced triathletes that open water swimming was very different, I had no real idea what I was in for.

I will get back to that, but first let me describe the course. As I said, it was a half-mile. You swam straight out to one big floating cone, made a left, swam to the next big floating cone, made another left, then swam back to the beach. Think of it like three sides to a rectangle.

Standing on the beach waiting for the air horn, it looked far, but not that far. I kept trying to calculate how many lengths of pool each leg would be and decided it was probably something in the neighborhood of 14 or 15 for each of the long sides and maybe 8-11 for the short side. Piece of cake, I rationalized.

So the air horn blasted and the water became a churning mass of humans. Legs and arms flying everywhere. I waded out to about my waist and then dove in.

And she's off!


And guess what?

Open water swimming is on a WHOLE OTHER PLANE than pool swimming.

I couldn’t see anything but murky brown water in my field of vision. I couldn’t see the buoys or the big floating cones or even the other people around me. I got kicked in the arm by a foot I could not see at all.

I could feel the terror welling up inside me. I was taking a breath every second stroke instead of the every third or even fourth I do in the pool and it still wasn’t enough. I flipped over and back stroked, breathing furiously.

Do you see that head on the left sticking up? That head is mine. Does this look like good swim form? Because IT IS NOT!


I dog-paddled. I sidestroked. I tried to breaststroke, but it was like I forgot – completely – how to do it.

I thought I was not going to finish.

I thought I was going to have to be pulled out the water within the first five minutes.

I thought about all the hard work and training that went into this day.

Then, I thought about all the people I’d have to explain this failure to: my husband and the two amazing women who traveled extensive distances to cheer me on. My daughters. Other relatives who were pulling for me from afar. All the people who emailed me well wishes and wrote on my Facebook page over the last few days. The mothers and teachers at the girls’ school. My coworkers.

And my brain said: Unacceptable. You will finish this swim if you dog paddle the whole way.

So I kept going. But I was so focused on making forward motion, I forgot one very important thing: Forward motion is only good when you are going in the right direction.

At some point, after swimming a mix of strokes for a while, I looked up and could not see the big red cone anywhere. I looked around and there it was – way, way off to my left. I had been swimming at an angle away from the cone.

I will not even tell you the long litany of curse words that ran through my head at this point, but I turned and swam like mad for the cone and somehow I made it and rounded it.

Except? I did the same thing again – not quite as badly, but still – AGAIN - on the short side.

And, just because the third time’s a charm, I did it AGAIN on the return to the beach. Finally, I remembered how to breast stroke and I came straight up out of the water and bee-lined for the beach, never letting it leave my sight.

Obviously, I need to work on sighting and open water swimming.

But somehow I made it out of the water - and there were still at least a half dozen swimmers in the water. If I had managed to stay on the course, I probably would have come in more in the middle of the pack.

But I finished it and that’s what counts. I was never – NEVER – so happy to plant my feet on solid ground.

So happy to be done!


Swim time: 25:43. I probably could have shaved 4-5 minutes off that if I'd stayed on the course and done the crawl the whole way. At least I have a goal for next time.

T-1

I ran up the beach to the transition area pulling off my swim cap and goggles and unzipping my wetsuit on the way. My stomach was cramping a bit, which I blamed on nerves or maybe bad lake water.

I gulped some sports drink, washed and dried my feet, pulled on my socks and shoes, fastened my helmet, grabbed the bike and went. I also took a shot of GU, which made my already upset stomach clinch. I seriously thought I was going to puke, but didn’t. At the end of the transition area, I hopped on and pedaled off.

Bike

Here I go - off on the bike


The bike portion was a 19.5-mile loop of rolling countryside. The first 10 miles went fine. I was making decent time and even passed a few people, which is always a good confidence builder (in fairness, I was the passee much more often than the passer, but even 3-4 times was nice).

Sometime after mile 10, my stomach decided to stage a revolt. I started feeling really crampy and nauseous. I thought for sure I was going to have to stop to throw up. But it never got to that point, so I just kept pedaling, though admittedly the second half took longer than the first.

Then I saw the park entrance ahead, pedaled in, dismounted and got ready for the run.

Returning from the bike leg


Bike time: 1:40. Two words: Speed Drills

T-2
As soon as I hopped off the bike, my stomach seized. I felt awful. I racked the bike and sipped some water. At that point, I wasn’t sure what was the greater evil:
Option 1: Drink nothing and risk getting dehydrated or
Option 2: Drink something and risk making the stomach cramps worse.

Feeling really bad at this point.


I went with Option 3: Sip slowly and hope to find a middle ground.

After a moment, I slipped on my visor and turned to run off. Only which direction do I go? Fortunately, a whole lot of people yelled, “Left! Left!” So I turned and ran back toward the beach.

Run

I can typically run a 5K (3.1 miles) in about 33-35 minutes. I am no speed demon for sure. I don’t really like running and have bad knees, so I tend to be conservative.

Today, if I had knee pain, I didn’t even notice it because I was so focused on the stomach cramps, which were worsening. The first 2 miles of the run were HELL. I honestly thought I was going to either throw up violently or (worse) have diarrhea in my pants (I know, too much information, but one thing I learned: tri's aren't pretty).

Fortunately, I didn’t do either. At mile 2 there was a port-a-john.

I have never been so happy to see a port-a-john in all my life. Unfortunately, there were three runners already in line. But I felt my options were either wait or risk a seriously embarrassing incident, so I waited. I waited for close to five minutes.

When it was finally my turn, that port-a-john and I spent some quality time together. In fact, I’d like to write that port-a-john a thank you letter, because afterwards I felt MUCH BETTER. I was actually able to run at decent clip. When I saw the park entrance, I was elated.

When I saw the turn to the finish line, I literally shouted out, “THANK GOD!”

And when I saw the actual finish line looming ahead, I gave it everything I had. I sprinted the final 2/10ths of a mile.

The announcer calling out the name and hometown of each finisher (which was an AWESOME touch, by the way) even said, “Look at the pace on her!”

Giving it everything I have


God, that felt great. After the less than auspicious swim, bike and 2/3 of the run, I finally felt something resembling pride.

I came across the finish line with my arms in the air and a huge smile on my face and was instantly hugged and handed flowers by my two beautiful daughters, amazing husband (who has been so incredibly and fabulously supportive these last few months) and two gorgeous and inspiring women: my mom and mother-in-law.

At the finish. SO. FREAKING. HAPPY.










Run time: 40:48. OK. This is a totally sucky time, BUT, if I hadn't lost that five minutes waiting in line for the bathroom, I would not have been too far off my usual time. That makes me feel better about it.

My time was not good AT ALL. But I have to remember that I had one goal for this race: FINISH. And I did. And that alone is an accomplishment.

I also learned a lot, and have a new set of goals to work on for the next time (yes, there will be a next time!) and above all, I actually think I had fun. Go figure?

Tea for two (+2, +2, +2 . . .)

Today was the annual Mother's Day Tea at the girls' preschool. The tea is only for the pre-K and 4s classes, so Loaf's class didn't participate, but it's just as well because it gives me a little quality one-on-one with Peanut, which I so rarely get.

The tea started with a couple of songs performed by all the kids. They were so cute!

Then the kids came over and joined the moms at the tables and waited on us hand and foot. It was adorable to have Peanut asking me, "Mommy, would you like another muffin," and "Mommy, can I get you something to drink." I loved it!

Unfortunately, the royal treatment was short-lived and within 10 minutes of arriving home we were back to regular roles, but it was nice while it lasted. And it also showed me she CAN be trained to do this stuff. Now to figure out a plan for making it a regular thing.

::laughs evilly::

Here we are at the tea:



But the highlight every year for me is this little "questionnaire" that the kids fill out about their moms. Let's begin with Peanut's:



"Mother's day is because of mothers."
I'm so relieved she got this one right! If she'd said you know, dogs or cupcakes or something, I'd have been seriously concerned.

"You are 39 years old."
Last year, she said I was 17. I liked that answer better.

"The best thing you cook is cake."
I don't really think this is funny, I just wanted to point out that it reads "cake" and not "coke." I don't need the DEA or Child Protective Services banging down my door in the middle of the night.

"You love to go to Target."
Ummm . . . OK, busted. I do spend a lot of time there. In comparison, the mother sitting next to me likes to go to Africa. I think we are living very different lives.

So now, let's look at Loaf's answers:



"Mother's Day is to hug and kiss."
Awwww. I know.

"You have stringy hair."
What this tells me? Is that it is time to make an appointment for a haircut.

"The best thing you cook is macaroni and cheese."
I am so glad that my "open box, pour macaroni into boiling water, dump powdered cheese on top" skills are up to par.

"Your favorite TV show is Black Beauty."
I think what she means is, "your favorite TV show to put on for me when you need an hour to get something done is 'Black Beauty.'"

Happy Mother's Day from me, a cake-baking, macaroni-and-cheese-making, stringy-haired, Target-going, brown-eyed, 39- (or maybe 5-) year-old mother. Hope you get the royal treatment too, even if only for a few minutes.

Admit it . . .

. . . you know you've thought about it:



Someone sent this to me via email and I couldn't resist. I have to admit, it would make things easier.

Happy (end of) Monday!