tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-236319232024-03-14T03:12:47.963-04:00The Gav MenagerieHi! I'm the mom of the Gav family and this is our little zoo. So take a tour, have some fun, but please don't feed the animals or tap on the glass. Come back soon!Kimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07628744950564301288noreply@blogger.comBlogger543125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23631923.post-45289086902139882642011-11-19T14:13:00.003-05:002011-11-19T14:32:00.498-05:00My first 26.2: The Marine Corps Marathon<i>On October 30, 2011, after training for most of the summer, I ran my first marathon: The Marine Corps Marathon in Washington, D.C. It's a little late, but here is my race recap. </i><br /><br />The hotel bed was incredibly comfortable – much more comfortable than our bed at home – and yet, I could not sleep. I lay awake listening to the sounds of peaceful slumber around me: my husband and two daughters asleep and blissfully unaware of my insomnia. <br /><br />The nerves rolled through me like a low voltage electric current. I closed my eyes and willed myself to sleep, sleep, please sleep. You need your energy. Because tomorrow you are running a marathon. <br /><br />A marathon . . . me? Get. Out. <br /><br />A part of me still refused to believe it. <br /><br />But it was true. My running attire was folded neatly on top of my suitcase. My royal blue American Cancer Society Determination bag was packed with everything from Vaseline to band-aids to water bottles to a set of comfy clothes to throw on post-race. My runner’s belt was loaded up with Nuun, my long-distance drink of choice, pretzels, gels, Tums and, of course, my iPhone so that I could snap a photo or two along the way. I had trained for months. I was ready. So why won’t my body relax and accept the rest it needs? <br /><br />I did manage to drift off, but it was restless, unsatisfying sleep. I was awake again before my 5:15 alarm went off and staggered to the hotel bathroom. Stripping down, I slathered most of my upper body and both feet with Vaseline, pulled on my clothes and tied back my hair. <br /><br />My race number—31199—was secured to my blue Determination singlet with the only safety pin I brought, along with a small gold one from the complimentary hotel sewing kit. I figured I could grab a couple more at the American Cancer Society tent (I ran the race to raise money for them in memory of my Grandmother, who died of lung cancer when I was in high school). <br /><br />I didn’t count on the fact that my brain would be so consumed by pre-race jitters that I’d lose my ability to remember basic information. More on this later. <br /><br />I left the room at 5:40 am, kissing Mark good bye. It was 31 degrees outside, and I was dressed in my purchased-the-day-before-and-never-run-a-step-in running tights (because you know? Who expects it to freaking <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2011/10/31/nyregion/october-snowstorm-sows-havoc-on-northeastern-states.html?pagewanted=all">SNOW</a> in October?!?), old sweatpants (to toss), long-sleeved running shirt under my royal blue American Cancer Society singlet, lightweight Saucony running jacket and blue fleece (also purchased from Target the day before – planning to toss that away). I also had gloves and a baseball hat.<br /><br />I followed the ACS team to the Union Station metro and boarded a train. It seemed everyone had a buddy to talk with but me, and I was feeling a little sorry for myself, sitting on the Metro eating a Cliff bar all by myself. But upon exiting the train at Rosslyn, I started chatting with a couple of other runners and that made me feel better. <br /><br />At the ACS tent, the ground was a muddy, mushy, soaking, sloppy mess from the snow, rain and sleet the day before. Some runners tied plastic bags around their sneakers to keep their feet dry. I opted to just stick to the perimeter of the tent as much as possible where the ground was still sort of solid. <br /><br />I drank some chocolate milk and ate a banana at the ACS tent. I tried eating a bagel, but simply couldn’t get it down. My stomach didn’t feel full, but I kept chewing the bagel – it was like glue—and when I tried to swallow it, I gagged. I ended up spitting most of it out, but I didn’t want to toss it. I was terrified that I hadn’t eaten enough. I usually have oatmeal or a bowl of cereal before a run. I was afraid of bonking later in the race. <br /><br />I must have looked like someone about to face the firing squad, because one of the ACS mentors came over and sat next to me, took my hand and gave me a pep talk. <br /><br />“Waiting to start is the worst part,” she said.<br /><br />At that, I gave her the stinkeye, because if waiting to start is the worst part, what was all that stupid training for? If all I had to do was wait to start, I could have spent a lot more time this summer sitting my ass on the couch. <br /><br />She must have read my mind, because she laughed and added, “OK, maybe not the WORST part.” At that we both laughed and I felt a little better. I don’t remember her name, but she helped me feel so much better, so thank you unknown ACS mentor. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/41896951@N00/6344861751/" title="Sunrise over DC at the start of the MCM by KGav, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.staticflickr.com/6036/6344861751_50888aa154.jpg" width="500" height="374" alt="Sunrise over DC at the start of the MCM"></a><br /><br />We took our team picture and then walked down to the start. It was about 7:30 and the pastor was doing the invocation. Then there was a 21-gun salute and flyover the starting line, which was just awesome! Very inspiring.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/41896951@N00/6344830883/" title="Flyover at the start of the 2011 MCM by KGav, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.staticflickr.com/6052/6344830883_31f7cde983.jpg" width="500" height="373" alt="Flyover at the start of the 2011 MCM"></a><br /><br />I was trying to hook up with my friend Betsy, but our timing was off and in a crowd of 20,000, it’s just not easy to find someone, so I took a spot near the 4:30 time banner (which I knew was NOT going to happen but I thought it was as good a place as any). I shed my sweatpants and waited. <br /><br />The wheelchair race went off at 7:50 am and 10 minutes later the gun for the runners. I crossed the start at about 8:10. Within 3 miles, I tossed the fleece away and about a mile later I tied my running jacket around my waist. I was regretting the running tights and wishing I’d worn my shorts. Yeah, I would have frozen my tookus off for a few minutes, but I could already tell the tights were going to be too warm for the day. <br /><br />Around mile 5, the small gold safety pin snapped and flew off. Now, I had only one safety pin holding my bib to my shirt. I moved it to the middle of the bib, but it was windy and the bib (and timing chip!) kept flopping around and bending. I was terrified of losing it. <i> “No effing way am I going to run this thing without being timed. I worked too hard to fall off the map,”</i> I thought. <br /> <br />I ran along wishing I had a safety pin, which is ridiculous, because safety pins do not appear out of nowhere. Safety pins must be purchased in stores or taken from large bowls at THE TENTS BACK AT THE STARTING LINE, YOU MORON. So quit your stupid wishing because a safety pin is not just going to . . . <br /><br /> . . . and then I looked down and RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME was a big ‘ole safety pin!! Not some wimpy one either – a great big silver one with an extra strong clasp. <br /><br />It’s corny, but I know my grandmother (whose name was on the back of my singlet) sent me that pin. She always was looking out for us grandkids like that. Thanks, Grandma. You’re the best! <br /><br />During training, the emails from coaches always pointed out the hills in the first 8 miles and I was stressed, but I live and trained in a very hilly area and found them generally no big deal. There was one at mile 7 that was long and steep. I ran about half of it, then thought, <i>“Hello?? 19 miles to go. Save your energy!”</i> so I walked the second half. <br /><br />The downhill around mile 8-8.5 into Georgetown was a bit steep and again, I wisely held back. Lots of people were flying by me on that hill . . . I’ll get back to them later. <br /><br />Around this time, I also started feeling both hungry and nauseous, which seems to be sort of humanly impossible like being both short and tall. I ate my mini pretzels and felt a bit better. A few miles later, I took a mini-bagel from a spectator and took the teeniest bites of it. Like before, I kept gagging on it, but I knew I had to get as much down as possible because my stomach was growling. I was swallowing these teeny bites whole—like pills—just to get something into my stomach. <br /><br />I also took two orange slices from a volunteer and they tasted SO good. The sugar/fluid really helped. <br /><br />To settle my stomach, I also periodically sucked on Tums. <br /><br />I kept going, one foot in front of the other – trying to stay positive. Instead of focusing on “17 miles to go,” I’d think, “9 miles down!” and that worked really well for me. <br /><br />Around mile 11, I had to pee and I simply couldn’t wait, so I ran over to a block of port-o-potties on the side. There were only about 6 people in line, but they were the freaking slowest six people EVER! To this day, I have no idea WTF they were doing in there. Hair? Makeup? I half expected to get to the damn potty and find a masseuse or manicurist in there. It was unreal. I waited at that port-o-potty for over THIRTEEN minutes. Seriously! I was ridiculously pissed off. <br /><br />When I entered the port-o-potty line, I was running on pace with the 5:30 group. When I left the port-o-potty, EVERYONE was walking. EVERYONE. <br /><br />I could not believe it. <i> “Where did all the runners go?” </i> I wondered. And then, <i> “Oh.My. God. I’m at the end of the line. I’m last.”</i> (Which was totally not true, but my mind was sure of it). <br /><br />Completely panicked, I started running as fast as I thought was sensible and kept that up for the next few miles. <br /><br />But around mile 14, guess what? The stomach issues got A LOT worse. A lot. As in, like it or not, you need to stop and use the potty again. Which? Crap. (Almost) literally. <br /><br />This time, we were in a park of sorts and I saw a real ladies room with REAL toilets. And—thank you Lord—there were only a couple of women in line. I ran up to the circular restroom and as I got closer saw that the line curved with the building – around the side I couldn’t see upon approach. The short line was in fact about 12 deep. <br /><br /><i>Sigh.</i> <br /><br />TWELVE MINUTES LATER (ugh), I emerged and started running full on again. <br /><br />Around mile 15, the hot spot/never-fully-healed blister/callus thing on my right foot started to really throb, so I stopped at a medical tent and slathered it with Vaseline. I was so stressed – I still had a LONG way to go and things were most definitely not going all that smoothly. <br /><br />After the blister triage, I went back out running as fast as I could manage. Then, my right knee started aching. Nothing awful, but it was definitely unhappy. I was seriously stressed because I had to reach mile 20 (beat the bridge!) by 1:15 or I’d be out of the race. I had no idea what time it was and with all the time lost so far, wasn’t about to stop and pull out my phone to look. So, like Forrest Gump, I just kept running. <br /><br />I had just passed mile 17 when I heard “KIMBERLY!” I turned and saw Peanut and Loaf running toward me and Mark right behind them. I ran a few steps back, gave them all the BIGGEST hugs and kisses. I was elated!! Thank you, Mark, for waiting over an hour to see me for all of 10 seconds!! You’re the best. That lift was enough to make me forget all my blister and knee woes for the rest of the race.<br /><br />Well, that and the advice I got from my friend (and very experienced marathoner), Connie, to take two extra-strength Execedrins with caffeine at mile 18. I had them ready to go and popped those bad boys right after running by the mile 18 marker. Ah! Excellent tip. <br /><br />Around this time, I started passing people who had flown by me on the downhill at mile 8something back in Georgetown. I think sometimes there is something to be said for slow and steady. <br /><br />Before I knew it, I was at mile 20, where there was a HUGE pep rally for everyone who “Beat the Bridge!” WHOOO HOOOO!! <br /><br />I ran onto the 14th Street Bridge with my arms in the air and so happy I could have cried, because now I knew without a doubt that I would finish. Nothing could stop me. <br /><br />The night before, I had dinner with a friend and her husband who has done a few marathons and he told me that after mile 20, your glycogen is used up and that’s when people start hitting the dreaded “wall.” When that happens, your legs turn to lead. Every step is Herculean effort and you start hating life pretty badly. <br /><br />He wisely told me, “The thing to remember is: you’re not going to die.” (Which, OK, that’s good – death wasn’t really one of my goals for this thing). Further, he advised me to push even harder and run through it. <br /><br />So with that story in my mind, at mile 20, I pushed. And guess what? I felt pretty good! The people left at this point were the walking wounded, I think. It seemed like everyone was walking – some with heads hung very low. I ran by some guy lamenting to his buddy, <i> “This just wasn’t our day.”</i> <br /><br />But I? Kept running. I ran and ran and people on the sidelines called my name over and over and each time they did I felt even stronger. <br /><br />I can’t believe this, but the miles were going by fairly easily – 21, 22, 23, 24 . . . at 25, I will admit, my legs were starting to feel pretty exhausted. Despite that, with only 1.2 to go, I was 100% determined not to walk. Running by all the walkers, who let’s face it –were still about to finish a marathon and that’s awesome—but running by them gave me confidence and strength. <br /><br />I passed mile 26 and then I could HEAR the finish line. The crowds on the sidelines were several people deep and they were roaring! There was some kind of music playing. There were marines lined up on the sides clapping. <br /><br />At about 26.1, I hit the final hill going up to the Iowa Jima memorial. It was short but steep, and tons of people were walking up it, but I refused. I ran across the finish line, tears streaming down my face, arms in the air, and smiling! <br /><br />I still cannot believe it! I RAN A MARATHON! It was incredible. When that marine shook my hand, said thank you and put that medal around my neck, I was in complete awe. <br /><br />This will go down as one of my favorite days ever (right behind my wedding day and the days my children were born). It was absolutely incredible.<br /><br />All through my training – the long runs in the heat, humidity, tropical storms, thunderstorms, the hours and hours spent away from my family on nights and weekends—through it all, I kept saying this marathon would be a “one and done” experience for me. Now? I don’t know. I can’t honestly say NO right now. Ask me again in the spring. ☺ <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/41896951@N00/6344800657/" title="After the Marine Corps Marathon by KGav, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm7.staticflickr.com/6049/6344800657_4d462db71d.jpg" width="500" height="373" alt="After the Marine Corps Marathon"></a>Kimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07628744950564301288noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23631923.post-86520380309842323202011-11-03T14:33:00.004-04:002011-11-03T14:39:28.305-04:00The one where the impossible becomes possibleI am a runner. <br /><br />It’s taken me a long time to embrace that statement because I wasn’t running more than 2-3 miles at a time. Then, last fall, I did a 10K and last winter started training for a half marathon. Still, I wasn’t a “real” runner because I wasn’t fast. <br /><br />But I don’t think I can deny that statement anymore.<br /><br />Last Sunday, I completed the Marine Corps Marathon in Washington, D.C. – training for a 26.2 mile race, and then actually running it, pretty much officializes (yes, I know that's not a word) you as a runner. There is no more denying it. <br /><br />I am proud of myself. I’m not saying that to brag, but simply because it’s the truth. Less than six months ago, when completed my half marathon, I told myself I could never, ever, EVER run a full one. <i>Never. No way. Cannot do. Don’t even try it, sister!</i><br /><br />And then one night I found myself registering to run the Marine Corps Marathon for the American Cancer Society and mapping out a training plan that had runs of increasing distances (15, 16, 18, 20 miles) and thinking, <i>“Oh my God! What have I done?!?” </i><br /><br />But each training run was completed – not always easily and not always quickly – but I did each and every one. <br /><br />Over the past few weeks and months, I cannot tell you how many people have said to me, “I could never do a marathon.” <br /><br />Which is funny, because that’s exactly what I said to myself and others only a few short months ago. And today I write to you as a marathoner. <br /><br />Don’t ever sell yourself short. Don’t ever tell yourself you can’t. Don’t ever give up on something you believe in. <br /><br />Because whether your goal is to run a marathon or start a business or learn to hang glide, you can do it. And you should. Life it too short to spend it in regret.Kimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07628744950564301288noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23631923.post-27104171781089075532011-05-04T15:45:00.005-04:002011-05-04T21:14:04.373-04:00Never say neverJust a bit under three years ago, preparing for my first <a href="http://gavmenagerie.blogspot.com/2009/05/what-i-learned-in-my-first-triathlon.html">triathlon,</a> I started running. I did <a href="http://www.coolrunning.com/engine/2/2_3/181.shtml">Couch to 5K</a> because that's what all my runner friends said I should do. <br /><br />I did my first 5K in March 2009, two months before my first tri. When I crossed the line that day in March, it was as "just" a practice for my bigger goal of swim-bike-run. I was satisfied to have done it, but thought that was the end of my 5K days. <br /><br />Turns out, I was wrong. <br /><br />Fitness events have become a bit of a sickness to me. First a 5K, then a tri. Then a couple more tris. Maybe a few more 5Ks - each time trying to run just a little faster than the last time (and not always succeeding). <br /><br />Last fall, on a whim, I signed up for a 10K. I didn't think I'd <i>ever</i> be able to run 6.2 miles. That was an impossible goal - a goal for much better runners - much more fit people - than myself. But I finished that race (no speed records, but I finished). As I ran across the line - exhausted - I distinctly remember thinking, "This is less than half way in a half marathon. No WAY will I ever be able to do that. This is it for me. My max distance."<br /><br />Then the sickness took over and sometime last winter I found myself entering my credit card and hitting "submit" on registration for the <a href="http://www.njmarathon.org/">Long Branch Half Marathon</a> on May 1. I immediately had buyer's regret. <br /><br /><i>"What the hell was I THINKING?</i> I remember asking myself. <i>"I must have rocks in my head. No, not rocks. BOULDERS."</i><br /><br />So I started training in January in the bitter cold and ran throughout the spring through knee problems and foot problems and colds. The early runs were hard. I hadn't run all fall or winter and could barely do 3 miles. But slowly, I started building and eventually was up to 6, 7, even 8.7 miles. Still . . .a half marathon (13.1 miles) is nearly four additional miles on top of that. Eeek, I thought. <br /><br />Last Sunday, I completed the race. Again, no land-speed records, but I did it. My goal was to finish in two-and-a-half hours or less. I did not hit that goal - finishing instead in exactly 2:37. However, I had to stop three separate times in the first four miles to deal with "hot spots" on my feet - blisters in the making - each time pulling off one or both shoes and either bandaging or "lubing" the spots with Body Glide. <br /><br />I felt *great* from miles five to eight - it was nearly effortless. Passing the halfway mark was pure ELATION! It was fantastic. <br /><br />I had planned all along to walk through the water stops, so I did, but other than that (and the stops to do triage on my feet) I didn't walk at all. I ran the whole thing. 13.1 miles! I never in a million years would have thought it possible, but it was. I did it, and it was even (a bit) easier than I thought it would be. So I'm pleased. Really pleased. <br /><br />When I ran across the finish line, I thought, "This is only HALFWAY in a marathon. If I were doing a marathon I'd have to run this entire course again. And that is IMPOSSIBLE." <br /><br />Less than a week later, quads still a little sore, blisters not quite healed, I find myself seriously contemplating signing up for the Marine Corps Marathon in October. Because, as I've learned, nothing is impossible with hard work and determination.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/41896951@N00/5688414447/" title="Finished! by KGav, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5183/5688414447_721c06a86b.jpg" width="500" height="374" alt="Finished!"></a><br /><br /><b>Me, just after finishing the Long Branch Half Marathon on May 1, 2011</b>Kimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07628744950564301288noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23631923.post-39549147415298364632011-03-08T16:25:00.005-05:002011-03-08T20:39:40.704-05:00A day awayIn just over one month, Loaf will be 6. <br /><br />A few months after that, Peanut turns 8. <br /><br />Six? Eight? <br /><br />These ages, especially 8, are starting to resemble big-kid ages. Granted, it was a different world, but at 8 or 9, I was walking home – a full half mile – from the bus stop by myself. I wore a house key around my neck and unlocked the front door by myself and entered a home that would be empty for another two hours. <br /><br />A <i>very</i> different world, indeed, but still . . . I did that when I was just a year or so older than Peanut. <br /><br />My daughters are growing up at a remarkable rate. Their ages seem impossible because they were born, like, <i>yesterday</i> and there is just NO WAY they can be (almost) 6 and 8. <br /><br />Yet they are. <br /><br />The princess dresses go largely unworn these days, replaced by Harry Potter capes and magic wands. Picture books sit collecting dust in favor of chapter books. <br /><br />* * * <br />Recently, a friend sent me a scanned picture of our preschool class – a group of four-year-olds dressed in their Sunday finest captured in black-and-white. I e-mailed it to my mom. <br /><br /><i>“I remember like yesterday,” </i>she wrote back. <br /><br />Yesterday. <br /><br />I wonder if a mother’s yesterday ever gets any farther away. Not the actual yesterday – the one where you got up, made breakfast, went to work, etc., but the yesterday that exists forever in your mind recalling the day when you rocked a tiny child to sleep, stroking her hair and murmuring lullabies in her ear. The day you put your child in her best dress and sent her to school for a class picture. <br /><br />I hope not, because facing these big-kid ages, followed by the tough middle and high school years, then college and finally, adulthood, seems a lot more palatable knowing I can always close my eyes and bring back the past – recalling those precious baby coos, feeling that soft hair under my fingertips and taking in that sweet baby smell. <br /><br />Like yesterday.Kimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07628744950564301288noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23631923.post-47652526056279643122011-03-03T13:06:00.004-05:002011-03-03T13:27:16.276-05:00Happy birthday, Dr. Seuss!<i>In honor of Dr. Seuss's birthday, which was yesterday:</i><br /><br />Dear Dr. Seuss:<br /><br />We love your books. We think your cool. <br />So we wore red, white and black to school:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/41896951@N00/5494396047/" title="Red, black & white for Dr. Seuss's birthday by KGav, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5292/5494396047_1a040e61a6.jpg" width="375" height="500" alt="Red, black & white for Dr. Seuss's birthday" /></a><br /><br />Our teacher said to bring a book - <br />Something to pass to friends and look<br /><br />The Foot Book was Peanut's choice<br />While Loaf chose Horton, which she thinks is nice. <br /><br />For dinner, we wanted to celebrate<br />So Mom set down upon our plate<br />Green Eggs and Ham! Wow, so fun!<br />We ate every single one! <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/41896951@N00/5494395945/" title="Green eggs and ham! by KGav, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5140/5494395945_4dda1f687b.jpg" width="500" height="373" alt="Green eggs and ham! " /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/41896951@N00/5494988814/" title="We do so like green eggs and ham! by KGav, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5091/5494988814_b0f1d9307c.jpg" width="500" height="373" alt="We do so like green eggs and ham!" /></a><br /><br />Thank you Dr. Seuss for your<br />Fantastic talent and so much more!Kimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07628744950564301288noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23631923.post-3215209975081780242010-11-24T21:53:00.006-05:002010-11-24T22:12:36.788-05:00File under: Glad I did it, but will never do it againI have always loved the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade. Growing up, I watched it every Thanksgiving morning, eagerly waiting the arrival of Santa at the end. My favorite part though was always the giant character balloons. <i>How cool,</i> I'd think, <i>to see those in person.</i><br /><br />Tonight we did! We bundled up and headed into NYC to see the balloons get inflated up on the streets of the Upper West Side. This event has evidently become as popular as the parade itself because it was packed. Police and others force everyone to walk in one direction - block to block - to see the balloons. I suppose it does help keep the crowd under control, but it has a definite cattle call feeling to it. And some people are just, well, rude. Some guy with a kid on his shoulders knocked Sophie over, looked at her and kept right on going. I mean really, a simple, "ooops, sorry," is totally necessary in that situation. <br /><br />Regardless, the girls were SO excited:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/41896951@N00/5205294335/" title="IMG_4140 by KGav, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4152/5205294335_804752e9a2.jpg" width="375" height="500" alt="IMG_4140" /></a><br /><br />We saw several balloons including . . . <br /><br />Shrek:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/41896951@N00/5205903204/" title="Shrek's head by KGav, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5243/5205903204_55f74cf0d1.jpg" width="375" height="500" alt="Shrek's head" /></a><br /><br />Kool-Aid:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/41896951@N00/5205903296/" title="Hey, Kool-Aid! by KGav, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5247/5205903296_fe66b17623.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="Hey, Kool-Aid! " /></a><br /><br />As well as Sponge Bob, Hello Kitty, Diary of a Wimpy Kid and Spiderman. We also skipped a whole block where a few favorites (Scooby-Doo most namely) were undoubtedly housed, but the masses, the stress of trying to hang on to your kid as other people constantly pushed between you, the slow-as-molasses crawl in one direction through the streets and two tired, hungry girls, forced us to abort the mission. <br /><br />All in all? I'm glad we did it, mostly because it means we NEVER HAVE TO DO IT AGAIN!! <br /><br />Here is the aftermath: <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/41896951@N00/5205294107/" title="IMG_4160 by KGav, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4149/5205294107_bfafcb784e.jpg" width="375" height="500" alt="IMG_4160" /></a><br /><br />And . . . <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/41896951@N00/5205294221/" title="IMG_4161 by KGav, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5162/5205294221_0e6ce66577.jpg" width="375" height="500" alt="IMG_4161" /></a><br /><br />Tomorrow we'll all be eating turkey and mashed potatoes and pie . . . but for some reason, I can't stop thinking about frog legs. Hmmmm . . . <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/41896951@N00/5205294025/" title="Kermit the Frog Balloon by KGav, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5206/5205294025_7e42317044.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="Kermit the Frog Balloon" /></a><br /><br />Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!!Kimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07628744950564301288noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23631923.post-11289243501131932782010-11-16T20:46:00.003-05:002010-11-16T20:58:13.316-05:00What's in a signature?Tonight, the girls' school hosted <a href="http://www.signatureproject.com/">The Signature Project.</a> It's really hard to explain, but I'll try.<br /><br />This guy - artist, photographer, musician - Patrick Dunning created a huge, colorful mural of the sun, moon, a bird, the earth, etc. You can see it on his website. <br /><br />He then scanned the image and programmed a computer to break it down into a code - each number representing a color in the mural. He then blew it up in size and broke it into 171 cube-shaped pieces. Each section is then layered with a grid composed of thousands of rectangles. People use designated colors to sign their name in each rectangle. Like a pixelated image, when it's all put together, the color-coded signatures (over a million of them!) will reform the original painting. We added our name to it!<br /><br />But, wait! There's more! Dunning then uses phosphorous paint to put other images over the signatures. In sunlight they're invisible, but under ultraviolet light they take shape. Amazing. <br /><br />He presents the whole project using an interactive presentation with music, light and other sound effects. It's truly inspiring. <br /><br />If you're looking for an interesting presentation to bring to your school - book The Signature Project. It's unlike anything I've ever seen before.Kimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07628744950564301288noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23631923.post-84755322113503133832010-11-15T21:05:00.003-05:002010-11-15T21:22:12.496-05:00Four years agoThe girls sitting in a pile of leaves in our yard in November 2006:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/41896951@N00/285759392/" title="Girls-sit-leaves by KGav, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/105/285759392_bba2dc9bf5.jpg" width="448" height="299" alt="Girls-sit-leaves" /></a><br /><br />How time flies. Peanut was 3 and Loaf about 1.5. It doesn't seem possible that they were ever this little. And it doesn't seem possible that they can be as big, vocal, smart and funny as they are now. There are gifts every day. Find them. Grab them. Hold onto them tightly.Kimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07628744950564301288noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23631923.post-53001654070833661662010-11-14T20:15:00.004-05:002010-11-15T09:08:26.413-05:00My first 10K in the bag!So. <a href="http://gavmenagerie.blogspot.com/2010/11/run-kimberly-run.html">I did it!</a><br /><br />My first 10K in the bag. <br /><br />It was not easy, especially given that I did NO training and in fact, have lost significant fitness since I stopped working out regularly in mid-September. <br /><br />It was a downhill start and they were warning people to take it slow so as not to run into people or fall and I can see why. I saw one young girl trip pretty badly (though she picked herself right up and kept going). I took it <b>super</b> easy at first knowing I needed to conserve my energy. I ran by the first mile marker at about 12-something and the second one at 24-something. I was not feeling great "running" at a 12-min/mile pace. Over the summer, I was doing more like 10-10:30 pace. But, my goal for the day was to finish and I didn't want to burn out. <br /><br />I ran by the 3-mile marker at 36-something and felt really discouraged. Then something truly bizarre happened. At mile 4, I got a burst of energy. I ran by it at 48-something and picked up the pace. I had been eyeing a woman up ahead of me in a red shirt. She'd been up ahead of me - at about the same distance - for most of the race. Suddenly, she was much closer. I picked it up even more and started to really close the gap. Then I passed her, and several others. I ran by mile 5 at 57-something - less than 10 minutes after passing mile 4. I kept up at a good pace until about mile 5.5 and then I started really hurting - literally.<br /><br />My feet were <b>killing</b> me. My arches and toes ached like someone had been beating them with a hammer. I tried to keep up the pace, but I just didn't have it in me. Also? The last of four hills lay in front of me. I walked half of it. But then saw the mile 6 marker up ahead and ran by and could see the finish line and that was great! My time was 1:12:41, which is NOT great, but given everything - I'm satisfied. <br /><br />I went there today thinking I'd have to walk about half the race and in reality I only walked twice - both on hills (there were four hills over all). I also should note that I stopped (not slowed down, but STOPPED) at each water station. So really? This time is not bad at all and had not gotten mono and had I not had to work away the entire month of October, this probably *would* have been done at my normal 10 -10:30 pace. <br /><br />I'm happy I went. It would have been super easy to have blown it off. It gives me some confidence back (which has been sorely missing lately) and it gives me a benchmark to improve upon. <br /><br />All good stuff!<br /><br />* * * <br />I do have to add that I've had a little bit of marathon fever lately. Sort of turning it around in my head wondering, <i>"Hmmm? Could I? Should I?" </i> When I ran across that finish line yesterday, one of my first thoughts was, <i> "Holy crap, this isn't even 1/4 of a marathon. If this were a marathon, I'd have <b>TWENTY</b> more miles to run." </i> Which is incredibly daunting. Of course, training helps. :-)Kimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07628744950564301288noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23631923.post-21991481047735052072010-11-13T21:02:00.003-05:002010-11-13T21:23:03.523-05:00Run, Kimberly! Run!Back in early September, I signed up for my first 10K (6.2 mile) run. I was SO excited! I feel that's inching toward a respectable distance. I printed out training plans spanning about 8 weeks and got ready to roll.<br /><br />Then, on September 17, I was diagnosed with Epstein Barr Virus and spent two weeks in bed resting - the only cure. I returned to work on October 4 and immediately jumped into a project that had me working more than 10 hours a day until October 27. And I was still technically recovering - spending weekends curled up in bed desperately trying to "catch up" on rest. My training plan sat forgotten below an ever-growing pile of school papers, notices and get-well cards. <br /><br />The race is tomorrow. I've run exactly 4 times since October 4 - no more than 3 miles at a time. It would be easy to skip tomorrow's race claiming I'm unprepared. But I paid for it and it's going to be a beautiful day. So I will go. I will do my best. If I run the whole thing - great. If walk part of it - fine. Like a lot of things in life, showing up is half the battle, so tomorrow I'll show up and give it my best. <br /><br />And one thing I can say for sure: my next 10K will undoubtedly be better. Wish me luck!Kimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07628744950564301288noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23631923.post-80160917123967922132010-11-12T17:24:00.003-05:002010-11-12T17:33:19.421-05:00Who ya gonna call?So I realized with something like horror that Thanksgiving is less than two weeks away. <br /><br />This seems impossible to me, because my brain cannot believe it's even November yet since New Year's Day was just, like, last week, and there is NO WAY it can possibly be almost Thanksgiving. But alas, it is.<br /><br />We are (probably) hosting again. Which means, it is time for an epic home disaster to strike. <br /><br />This year, instead of <a href="http://gavmenagerie.blogspot.com/2009/12/thanksgiving-story-more-than-week-later.html">plumbing,</a> we're going for a leaking roof requiring the removal of the entire kitchen ceiling (due to mold). At least it's not on Thanksgiving day itself. <i>::sigh::</i><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/41896951@N00/5169929967/" title="ceiling1 by KGav, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1348/5169929967_ffa3ecd45d.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="ceiling1" /></a><br /><br />I'm also grateful that it's a small crowd (just the four of us, plus three others). We'll manage, but man, the timing is truly fantastic on this. <br /><br />Though I have to say, this whole ordeal proved that my husband would make a pretty cute Ghostbuster. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/41896951@N00/5170532388/" title="ceiling2 by KGav, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1205/5170532388_36f97d1b44.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="ceiling2" /></a>Kimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07628744950564301288noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23631923.post-57303860081284362292010-11-11T10:15:00.006-05:002010-11-11T20:25:54.117-05:00For my dad, my veteran. For all veterans.I'm sad today. <br /><br />I always called my father on Veteran's Day to say hi and tell him I was thinking of him. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/41896951@N00/5168365532/" title="IMG_4069 by KGav, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4070/5168365532_03b0a90a83.jpg" width="375" height="500" alt="IMG_4069" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://gavmenagerie.blogspot.com/2010/03/eulogy.html">Today there is no one to call.</a><br /><br />The last few months have been a bit like a roller coaster ride. Waiting for his death to come (since we knew it was) was like that initial slow ride up to the top when you know that any second the bottom is going to drop out and you're going to start free-falling. Then of course, the week or two following his death: <a href="http://gavmenagerie.blogspot.com/2010/04/raw.html">Lurching down, down, down . . . . </a> <br /><br />Since then, there have been ups and down - not as dramatic as the initial one, but enough sometimes to take my breath away. <br /><br />Lately, it's been more steady and calm. Sometimes, I think the ride is ending, but then I realize it probably never does. Every now and then out of the blue, I drop again. It is shocking and cruel, but I've realized this is life after the death of a parent. You never quite get used to it. <br /><br /> Since I have no one to call in person, I will simply wish all the Veteran's out there - past and present - my gratitude. You have given so much. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/41896951@N00/5168365716/" title="IMG_4072 by KGav, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4153/5168365716_b0f425730d.jpg" width="375" height="500" alt="IMG_4072" /></a><br /><br />We are thankful.Kimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07628744950564301288noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23631923.post-64648274617133491072010-11-10T17:10:00.004-05:002010-11-10T17:17:58.537-05:00Oh, the drama!Loaf has her first loose tooth. <br /><br />Last night, she was complaining of tooth pain on the bottom and when I checked, sure enough, one of her bottom center teeth has a slight wiggle to it. <br /><br />She is SO excited. She has seen her sister lose six and reap the riches of the Tooth Fairy, so she’s dying to have her turn. <br /><br />In addition to the excitement, the tooth has brought about a significant amount of drama. This morning while eating, she kept complaining of how much her loose tooth hurt. <br /><br /><i>"Oh my tooth, my tooth! It hurts sooooo much. I can’t eat my breakfast on this side so I have to keep my head titled in this direction,”</i> she whimpered while tilting her head to the right. <br /><br />What was she eating, you ask? <br /><br />Well that is an excellent question. I’m sure you’re thinking it was an apple or piece of toast or some other hard, crispy food that requires the use of incisors. <br /><br />NOPE!<br /><br />It was a bowl of soggy corn flakes. <br /><br />Not. Kidding.<br /><br />My daughters are sweet and caring and tons of fun, but they are sometimes full of <a href="http://gavmenagerie.blogspot.com/2009/04/future-vegetarians-of-america-meet-your.html">The</a><a href="http://gavmenagerie.blogspot.com/2007/07/nope-no-drama-here.html"> Drama.</a><br /><br />Fortunately, there is an end in sight. I figure she’ll lose that tooth in about . . . oh? 8 to 12 weeks? <br /><br />Until then, I have a feeling there will be lots of head tilting and complaining about hard food and special requests for ice packs to soothe her aching, rootless tooth as it slowly releases itself from her gums. It's enough to make me want to lie on the floor and scream. I can't imagine where they get this from. <br /><br /><i>:::whistles and looks up at the ceiling:::</i>Kimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07628744950564301288noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23631923.post-77608075418750230422010-11-09T20:45:00.007-05:002010-11-09T21:17:01.751-05:00Skin deep<i>“What’s that for?” </i>asks Loaf repeatedly as she watches me go through my morning routine – applying one cream to my under-eye area, a different one to my face and neck, adding sunscreen, slathering body lotion from the neck down, swishing mineral makeup over my face and finishing with eyeliner, mascara and lip gloss. <br /><br />I am aware, as I apply a minimum of a half-dozen products, that I am shaping her thoughts about feminine beauty and acceptance. Thus, I try to screen my answers – making them less about beauty and vanity and more about feeling good in general. As I dab the thick wrinkle cream around my eyes, I say casually, <i>“Oh, it just helps my skin feel better.” </i> I know it’s a lie and <a href="http://gavmenagerie.blogspot.com/2010/05/v-word.html"> I hate lying.</a><br /><br />I secretly hope that she isn’t actually paying as much attention as she appears to be. I hope that she isn’t filing it away and possibly drawing upon it down the road as she stands in a drugstore wondering what lotions and potions she “needs” to feel pretty or accepted or youthful. <br /><br />It is the same with exercise.<br /><br /><i>”Why do you exercise so much, Mommy?”</i> asked Peanut a few months back. <br /><br />I told her a partial truth: that I want to be healthy and strong, but I skipped right over my motivation to keep my weight down. Soon enough, she will hear about the “importance” of being skinny from her peers or the press; she does not need me to plant the seed. <br /><br />I catch myself far too often telling them how pretty they are, how nice their hair or eyes are. How cute they look in their clothes. Even though I know confidence is built on many levels, I inwardly cringe a little and try to balance these comments by telling them (when warranted) that they are hard working, caring, strong, fast and smart. I don't think it's a bad thing to compliment your daughter on her looks, but I think you have to be careful not to make it *just* about appearance. <br /><br />This is especially tricky with girls. You don't need me to spout about the pressure they're under to be thin. To be beautiful. To attract a partner. To have dewey skin and voluminous, shiny hair and plump lips and big breasts. I worry about it to the point where I don't keep <i>Glamour</i> or <i>Cosmo</i> or celebrity magazines like <i>Us</i> in the house. I don't want them to think those pictures are what women are <i>supposed</i> to look like. <br /><br />I wish I were one of those women who can walk around confidently with no makeup and hair in a simple ponytail, but it’s not me; it never has been. I don’t know where I got it from, because my mom is a makeup minimalist. She is blessed with good genes and good sense, things I hope are passed to my girls. <br /><br />Either way, I hope they know they are worthy of being loved and accepted for ALL their amazing characteristics. And I hope they'll find comfort in their own skin - with or without a little makeup.Kimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07628744950564301288noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23631923.post-29470582437711548372010-11-08T20:16:00.005-05:002010-11-08T20:43:36.500-05:00Little house in New JerseyMark and I sometimes joke that our girls are growing up more like girls in the 1950s than the 2000s. We've been a (mostly) <a href="http://gavmenagerie.blogspot.com/2008/06/six-months-with-no-tv.html">TV-free house</a> since 2008. They aren't allowed a lot of computer time, read a ton of books and play outside a lot. Of course, we're only joking since there is still a long list of modern conveniences from which they benefit. <br /><br />However, yesterday, we went to our next-door neighbor's house and made apple cider. Outside. With an old press that you have to crank manually. <br /><br />It was awesome! <br /><br />The cider was fresh and sweet and the kids loved turning the crank and watching the apples get squished into cider. <br /><br />In fairness, the grinder - which turns the whole apples into a sort of pulp - was electric. Regardless, the kids had a great time tossing apples into it and watching them get turned into mush. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/41896951@N00/5159459405/" title="IMG_4059 by KGav, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1332/5159459405_25cd88a7f2.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_4059" /></a><br /><br /><i>Loaf tosses one in. Looks like she's going to be a little short.</i><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/41896951@N00/5160064300/" title="IMG_4061 by KGav, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1392/5160064300_eba73fa249.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="IMG_4061" /></a><br /><br /><i>Peanut's turn and she sinks it!</i><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/41896951@N00/5160063856/" title="IMG_4062 by KGav, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1376/5160063856_62e250b47b.jpg" width="375" height="500" alt="IMG_4062" /></a><br /><br /><i>Loading up the press with mushed up apples for another batch</i><br /><br />So here's what I learned:<br />- It takes one bushel of apples (about 42 pounds) to make 2.5-3 gallons of cider. <br />- Like pie, the best cider is made from a variety of sweet and tart apples. <br />- Making cider is a messy, sticky job. <br />- An electric apple grinder will shoot chunks of apple an impressive distance. <br />- Hot apple cider with rum is yummy (OK, I already knew that one, but it's even better with fresh cider). <br />- Making apple cider in your neighbor's backyard will make you feel like Laura Ingalls, even if the driveway is full of SUVs and shiny German sedans.Kimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07628744950564301288noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23631923.post-30002430195841954632010-11-07T19:59:00.000-05:002010-11-07T20:00:10.421-05:00How to carry a cat<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/41896951@N00/5156559252/" title="This is how you carry a cat by KGav, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4019/5156559252_c5f9b52a57.jpg" width="375" height="500" alt="This is how you carry a cat" /></a>Kimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07628744950564301288noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23631923.post-778626744871722412010-11-06T21:59:00.004-04:002010-11-06T22:17:39.724-04:00My afternoon dateToday I had a date with Peanut. Nothing fancy: just a trip to Target. And while taking both of them shopping is usually a fine experience, when it's just one of them, the fun factor rises exponentially. <br /><br />With Loaf at a birthday party, Peanut and I browsed the aisles of Target together killing time. We leisurely strolled through the Christmas section oooing and ahhing over the sparkly ornaments. We perused the toy section - checking out the Barbie aisle (I can't help it; I'm still a sucker for Barbie). We tried on sunglasses and cheap, costume jewelry and hats and giggled our way through the store. <br /><br />Mark and I often talk about having one-on-one "dates" with the girls (he takes one, I take the other and then a couple weeks later we switch), but life gets going and it rarely happens. Today was a treat - a joy - and a reminder of just how important that one-on-one time is for us all. Hopefully, we'll find a way to make it happen again soon.Kimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07628744950564301288noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23631923.post-69774038730800080132010-11-05T16:56:00.004-04:002010-11-05T17:09:22.048-04:00Halloween Haiku FridaySince I completely neglected to share any of our Halloween pictures, I thought I'd take advantage of <a href="http://www.amommystory.com/2007/09/haiku-fridays.html ">Haiku Friday</a> today to post just a few. For your reading (and viewing) pleasure: <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/41896951@N00/5149632150/" title="Jack 'O Lanterns by KGav, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1177/5149632150_487faa865f.jpg" width="375" height="500" alt="Jack 'O Lanterns" /></a><br /><br />Spooky pumpkins glow<br />Rotten mess by Halloween<br />Carved way too early<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/41896951@N00/5149026769/" title="Mommy Witch by KGav, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1117/5149026769_fcbbbfe123.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="Mommy Witch" /></a><br /><br />Mommy looks so sweet<br />Kids away - Mom raids candy<br />Bad witchy Mommy!<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/41896951@N00/5149632070/" title="Bat by KGav, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4016/5149632070_4c84248548.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="Bat" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/41896951@N00/5149026703/" title="Butterfly by KGav, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4013/5149026703_c0b4ca298f.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="Butterfly" /></a><br /><br />Kids go marching by<br />Bats, butterflies, witches, ghouls<br />School parade is funKimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07628744950564301288noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23631923.post-2768817103775861242010-11-04T13:24:00.005-04:002010-11-04T13:44:50.076-04:00An unbalanced dietPeanut has always been a good eater. Ever since she was a baby, she was open to trying everything and enjoys a variety of foods - including fruits and vegetables, Indian and Thai food, sushi and spicy stuff. <br /><br />Loaf on the other hand? Oy. <br /><br />Loaf eats about a dozen foods, most of which fall into the category of "grains." Her favorite foods include:<br />1. Cheerios<br />2. Corn flakes<br />3. Crackers<br />4. Pizza, without the cheese<br />5. Pasta, without sauce<br />6. Macaroni and cheese<br />7. Bread<br />8. Pancakes<br />9. Wheatabix<br />10. Rice<br />11. Vegetarian pepperoni (which, I think technically counts as a "grain" since it's made from soy. And no, it's not as dreadful tasting as it sounds). <br />12. Ham <---Which of these things is not like the others? <br /><br />She will, fortunately, eat peas, beans, olives and most fruits, so we tend to keep those things on hand for variety. However, her "will eat" list keeps narrowing. On Monday, I packed her a lunch of vegetarian pepperoni, crackers and applesauce. The applesauce, which she was eating by the tub in September, came back unopened. <br /><br />"I don't like applesauce, Mom."<br /><br /><i>Huh? Since when?!?</i><br /><br />I know technically I'm not supposed to worry about this, but it's driving me crazy! I mean what kid doesn't like grilled cheese? Or chicken? Or peanut butter? Or corn? Seriously, people? Can I get a ruling here? Is she exceptionally picky, or does this sound like normal 5-year-old stuff to you?Kimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07628744950564301288noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23631923.post-64385080707181506482010-11-03T20:43:00.005-04:002010-11-04T13:21:51.433-04:00Baby got backI recently snapped this picture in the men's section of a major sporting goods chain:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/41896951@N00/3409046627/" title="Booty by KGav, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3301/3409046627_e16c351507.jpg" width="375" height="500" alt="Booty" /></a><br /><br />Now, I know <a href="http://www.siliconebody.com/Order?utm_source=google&utm_medium=cpc&utm_term=bootyenhancer&utm_content=mainads&utm_campaign=catalog&gclid=CPGd4Kr3haUCFU1m7AodViyMqg">booties are all the rage right now,</a> but seriously. Seriously?!? <br /><br />Women's mannequins are so thin the sales people have to use safety pins to keep size zero clothing from falling off them and in the men's department we have this? Who allows this stuff? Why don't we just give him a beer gut for good measure. <br /><br />::sigh::Kimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07628744950564301288noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23631923.post-71015312802910798542010-11-02T20:29:00.003-04:002010-11-02T20:52:50.836-04:00One foot in front of the otherI spent half of September in bed. Feeling achy and run down, I went to the doctor in early September thinking I had Lyme disease. <br /><br />I didn't, which was good. <br /><br />However, I had Epstein Barr Virus, commonly called "mono," which was bad. EBV can cause permanent liver or spleen damage if ignored. In some cases, it can even bring on hepatitis. The only cure is rest, so my doctor sent me to bed for two straight weeks. <br /><br />Laying around in bed all day doing little to nothing is a fantasy I've indulged in every now and then, but the reality was not what I'd expected. I still had work to do. Sitting in bed with my laptop balanced on my legs all day long gave me neck and back pains. My bottom went numb and my shoulders had pins and needles on and off all day long. <br /><br />Plus, it happened to be two of the most beautiful weeks of the fall - sunny and clear, with temps neither too hot or cold. Watching those gorgeous days tick by from inside was a bummer. <br /><br />It also put a big crimp in my exercise and training. I had signed up - literally days before being diagnosed - for a 10K run on November 14, my first run of that distance. I was SO excited. I had my 10K training plan taped up at work and in my desk drawer at home. I was pumped. <br /><br />But two weeks of bed rest was followed immediately by a demanding project where I worked long, long hours - sometimes until midnight and often on weekends. Exercise, even if I was ready to go back, was out of the question. <br /><br />Despite that, a note came home from Peanut's class announcing a "mini-marathon" on November 2. Fourth and 3rd graders would run a mile, while 2nd and 1st graders would run a half mile. "Volunteer," said the note, "to walk or run." Of course, I signed up to run.<br /><br />Peanut was nervous. "What if I don't finish, Mom?" she asked anxiously.<br /><br />"You will," I assured her. "Just take it one step at a time." <br /><br />I ran my first half mile today in six weeks with my seven-year-old daughter by my side grinning from ear to ear. She effortlessly ran the entire half mile. Surprisingly, it was tough for me - six weeks of no exercise has taken its toll and it's going to be a long, slow road back. For motivation, I'll keep that visual of Peanut's huge smile, hair flowing out behind her, small legs pumping back and forth as I go. One step at a time.Kimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07628744950564301288noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23631923.post-91620103975379488472010-11-01T22:08:00.004-04:002010-11-01T22:21:31.425-04:00What I thought about on the ride home todayI hate my commute. <br /><br />There. I said it. <br /><br />I know I don't have the hardest, or most grueling, or longest, or most traffic-congested commute in the greater NYC area. But still, it is 50 minutes of highway. Highway that separates me from my family after a long day. There is nothing as depressing to me as walking out the door at 6 p.m. knowing I will not see my family for at least 50 minutes. Knowing by the time I get home, Peanut will be exhausted - winding down her day and that I have less than an hour with her until she collapses into bed. Loaf is not far behind her.<br /><br />Tonight, I hit traffic and my commute was extended an additional 25 minutes. Lucky me. <br /><br />I didn't mind my commute so much when I worked part-time and only had to make it two days a week. But five days a week? It's exhausting. It's depressing. It makes me really, really angry. <br /><br />Tonight on my extra-long ride home, unable to find anything decent on the radio, my mind jumped from one thing to the next. And at some point, it landed on my blog. My poor, sad, neglected blog. <br /><br />I thought about how I used to have such a zest for posting. I loved my little creative outlet; my readers, my comments. I loved reading other people's blogs - and commenting on them - as well. What the heck happened? <br /><br />I know the answer . . . full-time work, too little time, too much stress and . . . a draining commute.<br /><br />But tonight sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic, I realized that today is November 1. The first official day of <a href="http://www.nablopomo.com/">National Blog Posting Month</a> (NaBloPoMo, for those in the know). And sitting there in that traffic, I decided to give it a go. <br /><br />They say it takes 21 days to establish a new habit. I have 30. Let's see how it goes? If nothing else, I have my commute each day to try to think about something to post. Wheeee!Kimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07628744950564301288noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23631923.post-5634303304696103762010-09-28T21:47:00.006-04:002010-09-28T22:28:04.331-04:00My little fashionistasI am a mom who firmly believes in the phrase, "choose your battles." <br /><br />There is a lot of power in that phrase. Choosing your battles gives you a certain amount of freedom. Once you decide which battles you're going to fight, you can relax a bit. You no longer have to worry about certain things. <br /><br />Choosing your battles is also a source of empowerment for your children. They suddenly have a safe place to assert their individualism and independence. It can be a win-win for all involved. <br /><br />One battle I have chosen not to fight is the clothing battle. Well, at least so far. At this stage, it's an easy one to let go, because I still control the clothing purchases. I don't have to worry about midriff-baring tops or other inappropriate-for-their-age items because I won't buy them.<br /><br />But until the day they buy their own clothing, unless an outfit is grossly inappropriate for the weather or the occasion, I don't fight it. Peanut has been picking out her own school clothes every day since she was about 3. Same with Loaf. Of course, this means, once in a while they walk out of the house looking like this: <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/41896951@N00/5035117242/" title="Untitled by KGav, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4153/5035117242_55bca90c97.jpg" width="375" height="500" alt="" /></a><br /><br />But really? What's the harm? And you have to admit, this photo is going to look great in her rehearsal-dinner slide show someday. <i>::Insert evil laugh.::</i><br /><br />Allowing them to dress themselves also frees me from the task of having to pick out their outfits each day. After breakfast, I send them off to their rooms with an order to get dressed and I have to say, they generally do a pretty good job. <br /><br />This morning's outfits were especially impressive. They were cute, sure, but what I found so cool is how each is developing her own style. Peanut is more . . . proper. At 7, she is already a lady. If she were alive in the mid-1960s, I can see her paling around with Jackie Kennedy wearing white gloves and a pillbox hat. If her style continues, she'll be wearing a vintage Chanel suit to her high school graduation. <br /><br />On the other hand, Loaf is my little free spirt. She's a bit more rambunctious and bohemian. In the '60s, she'd contrast her sister's classic style with a peasant dress and love beads. <br /><br />I love the way they express themselves so clearly and, so far, with no regard to pressure from their peers. They don't care that most of the girls in their class go to school in jeans and t-shirts. This is who they are, and they're proud of that. I hope the conformity battle is one they continue to fight. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/41896951@N00/5035085110/" title="Untitled by KGav, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4104/5035085110_36536390ce.jpg" width="375" height="500" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/41896951@N00/5035085152/" title="Untitled by KGav, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4150/5035085152_ac2f1f1fa2.jpg" width="375" height="500" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/41896951@N00/5035085176/" title="Untitled by KGav, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4083/5035085176_86293c5b97.jpg" width="375" height="500" alt="" /></a>Kimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07628744950564301288noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23631923.post-84175461869857578362010-09-15T09:56:00.005-04:002010-09-15T10:14:08.774-04:00IT'S SO FLUFFY!One of our favorite summer movies has been <i>Despicable Me</i> (and for the record, the only movies I actually see in the theater these days are kids' movies.<i> Inception? </i> Did not see. <i>The American?</i> Did not see. <i>Eat, Pray, Love? </i> Nope, not that either. I have, however, seen <i>How to Train Your Dragon, Toy Story 3,</i> and <i>Despicable Me.</i><br /><br />But I digress . . . <br /><br />One of our favorite scenes from <i>Despicable Me</i> features a little girl clutching a stuffed unicorn, newly-won at an amusement park (in a highly unusual way) and screaming, "It's so fluffy!!" <br /><br />We have our own version of fluff these days and like that little girl, we can hardly contain our enthusiasm. <br /><br />Meet Lola:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/41896951@N00/4993255546/" title="World's cutest kitten by KGav, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4146/4993255546_7599af64e7.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="World's cutest kitten" /></a><br /><br />She is about 8-weeks-old and full of personality. She is slowly winning over her cat housemates Ben and Molly. The two-legged housemates were won over from the moment we met her.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/41896951@N00/4992647599/" title="Also world's most docile kitten by KGav, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4130/4992647599_e9e73883af.jpg" width="375" height="500" alt="Also world's most docile kitten" /></a>Kimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07628744950564301288noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23631923.post-2687493551411536862010-08-22T21:51:00.003-04:002010-08-23T09:59:01.922-04:00What I did on my summer vacationI just had an AWESOME week off. I needed this week. My one and only goal was to spend as much quality time with the girls as possible. All I can say is mission accomplished!<br /><br />We started the week with Peanut's SEVENTH birthday. Seven. Whoa. I just can't believe it. She is growing up so fast. Even though she has a summer birthday - perfect for an outdoor pool or swimming party - Peanut wanted . . . <i>wait for it</i> . . . an ice skating party. Fortunately, the local ice rink is open all year round and guess what? Ice skating parties are DIRT CHEAP in the summer. <br /><br />So ice skating it was - she and 15 of her closest friends. They had a great time and despite several of the girls being first-time skaters, they all gave it a try and by the end of the session, a goodly number were moving around the rink on their own. Peanut was in her glory, which made it even better. <br /><br />Mid-week, we headed (as the locals say) "down the shore." On the way, Loaf had to pee (revealing this news less than 60 seconds after passing one of the only rest areas on the Garden State Parkway). I feel it's not officially a vacation until someone has to pee on the side of the road, so over we pulled and dropped trough right there on the grass along the express lanes of the GSP. Fist pump! <br /><br /> Once at the beach, we had an absolutely amazing time.<br /><br /> We dug in the sand, we splashed in the waves, we chased seagulls, ate ice cream and strolled the boardwalk. It really doesn't get any better as far as I'm concerned and there is nothing - NOTHING - as sweet as the sound of your own children squealing and laughing as they frolic in the waves. I wish I could have two straight weeks of it. Just fantastic! <br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/41896951@N00/4918536534/" title="Fearless girl by KGav, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4078/4918536534_ee0e1a0561.jpg" width="375" height="500" alt="Fearless girl " /></a><br /><br /><i>She was completely fearless. She would have dove in and started bobbing beyond the breakers had I let her.</i><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/41896951@N00/4918531210/" title="Ice cream! by KGav, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4114/4918531210_7da5f66d1c.jpg" width="375" height="500" alt="Ice cream!" /></a><br /><br /><i>It's not a beach day without ice cream!</i><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/41896951@N00/4918533706/" title="Beach babies by KGav, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4102/4918533706_39e0ea5903.jpg" width="500" height="375" alt="Beach babies " /></a><br /><br /><i>My beach babies</i><br /><br />This was definitely my favorite part of the week. I wrapped those girls around me like a giant beach towel and soaked up every giggle. I doted on them - ice cream before dinner? Sure! I ran with them in the waves and laid on a beach blanket with their salty heads against me, not even minding the sand they trekked with them. This was my summer redemption - my chance to make up for all the moments I've missed over the last few weeks when I've been locked away at the office. I loved it. <br /><br />On Friday, we took an entirely different trip and spent the day in New York, picnicking in Central Park and visiting the Museum of Natural History where, on our third trip, we FINALLY got to see the famous blue whale suspended from the ceiling (the previous two trips, the room was closed). The girls love the park and could spend all day climbing all over the giant rocks in the park. <br /><br />We spent the weekend close to home, but stayed busy riding bikes and going to the movies to see Despicable Me, which gets six thumbs (Peanut's, Loaf's and mine) up. And we filled in the rest of our time reading stories, playing Uno, swimming at friend's pond, catching butterflies and just being silly and relaxed. <br /><br />So not the most exciting vacation in the history of the world, but it was EXACTLY what the doctor ordered. I'm already experiencing serious PVD (post-vacation depression). <i>::sigh</i> <br /><br />Back to reality . . .Kimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07628744950564301288noreply@blogger.com2