Spinning Yellow

Look! I Have a Cross Post!

Hey!  This is exciting, I have a cross post over at askpatty.com.  It is my Honda Pilot story that I submitted for the BlogHer 2007 conference pass contest.  So, go check it out and while you are there, surf around at Ask Patty, a web site for woman about car stuff. 

Ironically, we may be adding a minivan to our household.  No, I am not pregnant, as I think I made clear in my last post.  Can't give you any more information than that right now, sorry.

And cross your fingers for me, maybe I will win the free pass and get to the BlogHer conference after all.

If For No Other Reason

There are many reasons why Matt and I are almost sure that we will not be having any other children.  Among them are: not having enough money, me wanting to get back to work, a family of 4 seems right, me not wanting to be pregnant and breastfeed again (especially as I close in on being 40), fear that another child would upset the family dynamic, concern that the child might have "issues", not being able to go on trips we've been waiting to do, having to work around nursing and naps, confirming my suspicion that another child would turn me into a hassled, short-tempered, lunatic.  There are a few good reason to have another baby, but we are leaning ever closer to not expanding our family.

At the top of the list of reasons why not, right now, is that I cannot potty train another kid!  I am terrible at it and I can't take the frustration and embarrassment surrounding it.  I think I am a pretty decent parent in most areas.  Sure, I yell too much.  I'm not as patient or as fun as other moms.  But my kids go to bed and stay there.  They eat decent meals the majority of the time.  They can be taken out to restaurants and on trips.  They say please and thank-you.  They can even go to the grocery store reasonably under control. 

But I am now onto my second absolute failure at potty training.  I have tried sticker charts; giving her candy or toys; insisting that she sit on the toilet; leaving her alone; putting her in diapers, pull-ups, underwear or nothing; being silly; being mean; NONE OF IT WORKS. 

When you look on line for advice it is all the same: wait until they are ready.  If one more person gives me the same advice or tells me "no kid goes to college still wearing a diaper" my head is going to explode.  Every one of the message boards have parents telling failures like myself to wait it out, they'll do it when they are ready.  But then they go on to detail some trick they used.  They didn't just let their kid do it.  They did something. 

She has to be potty trained for the preschool she is attending and quite frankly, she is ready.  She just doesn't want to.  It isn't all that convenient for her.  I will ask her or bribe her or try peer pressure and she will just scream and run away and tell me she doesn't want to.

I know it has to come down to some kind of intervention.  A 3 day period of no diapers and all that.  Fights and lots of crying.  I know I missed my window of opportunity.  I should have trained her back when she was more agreeable and not so darn big.

If I ever did have another child I would do just that.  Train them early like a good mom.  The kind who is successful and doesn't let their kids get into power struggles.

Yeah, but I don't think I'll have that chance.

Thank god.  I'm already exhausted.

Serving Up a Plate of OCD, Field Trip Style, With a Big Side of Anxiety

Scott's Kindergarten class went on a field trip the week before school let out and boy was I glad when it was over.  I couldn't take any more of his stressing out about it.  How were they going to get there?  Who would he sit with?  Which parents were going?  Where were they going to eat?  What was he going to eat?  Would he have the right lunch bag?  Would it be fun?  What if someone makes him use a napkin?  What if the table is dirty?  On and on.

When the field trip notice came home, the parents were invited to chaperon.  Scott begged me to go and I declined, claiming I had no one to take care of Jane.  I didn't want to go.  I knew that if I was there he would be clingy and concerned, looking to me to make sure everything went well.  And I would feel obligated to keep him in line, tell him to be quiet and sit still.

New, different, unexpected, are not things that Scott likes.  It can be hard to manage what is worth forcing him to do and what is too much.  When we know that he is spinning out of control (something that we see in little bits over several days, and then go, ah, yes, he's out of sync), we try to minimize the changes or expectations we have.  Incidentally, I am not sure if we ever fully recovered from the Bermuda trip.  I can usually tell when Scott is having difficulty keeping it together because I start yelling more and sending him to his room.  The cycle continues with him crying more, acting more impulsive and then the anxiety kicks into high gear.

He will call for me the second I walk out of the room, "MOM!!!" I'll hear, as if he's on fire.  "What, what?!" I run to him.  "Oh, just making sure you were still here."  Where would I go?  Sometimes I get so frustrated I scream at him to stop calling for me.  But I know that this behavior is based in his need to feel secure.  It's as if any new thing throws him over the edge and he can't function anymore.  He reverts back to a toddler who needs to see you to believe you still exist.  Or he will tell me that the bus went a different way to school and he was worried that something was wrong.  So he will ask me to promise the bus won't do it again and I'll hear him muttering, I just don't know why that happened.

When we first learned about SPD, we quickly understood the basics like noises being too loud, causing Scott to put his hands over his ears, or cry out in panic.  Then we moved to seeing that over stimulation led to disorganization, like a very tired or sick child that can't walk straight or talk clearly.  We progressed to comprehending the vestibular and proprioception senses and how spinning and rough-housing helped Scott to feel his world.  Along the way, we slowly understood how the SPD was actually affecting his personality.

Now this may seem like a large leap to someone who isn't living with a child like this, but I'll try to explain.  If you have trouble controlling the way your body reacts to sensations, you find other ways to control your environment.  Think of a toddler who can't say what they want so they freak about something else.  Or insist that the broken cracker must be repaired not just replaced.  This is why young children will insist that the same books be read in the same order each night.  They gain a sense of security by the predictable.  Because so much of their world is out of their control.  Children with SPD continue to have these insecurities well past the toddler phase.  They search for control in what ever way they can get it to counteract the lack of control they have over their bodies.  This is somewhat complicated and I am only scratching the surface of the larger debate of where temperament and personality come from.  I wonder about whether some of these traits are simply inherited or if the part that comes from genetics is the SPD (or something else) and the behavior follows.

I have teased my husband for his undiagnosed OCD.  He has been known to call me on his way to work to check that the candle had been blown out or the door was locked.  And he will come home from work and straighten things up like the couch cover or the trash can liner without even realizing he does the same thing every day.  Just the other day when Matt was helping the kids cleanup art supplies he remarked that the way the crayons were haphazardly thrown into the box bothered him.  He confided that, as a child, he would meticulously place the 64 crayons in the box so that they were perfectly lined up.

The psychology here is that by doing those things he feels in control.  My side of the equation was more in the structure and routine of my day.  When I was 8 years old I took a month long trip with my cousin.  My Aunt and Uncle couldn't get over how scheduled I was, that I demanded a snack at exactly 4pm and wanted go to the bathroom at certain times.  I have never been described as flexible, spontaneous, or easy-going.

With Scott, we have experienced many obsessions and OCD like phases.  I can't even begin to go into it all, but I'll try to remember a few of the OCD ones for this post (the obsessions are pretty funny and could take up many posts full of things like quests to know route numbers in Hawaii and having whole baseball game long  phone conversations with my mom).  The most obvious would be lining things up in a particular order or having to touch certain things in sequence before getting into the car.  Or repeating number problems over and over even after being reassured that the answer he thinks is right is, in fact, correct.  Or crossing his fingers and tapping his feet in a predetermined numerical order. 

Or how about the latest one: Old People Germs.

I don't want to offend any relatives (and I hesitate to share this because Scott tells me these things in confidence), but this one has come up a lot lately.  As in, that person touched something of mine and now I don't want it anymore.  I heard about this after our trip, when Scott told me the reason he didn't want his ice cream cone was because the unknown, older ice cream scooper person handed it to him.  I guess that gave the ice cream cooties.  Oh, so six year old, so OCD child - but, um, what do you do about it?

I can't stop every "older" person from handling something of his, nor should I.  Once again I walk the line between not forcing him and pushing him to realize that, in order to live in this world, he just can't have that issue.  Scott loves going out to eat and that might involve a stranger touching his plate or glass or something else that he then uses.  Yeah, you can't go around wiping everything down, can you?

So we try to weather this phase like all others.  We try to help him to bend a little when he can and cover for when he seems incapable.  I know that once the summer routine gets going and the craziness dies down that he will be better able to keep it together.

When the trip was over, my friend, who did go as a chaperon, told me it was all good.  She assured me that he had a great time.  He told me as much, but also shared the troubling parts.  The animals smelled and he couldn't tell where the bus was going.  Stuff like that.  But the main thing I couldn't wait for, besides an end to the pre-trip stress, was being able to congratulate him on doing it.  I wanted him to see that although he didn't know all the particulars ahead of time and maybe things were out of the norm, that it was all OK.  He survived and even had fun.  He could handle it.  It was worth going.

As always, I can completely relate to his concerns.  I like routine and clear information.  I don't like surprise or changes.  I have to remind myself often that life is full of such unexpected events.  That those small adventures can be a lot of fun.  Even if you don't have all the facts, know exactly what is going to happen, or a stranger touches your food.  This can be tough for me and I do better with it the more changes I make.  If I had my way, I'd never leave the house and wear my pajamas all day.  But I know that I'd miss out on a lot (obviously).  I strive to, once again, lead by example.  Point out how I am doing new things and broadening my horizons.  And also to show Scott that new things can often be fabulous.

Scott is great about food.  He loves to try new items.  The spicier, crunchier, tastier, the better.  I was the exact opposite as a child.  The classic picky eater who had a bologna and cheese sandwich every day for years.  I know now that this probably stemmed from my over-sensitivity just like Scott's willingness to eat everything is routed in his under-responsiveness.  He enjoys the sensations of tasting different foods and this re-enforces his desire to be adventurous that way. 

Just make sure the food isn't being served by some old person on a dirty table.  Because that's just asking way too much.

The End of Kindergarten

Thursday was the last day of Kindergarten for Scott.  The last day ever that he will only go to half day school and have me pick him up.  The last time he will have the-best-teacher-in-the-whole-wide-world. 

This year was so amazing.  I watched him go from the unhappy, unpopular kid to the child who exceeded all school goals and had friends too.

Many people said, oh they grow up so fast.  I know that is true and I am a little sad about that.  I do wish sometimes that I could bottle the kids up at each age and take them out for fun when I miss them that way.  I guess that is what a camcorder is for.  I wouldn't really know since we never use ours.  And many people also said, well you still have another one at home.  Which is true.  But Jane is Jane and Scott is Scott.  Completely different children. 

What I think has me so upset is that I won't be with him as much.  Ever again.

In the beginning of Kindergarten I was so worried about Scott.  There was much to be concerned about.  His pre-Kindergarten year had been horrible.  I kept writing to his Kindergarten teacher that I was so shocked at how well it was going in the beginning.  I was sure the other shoe would drop.  When he went to school all out of sorts after a weekend spent at a Phillies game, I was in a complete panic.  His teacher told me he was not himself, but the next day he was fine.  Life went on.

I would pick him up and he would jump into the car.  "School was great!" he'd say and joke around with his friends.  Yelling out the window, "I'll see you tomorrow!"  I thought, he fits in.  Even though he has certain issues, they are not things that set him so far apart anymore.  I was amazed, he can do this, he is OK.  We knew he would do fine academically, and he even surprised us a little with how far advanced he is, but the social part was the big gamble.  It wasn't always smooth, as you'd expect it wouldn't be.  But, overall, it was normal.

At home he would tell me all about his day, excitedly rehashing all he had learned.  He loved his teacher and his friends.  He soaked up everything that was going on and would share it all with us.  When Jane took a nap, we did his reading program and played UNO and checkers.  He played basketball with the neighbor or computer games.  There was still plenty of time in the day.

Scott is, above all else, a fascinating individual.  One time my neighbor called him intriguing.  He can be frustrating, exhausting, and complicated.  But when I get to be with him alone, we have great discussions.  He can retell an event exactly as it happened and can describe what he is thinking and feeling with remarkable clarity.  I love seeing the world through his eyes.

Certainly some of my feelings can be attributed to loss of control.  Because I am home with them, I know pretty much everything my kids are doing.  Even with Kindergarten, it was only a few hours out of the day when he was unaccountable.  And I volunteered to help in the classroom often.  For good or for bad, I was still in control.

In the fall he will ride the bus twice as much, be away from 8:45 am to 4 pm (sometimes even later), and only awake at home for a few hours.  I won't be the largest sole influence in his life.  I won't see or talk to him as much.  There won't be enough time or memory of what happened for him to fill me in on most of his day away from me.  He won't have lunch here with Jane and I during the week.

Of course this is what is supposed to happen.  One more step into the outside world.  One piece of growing up and moving on.  All good, especially now that he is capable.

So I am adopting a new attitude.  I am embracing summer.  I know I wrote about how much of a hassle summer is and how I love when there is school, but knowing that these are the last days that I will be with Scott so much has me adjusting my attitude. 

I do like lots of things about summer.  The carefree way that kids play outside for hours, making up games and getting dirty.  How a sprinkler or a water gun can make any kid happy.  Popsicles outside.  Impromptu trips to the water ice store up the street.  Bike rides to Grammy's on hot nights.  Catching fireflies.  Eating green beans straight from the garden.

By the end of summer I should be sufficiently tired of both children to be excited about them going to as much school as possible. But, I know that, no matter what, a significant part of my mommy life is over.  I have launched one kid into the world of his peers and his teachers.  I am worried and sad.

But mostly, I will miss him.

Happy Birthday To Me!

Is there room for two athletes in the family?  Because I just ran my first race! 

Actually, I am totally kidding.  I still would not consider myself an athlete in any way, but I did run the race.  I didn't exactly kick ass, but since I couldn't even run a mile a few short months ago, I did OK.  It was somewhat anti-climatic.  I'm not trying to shortchange myself, but there was a lot of build up to this race.  And I guess that is one of the reasons why I have always, in the past, played down this sort of thing.  When your expectations are low, it is hard to be disappointed.

I was a little nervous this morning, fretting about getting there on time and what to eat.  As we were pulling out of the neighborhood, Matt asked if I wanted any pointers.  Sure, I said and then realized that I had walked out with my Crocs on (I am a Croc Lover, by the way) and left my sneakers by the garage door.  Good start.  First pointer, wear your sneakers.  Hah hah. 

Once we got there and I did the pinning on of my number, I felt a little more anxious.  Not a lot.  I don't like waiting and will often volunteer to go first in order to get something over with.  I just wanted to get going.  It was odd being the racer and not the spectator.  When Matt and the kids starting eating the muffins we had picked up, I was torn between feeling jealous and feeling important (I can't eat the muffins, I am The Racer).  I don't really like people watching me, either.  I don't like going to a gym for that reason.  I would much rather do my own thing, without an audience.  After the race, Matt said he didn't realize how much work went into being the spectator and watching the kids.  It was good that he saw how difficult it can be to cart the kids around.  Imagine doing that for an Ironman Race.

Once we got started, I was surprised at how hard it seemed.  I knew I could run a 5K distance, but it felt more difficult.   I guess it was the race factor.  That there were all those people doing it, too.  And that I was unfamiliar with the course.  I had no idea how fast I was going.  When we got to the first mile marker I thought, finally, it seemed like forever.  The running class instructors kept pace with their students.  Which numbered only a few.  The handful of the more than 30 or so people who had started the class.  This I feel proud of.  At least I saw it through to the end.

So I ended up running the race, mostly, with the one instructor.  This was very helpful.  According to my NikeiPod, I ran a 9:30 average mile, pretty steady, ending the race in about 31 minutes.  I wanted to do it in under 30 minutes.  I felt fine as far as my legs were concerned.  But, I have to admit, I did feel a little sick to my stomach.  Maybe it was nerves, or the heat, or not eating the right thing.  It is also the time of the month when I get migraines.  Not so good timing.

Not trying to make excuses, because, as I said, I did fine.  It just wasn't like it was the greatest feeling when I finished.  It just was what it was.  So now the question is, do I go on?  Do I take the next class, a level up, to complete a 10K?  I do have in the back of my mind, and I know if I say it here it goes down on my permanent record, that I would like to run a marathon.  A completely crazy idea for sure, since I feel that I barely completely a 5K.  But hey, all ideas start somewhere.

So, anybody in?  Maybe a fall 2008 marathon girls?  We could train in our own locations and then meet up somewhere for a race.  The Philly Marathon in November, or maybe the Marine Corp in DC in October.  Who wants to make the commitment with me and see if we can reach it.  We could do check-ins here.  I need motivation girls.  I am 39 today.  One more year until 40.  I am happy about that.  I think the best years of my life are still ahead of me.

Show me some love.  It is my birthday, after all.

Ode To My Honda Pilot

I've never been a car girl.  When coworkers would start to describe and compare their cars or discuss which car they wanted when they made a million dollars, I would stop listening.  I could care less.   A car was a vehicle to get from one place to another but I never felt this car love that others had.

Growing up my father was a salesman.  He would get a new Buick every year or so and we  had trouble remembering what his most recent car looked like.  My mother always drove a big station wagon.  The one I recall the best was an Oldsmobile Custom Cruiser complete with wood panel styling.  We used to call it the "S.S. Belle" because it was such a boat.  All three children learned to drive in it.  It survived many family road trips and sporting events.

When I was in college I didn't even want a car like all my friends did.  When I was home I would just use my parent's car or sometimes my brother's beat up old "Yellow Bean" Volvo.  I didn't drive it very well because it had a tricky clutch and I was distracted by the honks from Dead Heads noticing his bumper stickers. 

So it should come as no surprise that, when I HAD to buy a car because my job moved to a place that I couldn't get to by public transportation, I wasn't sure what to get.  I went with the inexpensive, practical, good gas mileage, small, Toyota Corolla.  Having a car stressed me out.  I was worried about it and feared I would do something wrong.  After awhile a grew mildly attached to it, naming the car "Candy Apple" based on its maroon-ish color.  I took it on trips and on errands.  I felt cool owning a stick shift and liked that it never broke down.

When it came time to sell the car, I felt like I was losing a part of my no-strings-attached, single, career girl life.  I had to convert to my parent's used, automatic Subaru Outback Wagon so that I had a safe place for the baby on the way.  I got used to the practicality quickly and was not interested in changing cars when the second baby was about to be born.

My husband was vehemently opposed to owning a minivan and frankly, I didn't want one either.  I thought it was silly to take such a large, unwieldy vehicle to the grocery store and carpool line.  People told us that we would love a minivan.  I wouldn't even consider one that didn't have 4-wheel drive.  I wasn't going to be one of those stupid moms with two little kids skidding out going up the hill to the doctor's office.  Enter the Honda Pilot.

My husband started campaigning for a Pilot after he saw his friend's.  He even sent me a funny article about how to convince yourself to get a Pilot when you really need a minivan.  My husband is tall and he needed a car with ample lag and head room.  With two kids and a dog we knew we needed a decent size car, an SUV or a Minivan.  The Pilot seemed to fit all the things we wanted including fold away third row seats.  We call it "The Truck".

It was always intended to be my car and I adjusted to the size fairly quickly.  I liked that I was up high and got used to climbing into the car.  I loved that it was a snow capable truck.  We took it on trips and I drove it around town.  It can still be difficult to squeeze it into our garage, but, overall, I have been pleased with it.  Until I got stuck in a late season, traffic-jam producing storm.  Then, I fell in love.

I had taken my almost three year old daughter to visit a friend and her triplets about an hour away.  As we were driving there, the weather report said that the snow was going to continue, mix with rain and become problematic for commuters.  I figured we weren't going too far and, besides, we would leave well before rush hour.  No worries.

We had a wonderful visit that included my daughter falling asleep when the triplets went down for a nap.  Around 3pm we realized it was getting late, checked the road conditions and I prepared myself for what could possibly be a long trip home.

Little did I know that it would take over 4 hours for me and my daughter to get back to our house.   The trip home was harrowing, frustrating and long, but I never once felt unsafe, secure in my Pilot.  As my daughter listened to the Easter Bunny music CD over and over, I checked in on my cell phone and tried to avoid the other cars on the road.  At first we were at an almost complete stand still.  Blocked by cars that had spun out and were stranded perpendicular to traffic.  When we did inch along I was concerned that another driver would slide into the side of our truck.  I was not worried that we would be hurt or that our car would slip, I just didn't want anyone else to run into us and leaving us unable to return home.

My daughter never fell asleep and only got a little bit restless.  I knew her car seat was tethered in properly.  I was warm, safe and mostly comfortable (there was no way I could stop for the bathroom).  I felt fortunate to have a car that handled so well in the snow and ice.  I felt safe being up high and also, because it is a big, sturdy car.

I should have stayed home that day, but I didn't.  I am glad that my Honda Pilot brought us home safely even if a little rattled.  I will never defect to a Minivan. 

Unless, of course, we have more kids.  Then I may have to reconsider.  Car Love can be fickle that way.

This post was entered in the askpatty contest to win a pass to BlogHer2007.  Can you tell I really want to go?

I Blog, Therefore I Am

I have a story to tell.  It is why I started blogging a few months ago.  The story is mostly written.  I have four posts that are nearly complete chronicling the ordeal we went through.  I have not published it yet.  I have been busy writing other things.  And living my life. 

I know I will get to it because it is important to share.  But a surprising thing has happened since I started a blog.  I am writing more about my life now than what has already transpired.  I am learning about who I am as much as I am sharing what I've learned.

I have awakened in myself a side I had kind of forgotten about in the midst of all the family and child-raising overload.  It is the idealistic, youthful, part of me that wants to save the world.  The one that used to lament, but I want to have a cause, when I was a young adult.  The teenager who just knew that I was meant to somehow, some way make a difference. 

Having children made me feel this in a personal way.  That I was creating life and could impact a person so completely.  My life would be carried on through another human being.  But blogging has made me feel it outside of my immediate family once again.  And I realized I missed it.

So I am happy to say that blogging has made me feel inspired to do new things.  Take chances like running a race and writing to the New York Times.  I think I knew that would be the case, because trying one hard thing begets trying more.  One step leads to another.

I am pleased, though, that I am enjoying it so much.  That it feels much more like an artistic endeavor than a chore.  It reminds me of drawing or even doing a puzzle, things that I have trouble pulling myself away from.  I feel driven to write as therapy and for pure enjoyment.  Not just to share my story to help others, but to share myself.

The dialog that has been going on inside my head has now been made public.  I am putting myself out there for everyone to see.  Complete strangers, if they want.  But mostly a few friends and relatives that I feel comfortable sharing this blog with.  I am feeling more confident.  I am posting comments on other people's blogs and getting messages back.  I feel the power of community.  The sense of enlarging my circle of influence and of being influenced.  Reading what others are posting and wanting to add my perspective to their conversation.

I am not a writer.  I was a business major.  I knew that to tell the story I wouldn't be able to do it by writing a book or an article in a magazine.  I have no experience or qualifications for that.  Having a blog has given me the opportunity that I would not otherwise have had.  People can find me and what I have to say, if they want.

Blogging has given me credibility.  A place to record and share my thoughts.  For understanding, validation, compassion and community.  I am compelled to do this.  To make a difference, contribute, keep seeking answers and live fully.  I am empowered.  My voice is now heard.  I will tell my story.  It is larger than I had originally thought.  Blogging has shown me that.  It has changed my life already.  And I know it is just the beginning.

This post was written for submission in the mommyblogstoronto and Her Bad Mother win a trip to BlogHer2007 contest.  The writing topic was "(how) does blogging empower women?" 

What I Thought About on My Run This Morning

OK, I'm out here, it's a good day to run, overcast, not so GD hot like Friday, OK, I'm going to do 9 minutes running, 1 minute walking, 3 iterations, set up the NikeiPod and the stop watch, walking up the hill, a little stretching, get moving, I wonder if Matt is going to get the kids breakfast or if I have to make it when I get back, I am so looking forward to eating the sour cream raspberry muffin my in-laws brought me back from Perkins yesterday, damn, should have thought of that earlier, now how am I going to eat it without the kids wanting some and Matt giving me dirty looks, I am a little hungry, what should we have for dinner, at least I don't have to go to the grocery store, did that yesterday, I need to eat better, if anyone wants more reasons to get fit they should read that Parade Magazine article, have to link to that somewhere, well, my gyno and my GP both are happy I am running, they think it is great, much more of a workout than walking, I have to get that blood work done, when can I get up and go without coffee, hate that fasting thing, need to get the mammogram too, so much to do, last week of school, maybe Scott will settle down after this week and Jane, too, poor Matt, he had to sleep on the floor in her room again, not getting enough sleep, that's what's making me crabby, I have to write a letter to Scott's teacher thanking her for all she's done, my shin hurts, I should probably read that stupid book for book group tomorrow, I just can't, its unreadable, no time, stop thinking, take in the morning, so glad to be out here watching the bunnies hop across the lawns, this is so much better than going to church, breath in, out, there's another runner, smile, wave, part of the club, I hope I don't look stupid in my out-of-date running clothes, need to order some clothes today so I will get them in time for the race, I am so That Mom it is pathetic, right down to my skirted swimsuit, I didn't own any of those when I went on my honeymoon, so long ago, I have had kids for nearly as long as the Sopranos have been on, last episode tonight, wonder how it will all go down, I'll miss it, so good this last season, I should have said in my post that I don't waste time shopping for clothes or watching reality TV, I wonder who won that contest anyway, if I didn't win I need to enter the AskPatty one or the MBT one, so many posts to write, if that babysitter doesn't show again tomorrow, I am going to lose my mind, I need to finish my letter to the NYT, I should e-mail Scott's OTs about that and tell them about the blog, why haven't I done that, why haven't I told the book group people either, I need to be more confident, I have to get those lists right and work on my sidebars, well, at least I helped inspire Kim to start a blog, need to finish my half written posts, have bills to pay, those damn thank-yous, and baby gifts and birthday gifts, so overwhelmed, just figured out why tac hasn't comment about my clever inclusion of the Judybats, need to weave in EBTG next, she's in Chicago, have to make my flight and hotel reservations for BlogHer2007 TODAY, so much else to do, why am I such a loser, can't get it together, wait I'm almost done here, on my last iteration, go a little faster, I am so ready for this race, I feel great, I ran with the fast group last week, I did an 8:30 mile last time, I can't wait to write my birthday post after I kick ass, I am not a loser, I am a runner, going faster, have to go around the block again, not done yet, OK here we are, back home. 

At least I accomplished something today.

Where Does My Time Go? or Does This Count As Wasting Time?

Whoa oh, what I want to know is Where does the time go? - Uncle John's Band, The Grateful Dead

I had a great post planned for this topic.  All about the things that suck up my time like preparing and cleaning up meals, sweeping the floor, putting things away, and doing laundry.  About annoying shit like incompetent township employees and when baby sitters don't show up.  About what I should be doing with my time like getting a job, cleaning the house, organizing the office, sorting the clothes in the kid's closet (yeah, I know, they don't need sweaters anymore), being more of an SPD advocate, and looking at web sites like Light Iris which claim they will help me make better use of my time.

About the evolution of my time management from the straight-A high school student who ridiculously scheduled every ten minutes of my day.  To the over-achieving collegiate who felt guilty lounging around watching TV when I could be studying.  Morphing into the young professional who, as a consultant, used to turn in a time sheet with details of every minute of my day, joking about where to bill the 2 hour discussion we had about so-and-so's failed relationship.  To the mom I've become who is always running behind, promising to get done something I should have ages ago.  This has gotten considerably worse as I had one child and then another.

About how infuriating it is to have my husband come home and say, "What did you do all day?"  To which my friends have offered the replay, "Well, the children are alive and I did manage to get to Target to buy the toilet paper that wipes your ass!"  And I start to wonder myself, what exactly did I do?  Changed diapers, listened to complaints, broke up sibling squabbles, picked up dog poop outside, answered questions about what place the Phillies are in or why, if death is bad, that people are always talking about it.  Doing those things and more along with all the regular stuff.

About what I wish I was doing like watching one of the 50 or so Oprah episodes I have TiVo'd, going out on a date with my husband, or playing with my children.  Reading my current book group selection, taking up drawing again, finishing (I mean starting) the kids scrap books, and redoing the 3 year old photo board.  Or even what I am really doing which is obsessively checking my blog stats and trying to win a pass from the Parent Bloggers Network to the BlogHer 2007 conference.

But what I've decided to write about is what I've been doing lately, which is read blogs and, more specifically, follow Duckiegate.

This started innocently enough.  A post by Motherhood Uncensored about her daughter's accidental theft of one little stuffed duck that has blown up into a large debate and blog linking bonanza.  I have been following the coverage with an outsider's eye, keeping myself above the lure of posting my own thoughts. 

Which are actually mixed on this.  On the one hand I would never have woken up my sleeping child to return the duck as some people have claimed they would do.  But on the other hand, I would have felt guilty about keeping it and especially about using my stolen (even if accidental) property to make a profit.  I wonder if the GAP gets a kick back on any "Keep the Duck" products sold.  This presumes, of course, that no one would actually buy the "Return the Duck" t-shirt unless they were too stupid to realize they were actually supporting the whole thing.

Kristen's children are so young they have no idea about the ethics of stealing.  I guess I might have reminded the older child that she cannot take anything from a store, but more than that, you're wasting your breath.  It is down right ridiculous that people are getting all high and mighty that this is an indication of the downfall of our society.  Maybe Kristen has a reputation for being immoral, she does write a sex column (gasp!) after all, and post things like this.

When Scott was around 4 years old he walked out of Target with a candy bar in his hand.  It was deliberately stolen and he guiltily showed it to me as we were getting in the car.  I took him back in the store but spared him any discussion with an employee because he was so terrified.  I am sure he thought he would get sent to jail immediately and never see his home again.  We did not discuss this incident with Jane, who was only one at the time.  I think that needs no explanation.

We've also damaged items at the grocery store, accidentally, of course.  Dropped fruit or stomped on items that were already on the floor.  One time when Scott was a baby I let him hold the yellow items, bananas and a cereal box.  He chewed through both.  And Janie reached behind her and grabbed a carton of eggs, which oozed all over the contents of our cart and the floor.  I never paid for these damaged goods, figuring that that was the price of having moms who shop.  I drop over $100 weekly there, I think I am entitled to a few slip ups.  Accidents happen and they write off the loss anyway.

What I find most intriguing about the whole duck thing is that so many people are spending their time on it.  Tons of comments, plenty of links, discussions all over the place.  A blogging field day of sorts.  Is this a good way for people to spend their time?  Is it any different than the water cooler discussions just held on the blogosphere in witty, sarcastic glory? 

I love the blogging forum for discussion from anyone out there who has an internet connection.  If you want to talk about stolen ducks you can, no matter who you are.  And no one knows what you are doing, so far be it for anyone to decide if you should be doing something else with your time.  But, what if all these people were doing something else instead of linking and lurking around?  I'm sure a time management professional would not approve.

And how do the bloggers find time to blog anyway?  Don't they have little kids?  I am finding myself sneaking into our office several times a day just to check my blog for comments.  I have so much to write about that I don't think I'd run out of ideas even if I could blog all day long.  See, I need to go to the conference to figure out how people fit blogging in with their life.  And blog reading.  Because I can't quite keep up.

But life is not all about deadlines and to do lists as we all know.  It is about wasting time here and there on things that make you think or just laugh.  So if I am judged by the company I keep, I am glad to be reading the likes of such clever, thoughtful, controversial, insightful, and just plain old hysterical bloggers (those links are just a few examples!). 

As the Judybats say,

"And good taste
And a taste for wasting time
I love you wasting mine
You fill the empty hours just fine"

I know I'm taking the lyrics out of context, I'm not in love with these bloggers.  But you get the idea.  As in, go ahead, waste my time, it's fine!

So the question remains as to whether this Duckiegate following is a waste of my time.  It is entertaining, sure, and I dig a good discussion about what is right and wrong.  But really, all this coverage about it?  Am I guilty for engaging in it or is it good research for a novice blogger who wants nothing more than to write something that gets so much attention?  And if, by writing about it, I get to win a pass to BlogHer 2007, then, well, wasn't it worth my time?

And if I don't win the contest, can I at least get some credit for such blatant, shameless ass-kissing? 

Note:  And now I feel guilty after reading mothergousemouse's post about her daughter's possible need for Early Intervention and whether she has lost time by not getting her help earlier, which is really what I understand and probably what I should have written about!  Look for a post about that soon, when I find the time.

I Am Still Running

In case you were wondering, since I haven't posted about it in awhile, I have not given up!  Except for the week off due to the Bermuda trip, I have been running according to the Beginner Runner's Plan.  At 10 weeks in, I am up to 4 iterations of 8 minutes of running and 1 minute of walking.  My cool Nike iPod told me that I did 4 miles today and that I have completed a total of over 100 miles cumulative so far.  I even did a faster than 10 minute mile today (that includes the walking portion).

I know I am stronger.  In the last 10 weeks I've gone from not running at all to running 4 miles.  That's 32 minutes of running!  I can tell that my muscles are more defined and that I've probably lost a few pounds.  I like that the aerobic portion of my workout videos is much easier.  I used to dread the jumping and stepping, but now consider it a piece of cake.

It is less than two weeks until the big 5K race, on my 39th birthday.  I think I will be ready.  I am nervous about running in a race.  I don't like participating in athletic competition, especially with an audience.  I have never done anything like a race.  What if I am the very last person?  Or I look stupid?  What if I am a big dork and cry at the end, like it's a marathon or something, instead of a rinky-dink 5K?  What if my outfit looks too new, like it's the first day of school?  What if I trip?

I'm sure I'll see some people I know there that are seasoned racers.  I will feel stupid saying, "Yeah, I know. I'm not a runner, but I did this class..."  And they'll say something completely annoying and condescending like, "Well, good for you.  I'm sure you'll love running when you get the hang of it.  Gotta go, I need to warm up because I'm trying to break my PR this time.  Oh, I'm sorry, that means Personal Record in runner lingo."

I am trying not to think about those things and instead concentrate on what I have learned and accomplished so far.  There is much to say!   I'll start with the big stuff and then talk about the little things.

Running is a great metaphor for life.  To get out there and do it.  To persevere, reach a goal, move your body.  Two of my favorite lessons are opposing ideas.  First is that even when you feel bad, or hurt, sometimes you just have to keep going, press on through it.  Many times while running something has hurt like my ankles, shins or calves.  But as I continue on my run, the pain subsides.  This is not an idea I have really been familiar with in the past.  I am typically the person who says, um pain, OK, I'm done.  So it has been eye opening to realize that you can work through the agony and instead of it getting worse, it might actually go away.  The rush of knowing you can overcome is very inspiring.

The other idea is that when you really hurt or have overdone it, you need to take a break.  Before we left for Bermuda, I had been doing all the required runs and also continuing my strength workouts.  A few times I had even done two workouts in one day, trying to make up for a lost day due to bad weather or some other conflict.  I thought I could handle this and that the pain I experienced was probably normal.  I would hobble around thinking I was just a wimp.  But when I took the week off and really rested, I was able to resume running without any problems and little pain.  It turns out that what I really needed was to take it easy and let my body fully recover.  I have felt stronger and more comfortable ever since (and you know it wasn't because the trip itself was rejuvenating!).

A few other things I've discovered:

Because I am always aware of the little eyes who are watching my every move, I am proud of the example I am setting for the kids.  While it is nothing like an Ironman race, it is a big thing for me.  They see me sticking with it and following though.  I know that matters.

Now I know why people run in the street.  It isn't because they are idiots trying to get run over by cars, but because the asphalt road is more forgiving on the joints than the concrete sidewalk.  It really does make a difference.

I am so in love with my Nike iPod!  Talk about motivating, after every run I get to hook the thing up and see exactly what I did.  Not only that, but it keeps track of every run I've done.  The cool funky techno music helps me run faster and keep a clear head.  I am now used to the different beats and try to run faster when the pace picks up.  I thought I would listen to podcasts, but I like the freeing, non-thinking aspect of this music.  At least for now.  And, if I run a little farther or faster, famous people congratulate me.  "This is Lance Armstrong.  Congratulations, you just completed your longest run yet!"  Gee, thanks Lance, I didn't know you would notice.  This may the best Christmas present Matt ever bought me, thank you honey!

I like to run in the morning.  This is not surprising because I am a morning person.  But I've also noticed that when I have all day to stretch and remain moving, I don't get as cramped up.  I've also started stretching a little before I start running.  This has helped tremendously  with my calves which tend to tighten up as I run.  Plus, I am just more tired at the end of the day.

I need to eat a little before I run unless I am going first thing in the morning, then I only need my first cup of coffee.   This is another reason why running early helps.  The class is at 6:30 in the evening, too early to have dinner with the family before and too late to go without something.  I finally realized I needed a small snack before I left for the class so I wouldn't feel lightheaded.

It is great that the weather is so nice now.  When I would go out when it was cold I'd never dress right.  I was surprised at how hot I got.  Matt would just shake his head at me as I bundled up with layers.  Inevitably I'd be burning up well before I got home.

I am beginning to buy into the "Do it for yourself" idea that woman get told repeatedly.  Before this class I thought, um, what I want to do for myself is read a book or blog (perhaps get a massage), not go running.  What are they talking about?  Even though I don't think running (or blogging for that matter) have made me better tempered, I do now see what they mean.  I feel better about myself that I am achieving a goal and getting healthier.  Especially when it means I get to ditch Matt with the screaming sick 3 year old and her crabby, disrespectful brother.

My single biggest fear about running was that I would get winded and feel sick to my stomach.  I have a throw up phobia and can count on one hand the number of times I have thrown up including when I was a child, drunk or pregnant.  The good news is that I have never felt out of breath or sick during this training class.  Not once.  That's what has really converted me.

That and the sense of pride that I am one of them.  Not the walker that gets dusted, but an actual runner who can't stop to chat.  Someone who is getting stronger and faster, clocking more miles, trading stories and ideas for running routes.  Dare I say that I really am one of them?

The woman who runs the class sends out training tips and information via e-mail.  She always ends her messages with the positive, upbeat phrase:

Run On!

And I will.