Hips Don't Lie

I've been neglecting my hips.

This morning was 4-mile run day at the gym. I just run around the track, which is admittedly quite boring, but I'm not up for outside runs on the hard concrete sidewalks in 30-degree weather these days. So, around and around the track I run. 42 laps for a 4-miler. It's a small track.

By lap 35, my left hip was screaming at me. I slowed my pace but by lap 40 you could scarcely call what I was doing running. I was shuffling. I decided to walk the last 2 laps, which frustrates me because I don't ever walk my workouts. But better that than overdo it and end up with more serious hip troubles.

On a side note, I've appeased myself by saying 42 laps might actually be a little more than 4 miles. The sign on the track says 10-11 laps is a mile. This also frustrates me because, hello, there is a difference between 10 laps and 11 laps, and a whole heck of a lot of difference between 40 laps and 44 laps. This is a skinny track, just barely two lanes worth, so its not as if the 'inside lane' and the 'outside lane' differ that much in distance. I've decided to consider 10.5 laps to be 1 mile, but perhaps the sign makers were just to lazy to measure and it turns out that one mile is 10 laps plus 3 feet, or something like that.

Back to my sore hips. After I'd cooled down, did some light stretching, and showered, my left hip was feeling better but my right hip was acting up. It may be from the rowing machine that I did yesterday, which I did for longer and a little harder than normal, so I'll ease up on that. But I also found a whole host of hip exercises and stretches I should be doing that I'm not. Tomorrow is my 'rest' day, I think I'll take that opportunity to get in some good stretches. I'm admittedly a slacker when it comes to stretching. I do about 10 minutes worth before my run and 5 minutes after, but its not very strategic.

Coming up for the Davidson family: Kindergarten parent/teacher conference on Thursday. We got Travis's report card last week, which was positive and pretty much what I expected. A few areas identified for improvement, nothing earth-shattering.

Friday night I have a girls-only birthday party for a college friend that I am super-excited about. We're going to dinner, and a Fort Wayne Komets game. There's something about a girls' night out that includes a hockey game that I find absolutely fabulous. We'll spend all weekend with these college buds as they are also having a get-together at their house Saturday night. Much fun will be had.

Yay.

All that for a shop-vac

I can tell it's been too long since I last posted, because the iPad didn't remember my blogger URL. Going forward, I vow to at least attempt to blog enough such that my cached website history includes said blog. Deal?

I partook in my first Black Friday shopping experience ever. It is important that you understand a few things about me. Firstly, I hate shopping. Secondly, I hate shopping. And thirdly, I especially hate shopping for the sake of shopping, which is the worst kind of shopping of all. When I say this is my first Black Friday, I mean it. Previous Black Fridays involved me purposefully avoiding anything resembling a shopping outlet as though my life depended upon it. No grocery shopping, not even a gas station stop if I could avoid it.

So, the fact that the wee hours of Friday, November 26th found me shivering outside a Menards in a line with 500 other crazed idiots hoping for a killer deal on a shop-vac is quite the separation from the norm. The fact that I was actually even excited about the experience is nothing short of a miracle.

For the record, we didn't buy a shop-vac. I can't tell you what we did buy because there are certain kindergartners that read this blog.

At any rate, I survived the experience, people were civil and for the most part friendly, in fact it's a sort of bonding moment when you're huddled together in frigid weather with complete strangers.

Other Thanksgiving-related activities were a success. First ever T-Day brunch at my sister's house (pancakes for Thanksgiving = AWESOME), then Friday at the in-laws. We missed Ben's brother and family, who were on vacay in Florida, but otherwise a pleasant day.

We debated driving down to Indy on Saturday to watch the football team from the high school Ben works at play in the state championship game. In the end we decided not to go. We both were quite agonized over the decision, but the prospect of trying to entertain Sophie for three hours at Lucas Oil Stadium finally trumped our desire to go cheer on the team. They lost. But had a good showing. Nice job, Indians.

Seventeen days until I have a 2-year-old again, and then another fifteen days after that, our little family welcomes it's first ever six-year-old.

Yikes. No wonder Decembers make my head spin.

Tis the season

Tonight, Travis asked me to sing 'Jingle Bells' for him, since he couldn't remember what came after "jingle all the way". So I did. Complete thru the first verse and chorus, and kind of muddling through the second verse. Then chorus again. A rousing rendition if I do say so myself.

Sophie, who was sitting on my lap at the time, watched me with a rapt look on her face throughout the entire song. Upon completion, she seemed quite contemplative, sat quietly for a moment, and then, still looking at me intently, said in a solemn voice,

"Try again."

Geez. Everyone's a critic.

Turkey Show

Full video of Travis's Kindergarten Thanksgiving program here. Cute.

But, in case you're not up for watching the full 11 minutes, here's a couple snapshots.

He was so excited to see us in the crowd.

Singing and dancing along

shakin his tailfeather

Noah loved it. He clapped enthusiastically for his big brother. And called out, repeatedly, "Come on! What's the next song?!"

Sophie alternated between enjoying it and screeching "I want cuddle Mom!"

Travis was super-proud of his turkey feathers

About a Moose

To Moose

who has but one job --

to be an unconditional friend and confidant to a young boy --

and has performed his job with a loyalty and dedication

that is unmatched.

To Moose

who gets called upon to provide comfort

when the little boy is sick

or hurt

or scared, like the scene in The Lion King where Simba's dad gets trampled.

To Moose

who has been dragged along on vacations

and trips to the zoo

and even supermarket runs, where he normally gets left behind to wait in the car.

To Moose

whose little patch of white hair has mostly fallen out

and who has had surgery with needle and thread

to repair the hole in his mouth

and who has even been glued together

when the dog tried to chew off his nostril.

To Moose

who no longer smells like chocolate

and whose ears are worn thin

from the little boys fingers,

that rub those ears as a measure of comfort.

To Moose

who is called upon much less frequently than before

who spends most of his days waiting in the young boy's bed

until nighttime, when the boy is ready to cuddle.

To Moose

Who has been loved, and loved some more.

2005: Travis is almost one year old. Moose enters his life.

Moose, playing with Travis in a tote of newspaper shreds.

Moose standing in front of Notre Dame Stadium, about to go to his first ND football game.

Moose cuddling with Travis as we welcome new baby brother Noah to the family.

Moose with Travis, Grandma and Noah

Moose in Canada, cuddling with Travis and Trevor as they watch a movie.

Moose, zonked out with Travis, and the other kids, after a camping trip

Moose, today.

Thank you, Moose.

Hat Trick

Travis's school is having a Thanksgiving "show" on Thursday evening. His teachers sent home a form where they confirm whether we (and he) will be in attendance on Thursday, so they can plan the presentation.

So, I filled out the form, and set it on the table to be placed in Travis's "red folder" to bring to school tomorrow. And then, I went about the evening routine including dinner, laundry, etc.

And then..... Sophie happened.

At some point, unbeknownst to me or anyone else in charge around here, she grabbed the paper, and the pen, off the table. And had her way with it.

When I found it, I debated about what to do. Should I throw it away and just hand write a note to the teacher to tell her we'll be there? Its not like I have a blank copy of the form I can fill out. Is it that big of a deal?

So, finally, I decided to write a teeny note of explanation on the bottom of the form.

"Sorry....Sophie got a hold of this after I filled it out...."

I worded it that way because I didn't want them to think that Sophie had applied her handiwork to the form first and then I filled it out. For some reason I felt like that made a difference.

I'm not sure if the note makes it more, or less lame. Oh well.

In other news, Ben and I had purchased a handful of winter hats from the dollar store. I keep them in a bucket near their 'shoe bench'. There is this one hat that Sophie insists on wearing anytime she lays her eye on it, whether we are going outside, or staying in, whether its cold out or warm and sunny, whether it is bedtime or midday. It matters not. If she sees the hat, she's wearing it.

What a cute little stinker.

Socks, a Cruise, and a Lion

About a month ago, I bought a 6-pack of athletic socks. They have turned out to be the most ridiculous socks I have ever purchased.

You see, each pair, while similar is not exactly the same. One pair has pink heel/toe with thick gray stripe in the middle. One pair has pink heel/toe with three thin stripes in the middle. One pair has gray heel/toe with pink stripe in the middle. You get the picture. So, invariably, as I match up socks from the laundry, I match them incorrectly. I mean, seriously. Laundry is bad enough with 5 people who insist on wearing a different outfit every day. The last thing I need is a project when it comes to MATCHING SOCKS.

And that's not all. Each matching pair is marked with an "R" on one sock and an "L" on the other, presumably denoting right versus left. I can find no remarkable difference between the right sock and the left sock. Seems its only purpose is to give me another way to screw up the sock-matching endeavor.

Today, I wore one "thick-gray stripe" sock and one "thin-gray stripe" sock, BOTH right-footed.

I'm such a rebel.

Next topic.

On my way home from work, I heard a news story on the radio about the Carnival cruise ship that had been stranded without power for three days. The news reporter ended her report with the statement, and I quote (roughly), "If you're hungry, in need of a hot shower, and without A/C, let's just say these aren't the people to complain to."

What an outlandish statement.

Yes, I can just imagine this hypothetical conversation:

Laid-off electrician with family of four: Yeah, I've had a rough week. You know, I lost my job a few months ago, so my kids haven't eaten since lunchtime at school on Friday. And, all the utilities are shut off in my house and I'm in danger of going into foreclosure this month. Sure has been tough.

Stranded cruise ship rescue-ee: OMG. I totally know what you're talking about. I was, like, stranded on this cruise with ZERO POWER, and the only thing we had to eat was what the military flew in for us, and.... get this... we could NOT take hot showers!! I know! Can you believe it?! Nothing can take away those painful memories, but I guess the voucher for a free replacement cruise will just have to do.

And finally, on a completely unrelated note, here is Sophie's impression of a lion:

Scared?

Don't worry, she's friendly.

See?

Not for the Weak of Stomach

When I was about 9 years old, my parents surprised my sister and I with some stuffed animal dolls. You see, back in those days, whenever we visited my dad at his store (I think it was Hook's back then), she and I would play with these Baby Muppet dolls; her with Kermit and me with Miss Piggy.

One day, we were visiting dad at the store, and to my chagrin, there were no Baby Miss Piggy dolls left. For some reason, this translated to utter heartbreak for me. I was inconsolable.

Turns out, mom and dad had purchased the last Baby Miss Piggy, as well as a Baby Kermit, and surprised Susan and I with them one summer day as we were getting ready to leave on vacation. (I'm sure they also bought Courtney something, but I don't recall. I mostly paid attention to her to torture her in some way.)

So, we loaded up the family in our blue 80-something Dodge Ram Van, with the middle seats taken out so we could spread a sleeping bag on the floor for all the kids to play on. Those were the days when children wearing seat belts was about as common as a chicken in a ninja suit. Susan and I had our new Baby Muppet dolls and I was ecstatic. We were heading up to Cando, North Dakota to stay with my grandma and grandpa and visit random other assorted family members.

Well, by the time we pulled into the Parkers' driveway in Cando, I was horribly, awfully sick. It was the sickest I remembered being in my young life. I was throwing up constantly and was essentially confined to bed as I was too weak to do anything else. For the first two and a half days of our North Dakota vacation, the most fun I had was playing with the Raggedy Ann and Andy dolls in my grandma's spare bedroom whenever I gathered up enough energy to sit up in bed.

There are a few things I remember vividly about this vacation:

1. It was the debut of "Spike", the dog that belonged to Great-Uncle Ray (for the life of me I'm not sure how he is actually related to the family, I just remember him as the old guy that lived in a rickety little house out by Uncle Mike's barns on the farm). I'd never met Spike and I remember being insanely jealous of my sisters getting spend time with this fabulous dog. Courtney would come up to my room and tell me all about Spike, and she made him out to be this SuperDog, the coolest dog in all the universe. To this day, when I think about Spike, I recall him as the smartest, most awesomest dog that ever existed.
2. One time my Uncle Mike asked me if I wanted lemonade or orange juice to drink. I asked for lemonade. He brought me back up a glass of lemonade with orange-ade ice cubes. When he told me that, I nodded sickly, and then left that glass sitting on the bedside table in disgust. I could not imagine drinking it, but I couldn't bear telling my beloved Uncle Mike that I didn't want it. A little later, when I gave in because I was so darn thirsty, it was the most delicious beverage I had ever encountered.
3. I despised Baby Miss Piggy. I assume I associated this god-awful sickness with this brandnew stuffed animal. At one point, I had to switch guest bedrooms because other people were coming over and needed the room I had been staying in. I purposefully left Miss Piggy behind. A few hours later, someone noticed my new toy had been left in the old room, and brought it over to me. I remember feeling physically ill (or more physically ill, I guess), just upon laying eyes on that blasted doll. I dared not tell anyone how much I loathed that stuffed animal....I had been thrilled about it just days before, after all....but even now I can't think about baby Miss Piggy without feeling nauseated.

Fast forward to twenty-some years later in the Davidson household. This week has been filled with fevers, abdominal cramps, cold sweats, headaches, and bodily fluids erupting from any number of cavities. We've been miserable. Sophie has managed to stay healthy. The rest of us.... not so much. Unfortunately, Sophie is pretty much the only one that can't do anything for herself (as in, feeding, bathing, clothing, etc.) The only one that feels like getting up and around and doing things is, sadly, not quite self-sufficient enough to be counted on. ["Sophie! Go throw a frozen pizza in the oven, will ya? Oh, and go ahead and change your own diaper, and give Noah a bath while you're at it. Thanks. You're a doll."]

Noah's been in a pretty bad way the last couple days, up all night the other night vomiting, and some bouts of diarrhea. He's been sleeping on the couch quite a bit, mostly because he just doesn't have the energy to do much else.

Last week, Ben bought Toy Story 3 which had just come out on DVD. The boys had seen it in the theater but are super-excited to have it at home. It has been playing in the living room an awful lot these days.... the kids don't feel much like playing, and Ben and I are too sick to care that they started the movie up again.

So, I'm starting to wonder if Noah (who has watched Toy Story 3 three times in the past 2 days) will start to associate this new movie with this dreadful sickness, much as I did with poor Baby Miss Piggy. I certainly hope not. But this kid hates being sick. For instance, yesterday, after spending more time with his head in the toilet, he turned to me and said, "stop saying I'm sick!".... as if my announcement of him being sick was somehow preventing his recovery. He thinks he can will himself to stop vomiting.

The other night, at 3:30 in the morning, as he is dry heaving in the trash can yet again, he looks up at me and says in his most forlorn voice, "frowing up is hard work...."

You said it, kid.

Don't Eat the Yellow Stuff

We had our first snow of the season last night. And it was actually real snow, not just flurries, that stuck around until morning. There wasn't a ton of it, but it was perfect for building a snowman.

As we're playing around outside, Ben and I taking video, Travis says, "Oh... you're taking pictures. That means we can make a blog about this."

So, Travis, here it is.

Rolling snowballs

Hmmmm, I wonder what Sophie's doing over there....

Eating snow, of course.

We could not get her to keep her mittens on. They were much too cumbersome. How did we expect her to pick up good handfuls of snow for eating with those darn mittens?

Putting on the head

The finished product

We gave him a hat. Travis named him Snowy.

Noah loved throwing snowballs at the dog. And at his dad. And at me. And at the snowman. Let's just say Noah's throwing arm got a good workout.

Here's Noah, after being forced to come back inside.

And here's Travis. He was so thrilled about Snowy that you couldn't pry this smile off his face with a crowbar.

Conversations with a 22-and-a-half-month-old

Sophie: Fower Woke!

Me: What's that, sweetie?

Sophie: A fower woke!!! You hear it?

Me: Fower woke? Flowerwork? Flower? A... what?

Sophie: Fowerwoke! You hear it? You hear it, Mom? Fowerwoke!

Me: Oh! You mean firework? Do you hear fireworks?

Sophie: Yep. Fowerwoke.

Me: Where? Where are the fireworks?

Sophie: [pointing at the basement door] Fowerwoke.... hiding ... in da ... door....

Me: Fireworks are hiding in the door??

[Travis and Noah erupt into laughter]

Sophie: Yep. [pointing at the ceiling] Uptare. Fowerwoke.

Me: Fireworks, hiding in the door, upstairs?

Sophie: Yep.

Me: Oh. Okay. Whatever you say, sweetheart.

Sophie: CROCODYE-O!



P.S. Sophie's going through a crocodile obsession. Not sure where it came from. Crocodiles are randomly inserted into everyday conversations.

Actually, Its Freezing

After two days of intensive study, our mechanic has finally determined that the problem with the Galant is a defective heat actuator. Which means that while it is piping hot under the hood, the mechanism for pumping that heat from the engine to the interior has gone kaput.

My car is freezing.

Unfortunately, it will take 5 days for the part to get in, so I have to drive it for at least another few days under the risk of hypothermia. Weather forecast for the next five days? Highs in the 30s or low 40s, lows in the 20s, chance of snow on two of the next three days.

Come on, Indian summer, throw me a bone here.

Plumb Crazy

So, trick-or-treating went well.

On Friday night, I took the kids to a nearby "Trunk or Treat". Ben wasn't feeling well so he stayed home. I'll admit I was worried that it might get overwhelming.... open parking lot, three young kids, sugar overload. But the kids were awesome and we had a great time. I got lots of compliments on the Mario and Luigi costumes.

Saturday, Ben and I went to a Murder Mystery Halloween party while my mom watched the kids. I'd never been to a murder mystery party before, it wasn't exactly what I expected. But we had fun.

And of course, we did actual trick-or-treating on Sunday, which was also a success. Sophie insisted on carrying around Noah's plunger accessory, which was fine, because Noah decided he really didn't want it. But little princess Sophie looked a little silly.

One of Ben's co-workers said, "you need to buy that poor girl a wand!" Little did they know how possessive that little princess was of her plunger. She had set it down at one neighborhood porch (in order to get her hands on some candy), and without realizing it, I had ushered her off the porch sans plunger. She started to have a meltdown, I thought because she had wanted more candy. I picked her up, and she started wailing, "myyyyy plunger.... [sniffle sniffle]".

An odd mixture of girly and tomboy, she is. How else can you describe an outfit that includes both a tiara and a plumbing device?

Video of our Halloween excursions here.