Now that's mushy

Yeah....I'm not a particularly gushy mom, but I don't have a heart of STONE.

So I have to do a little bit of mommy-vomiting today, and by that I mean the sugary, overly sweet, ohmigosh-my-kids-are-so-awesome-and-can-you-believe-what-they-did-and-doesn't-it-just-make-you-want-to-cry anecdotes that I generally try to avoid because it's just NOT MY THING.

But, today? It's my thing.

Dear Mom, 

If I could 

choose 

who 

my Mom was, 

I would choose 

you.

Love,

Travis

This, on a little scrap of paper cut with fancy craft scissors into the shape of a heart. He got done with his art project early at school, and decided to write me a note.

Gulp.

By the light of a dying firefly

I ran my first ever trail race this weekend, 6.55 miles. It was a night race, which was interesting, mostly because I had not tested my head lamp ahead of time, and either it was just not powerful enough, or its batteries were running low, because by mile 4 I was barely able to see a foot in front of me.

And this was a TRAIL in every sense of the word, meaning it wasn't just some flat grassy path, it was a narrow, root-and-rock-laden trail with fallen logs and huge muddy-swampy areas. There were some wooden stairs and a couple bridges that had to be crossed, and doing that all in the dark of night with a faint orange glow that only serves to let you know that there is not a gigantic tree or rock wall on your very next step rather than to actually light your way was....well, an experience.

Truthfully? I loved it.

Once it was over.

During, I mostly just hoped I didn't fall down, and tried to stay reasonably close to packs of people with real head lamps.

Results:
87th of 230 racers
13th of 54 in my age group (F 30-39)
Time of 1:14:21.7


In my training, I ran 6 miles a couple of times, each in about 58 minutes. I ran a 7-miler once, in the bitter cold, and clocked my 6.55 time as 1:04:40, running along the Riverwalk bike path near my house. I was kind of hoping to beat that time, but once I started on the trail I realized what a joke that was, seeing as how I was leaping over logs every 500 foot, and the last mile of this race was so awfully muddy that I slowed to a trot just to keep my shoes from getting sucked off my feet.

My good bud Heather was sucker enough to run this race with me, here we are before realizing what we'd gotten ourselves into. I know, my head lamp is certainly stylish, but that's where its valuable qualities end. Unless maybe someone was trying to use it to pass off as a dying firefly or something.

After the race, we headed back to Heather's house for shower and pizza, and to meet up with some friends to check out the Super Bowl Village in downtown Indy. I felt surprisingly refreshed considering my day, and managed to stay out on the town until about 1:30 a.m.

The gals: Me, Michele, Heather, Ashley

We finished off the festivities with a steak burrito from La Bamba's, which everyone knows is the mark of a truly fantastic night.

I'm allergic to marriage.

Oh, hello, blog world. It's me. I suppose I've been neglecting you. Let me make it up to you by telling you a story.

Two nights ago, I woke up multiple times, uncomfortable and panicked about my wedding ring.

Well, actually, my ring finger.

It was sore, and painful. It was the middle of the night though, so I wasn't coherent enough to do anything about it other than twist my ring around and aggravate it a bit before falling back asleep.

In the morning, I woke up and realized my ring finger was red and swollen. I tried to slip my ring off.

Uh-uh. Not gonna happen.

My poor finger was so irritated and swollen, there was just no way I was gonna get this ring off. My ring is normally just exactly the right size, a teensy bit of give so that it's not uncomfortable but not enough to spin around freely. In cold weather, it tends to spin a bit as my blood vessels constrict.

But swollen finger + just-right-sized wedding ring do not mix. The thing wouldn't come off.

I kind of hoped my drive into work would do the trick to get my hands cold enough that the swelling would go down and I could slip the sucker off. Unfortunately, it was an unseasonably warm morning, and although I purposefully tossed my gloves aside and didn't turn the heat on in the car, my finger stayed angry and swollen.

I got to work, and started to get a little panicky, envisioning me having to call the fire department to cut my ring off my finger (do you call the fire dept for that sort of thing? In my head it made sense but now that seems utterly ridiculous). I Googled some ideas (everyone knows Google is the foremost authority on everything in the universe, I always say if you can't find it on Google, it's NOT WORTH KNOWING) and grabbed the jar of lotion I keep at my desk and applied it liberally to my left hand.

Actually, Google told me to try the lotion after soaking my hand in a bucket of ice water for 15 minutes, but I'm a working woman and that seemed way more trouble than I was ready to deal with.

The lotion worked. The ring slipped off.

I breathed a huge sigh of relief, then stared in shock at the seeping wound on my ring finger.

Not only was there a band of angry redness where my ring used to be, but there was actually an open sore. It was so inflamed and red that at first glance it still looks like there is a flipping ring on my finger. (A weird, ugly, red ring with a setting of seeping nastiness, sure, but you get my drift.)

I can't figure out why this would have happened. I've worn that ring for 10-and-a-half years and it's never caused me any problems. I haven't changed soaps or cleansers or detergents or anything that might have gotten stuck under my ring and festered. I lift weights 3 times a week, but always wear my lifting gloves, precisely so that I don't have to take my ring off.

I never take my ring off.

Except for in the ninth month of pregnancy, when my hands are swollen and icky. And then I spend the whole last month and a half thinking I look like some kind of unwed tramp and assuming everyone I come in contact with that doesn't know me is all judging me in my unmarried, super-pregnant state.

Sometimes I get a little paranoid.

Anyway, I'm gonna give my finger a few days to recuperate, and then try it again. Hopefully I can make it another ten and a half years before this happens again.

"Nothing, Mom!"

Sophie is very project-oriented.

Unfortunately, the projects she decides to take on generally are in direct opposition with our goals for the household.

Like, how coloring on the walls in the hallway with our new bathtub crayons is, you know, at odds with my goal to keep our walls, well, un-crayoned.

Or how her plan to sneak all the keys off the key holder and hide them in the couch cushions kind of derails our ability to...um...know where our keys are at. Thus making it tough for us to lock things. And unlock them.

Or how her tendency to take all of the half-dollar sized discs from our Connect Four Launcher game and stick them between her toes and walk throughout the house on her heels makes it difficult for us to a) keep track of all those game pieces and b) not fear that our daughter is a total nutjob.

I mean, where does she come up with this???

She's the kind of kid you have to keep a pretty close eye on. Five minute stretches when you haven't heard from her means you're likely to find her in the bathroom squirting cucumber-melon hand soap all over the counter so she could 'clean it'.

She's good about cleaning up her projects, thankfully -- but she hasn't yet mastered the art of distinguishing which activities are appropriate for a three-year-old to engage in, and which are perilously close to getting us a visit from the fire marshal.

The thing is, she's well aware when she's doing something she probably shouldn't.

Like the other day, when I walked out of my bedroom and past the upstairs bathroom, and out of the corner of my eye noticed Sophie leaning over the bathtub, doing something. I didn't know quite what, probably trying to shove quarters down the drain or something, but hadn't even had a chance yet to get a word out of my mouth -- when she heard me behind her, startled, spun around, looked up at me, and declared, "Nothing, Mom!"

This is her standard response lately. When I walk into the kitchen and she's pushing a kitchen chair up to the key hanger on the wall (so that's how she got Ben's server-room key), and I say "Sophie, what do you need that chair for?"

"Nothing, Mom!"

When she's eating her snack at the table and I see her dipping something in her milk (is that her cheese stick? or my iPod?) and I say, "Sophie! Don't put things in your milk! What IS that?"

"Nothing, Mom!"

So, we're gonna have to nip this in the bud somehow. Without stifling her insane creativity and adventerous spirit.

Something tells me she'll be alright.

Party of Five: The Book

Attention faithful followers.... The Party of Five: 2011 book is ready!!

I'm going to be making an order here soon, let me know if you want one and I will add it to my order.

(Last year's book is still available as well, in case you missed it and want one! Click here to see 2011 and here to see 2009/2010.)

Hide and.... well, just hide.

Tonight the kids and I played the best game of hide-and-seek.

My first hiding spot was in the curtain behind the Christmas tree (yep, still haven't taken it down yet, don't judge) in the dining room.

The kids could not find me, so after several minutes of searching, I waited until they were in the kitchen and boomed, "I'M IN THE DINING ROOM!"

They all three raced in the dining room, looked around, and screamed, "No you're not, mom! You're not in here!" and then raced out and kept searching.

They did eventually find me. Then it was Noah's turn to count, and then mine, and finally Sophie's.

Sophie, though, was having too much fun playing the game. She didn't want it to end. So when she found Travis crouched behind the toy box (he said, "I'm not using my best hiding skills because she's still too young,"), she said, "I can't find you!"

Travis, still crouching in his spot, said, "Sophie! Can you see me?"

She stared directly at him, thought for a moment, and said, "Nope. I can't see you anywhere."

Five minutes later, she's still searching.

This could be a long night.