I did NOT survive the weekend

This weekend, the family and I packed up and headed to Indianapolis for some general fun and merriment. The agenda:

Friday night: Drove to my sister's house to spend the night. We got there pretty late, carted the kids up to bed, then forced Courtney to watch at least the first twenty minutes of Zombieland, in preparation for our race the next day. An epic movie, to be sure.

Saturday morning: Court and I woke up early and left the house at 7:15 and drove to Knightstown, which was the locale for the Zombie run put on by Run For Your Lives. This was a 5k obstacle course race; but not just any obstacle course race, mind you. This one included zombies. That chased you. And tried to kill you. Okay, they didn't really try to kill you, they merely tried to steal one of your three flags that you had strapped on your belt. If you finished the race with at least one flag intact, you survived. 

I did NOT survive. 

Neither did Courtney.

Both of us got taken out fairly early, I'd say within the first mile. Those zombies were hard-core.

I took some video with Ben's Father's Day present, our new GoPro Hero 2 video camera.

Here's a link to the YouTube video; I got some decent footage, could have been better, but you'll have to excuse some of the videography as I was running from zombies at the time. 

The race was nothing short of awesome; Courtney and I had a terrific time, and next year you can be sure I will drag as many people as I can to come with me so that hopefully the zombies will steal their flags instead of mine.

Afterwards, we drove back to Court's house, where Ben and the kids were waiting, and we played in the pool for a while.

Next off we went to visit some friends in Fishers to catch up. They grilled us up a nice dinner, and then the kids and I stayed and hung out while Ben loaded his bike up and headed downtown for the Indy Nite ride, a 20ish mile midnight bike ride through Indianapolis. 

Sunday morning, I let Ben sleep in a bit while the rest of us were treated to a lovely homemade breakfast (thanks McGraws! You sure did feed us well!). Then we packed everything up and headed out to the Children's Museum before making the drive home. The museum was fun, the kids enjoyed themselves, but it's one of those things where they start to get tired and cranky and complainy which just gets Ben and I grumpy because why did we spend all this money for you guys to do something cool if you're just gonna cry because it's not your turn to sit in the Lego car, next time we're just gonna leave you in the car while the rest of us do fun stuff or we might just purposely lose you in the mirror maze and no one would really blame us.

What I mean is, it was lots of fun. 

Actually, the whole weekend was pretty amazing. Even though I did get killed by zombies.

A Somber Post

Some backstory:

A few weeks ago, Travis had watched a movie at his grandparents house that kind of freaked him out. It was about the Grand Canyon, and while it was mostly interesting and cool, there was a part in it where some hikers found human skeletons, and the thought of that unnerved him.

We had a talk about it, and it was okay. It was a good opportunity to talk about a difficult topic like death. Travis is a sensitive kid, and I try to respect that but also don't want to shelter him.

Some more backstory:

About a week ago, Noah was upset about something, I don't remember what, and had gotten into trouble and was in time-out, sitting on the stairs. As per usual, at the end of time-out, I sat down with him on the stairs to talk about why he'd gotten in trouble. He looked at me with pitiful sadness, and said, "I should be dead."

His sadness was something about not getting to do what he wanted, some game that didn't go how he wanted, something silly like that. Certainly nothing all that dramatic. And while I wanted to talk with him about his startling comment, I didn't want to make an overly big deal out of it. Mostly I didn't want him to start using that statement anytime he wanted to get a rise out of me. So I decided to handle it calmly and frankly but not too intensely.

I told him I wanted to cuddle with him in his room for a few minutes. We laid in bed and talked, and I told him I wanted to talk about his comment about wanting to be dead. 

Noah loves his video games, he's crazy about Super Mario, so I reminded him that in real life, when a person (or animal) dies, that's all there is. There are no one-ups, there are no extra lives. 

I know that mom.

That's why, even though it's okay to be sad, I really don't want you to say things about being dead.  I don't like it when we talk lightly about death.

Okay.

Because death is forever. And because I want to be able to cuddle with you for a long, long time.

That's when he burst into tears. Wailing, uncontrollable, sobbing tears. I thought super, I've just crossed a line here, I just turned this not-supposed-to-be-intense conversation with my four-year-old into a totally grim realization for him that death equals no more cuddling.

He sobbed and whimpered for a bit longer, and I consoled him and I think said some useless comforting words, and we cuddled until he started to feel better.

Fast forward a few days later.

Tonight, at bed time, Travis and Noah were fighting a bit. Noah wanted to play with Travis in Travis's bed on the top bunk, and Travis didn't want him up there. 

Why does TRAVIS get to be on the top bunk all the time?

Well, Noah, do you know how old you were when you moved into this bed? 

Um....no.

You were two years old. And you were just too little to sleep on the top bunk way back then. So we had to put Travis up there.

Travis piped up, Or else you might have fallen out, like that happened to me that one time!!

I couldn't believe he remembered that. Yes, Travis had indeed fallen out of the top bunk once, shortly after he started sleeping up there, despite the fact that the bed has a built-in metal railing covering about 80% of the length of the bed, somehow, when he was four years old, he had managed to slide out of the little strip of unprotected area while he was fast asleep.

Noah said, Did you die?

We were all silent for a moment. I said, No, Noah, remember, if someone dies, that is it, they don't come back to life, so you know Travis didn't die because he's alive right now.

 Oh, yeah, I remember.

-------------------------------------------

Fifteen minutes later, I was switching laundry over when Travis came downstairs. He's not the type to get out of bed past his bedtime, so I was a bit surprised. 

He said, 

Mom, when Noah asked me about whether or not I died, it made me think about that movie with the dead people, and now I'm scared.

Needless to say, I had another lets-cuddle-and-talk-about-death chat with another one of my kids, twice in one week. 

Travis was okay, he was mostly just spooked out because he couldn't stop thinking about the skeletons from the movie, so I told him the best thing to do is to think about happy things instead. I said, "Let's think about the fun things we're gonna do this weekend."

Then I remembered that one of the first things on our agenda this weekend is the Zombie Run I am doing in Indianapolis, and thought gee, this may not be the best topic to discuss to my freaked-out seven-year-old who is a little too focused on death at the moment.

But, I've talked to him about the Zombie Run before, and he knows it's not real, and just for fun, and so I said, Well the first thing we're gonna do is drive to Indy for something that MIGHT be spooky if it was real but it's not really real -- 

And he broke into a huge grin and giggled and said, "Your Zombie Run!", and I was pleasantly relieved to see that thinking of zombies was a step in the right direction from thinking about skeletons and dying when falling from bunkbeds.

Then I talked about how we'll get to visit Aunt Courtney (and her pool) and some other friends (and their slip-n-slide), and the conversation took a delightfully happy turn.

At any rate, I seem to have gotten both of them out of their respective death-funks for the moment, but I'll admit it throws me for a loop when I'm in the midst of it. And since I seem to have lost my parenting handbook, I never really have any idea if the way I'm reacting to them is doing more good or harm. 

I'll guess I'll find that out from their future therapists eventually.

Gives a bit of a new meaning to "train tracks"

Mom, did I go on the potty train?


I'm sorry, what?

Did I go on the potty train?


Sophie, darling, what is the potty train?

I don't know, people say it and I don't think it means anything.


---------------------


I can only assume this comes from talk of her being potty trained. I figure she's envisioning some really cool train reserved exclusively for kids who can use the potty, and she's been trying to figure out why everyone thinks she has been on this elusive potty train, because she doesn't really recall any train other than the one we rode to see Santa last December and she really didn't do any pottying on that thing.

----------------------

Well, Sophie, now that you know how to use the potty all the time, I would say YES, you've been on the potty train.

Yay! I did the potty train! I'm really cool!


Yes, dear. That you are.

And that's how I ended up listening to Christmas music in my van in June

Noah's toe hurts.

His skin is a bit cracked, and thus I've been wrapping his toe in a bandaid for the last few days.

About a week ago, I pickup a new pack of band-aids at Meijer. They had Muppets on them. I'm a sucker for Muppets.

Noah liked the Muppet band-aids, but really only the ones with Animal or Gonzo on them.

The kid's got good taste. Those are my favorites too.

Anyway, a few days ago, I was getting the kids ready, decided Noah still needed a bandage on his poor toe, and pulled out the Muppet box. 

We were all out of Animal and Gonzo bandages. We had a whole ton of Miss Piggy band-aids, quite a few of the two grumpy old guys in the theater, and several Kermits. Noah was disappointed. He really really REALLY wanted an Animal band-aid. 

I kept searching. I found one Swedish Chef, and then I stumbled across a Beaker one.

I happen to love Beaker. 

I tried to sell Noah on the Beaker band-aid. 

I relayed one of my favorite Beaker moments, his line in the John Denver and the Muppets' version of The Twelve Days of Christmas.

You see, kids, Beaker has this scientist friend (I couldn't remember his name) (but it's Dr. Bunson thanks to my friends at Google), but the only thing that Beaker ever says is "Meep". And see, all the Muppets, they each sing a verse in the Twelve Days of Christmas song, only when Beaker sings his part, he just sings, "meep meep meep meep meep meep" and it's really funny.

I demonstrated for them.

See, the scientist friend sings, "On the ninth day of Christmas,"

And then Beaker goes, "meep meep meep meep meep meep"

Get it?

To my utter delight, the boys loved it. Even with my pitiful rendition of the song as their only reference.  They started singing the song to each other. They would switch back and forth, one of them being "the scientist" and the other one being Beaker.

They Meeped all the way to school. For two days in a row.

This morning, we got to school a bit early, and after having listened to the boys meeping in the backseat for the last twenty minutes, I decided it was high time they heard the actual version of the song.

I whipped out my iPhone and found the song on iTunes. 

We listened. 

We giggled hysterically at the meeping.

And also when Miss Piggy belted out her "Ba Dum Bum BUM" during the five golden rings part. 

That song always makes me happy.

Even when it's June.

And finally, here's some pictures of the last day of first grade / pre-school:

Happy to be almost done!

Promoted to second grade!

Done with pre-school!! Bring on Pre-K!

Didn't go to school this year, and won't next year either, but still excited!

At the pre-school / Pre-K musical program.... Noah with buddies Chase and Colin

The 1st grader big brother / Cub Scout gang!!

Almost Stranded

Last weekend, we had a perfectly lovely weekend at the lakes in Angola.

To prove it, here's some pictures.

Sophie found a shell

Travis floating

Noah cheesing

SMORES!!

The little beach at our campground

Pedal boating

As we left on Sunday, I noted that we were nearly out of gas. We opted NOT to stop at the teeny gas station in Orland, hoping to hit better gas prices in Howe at the halfway point. We had enough gas to make it to Howe with no problems.

27 miles later, I pulled into the gas station in Howe, and told Ben he'd need to get out and pump the gas, since he had my debit card. He'd left his at home, so I had loaned him mine earlier that weekend, as I just really didn't need it.

He got out, opened his wallet, and flipped through it.

He stared at it blankly.

He got back in the van.

Where's your debit card?

 I don't know. I gave it to you. It's not in your wallet?

No. It is definitely not in my wallet. When was the last time I used it? 

Gee, Ben, I don't know, seeing as how I gave it to YOU. It's not my job to keep track of when you use my card.

(Sometimes I get a little impatient.)

I'm pretty sure I used it to get McDonald's for the kids before I left on Friday.

Okay.

When I was in the truck.

Okay.

Meaning, I think I left your debit card in the truck. Which is back at home. Which means we don't have it. And I don't have my card. And I don't have any cash. Which means we have no gas and no way to pay for gas.

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhkay.

Ben and I aren't credit card people. So with no debit card, and no cash, and no banks open on the weekend, we started contemplating what we had on our persons or in the van that we could sell for some gas money.

Canada was eyeing us from his spot in the middle seat.

It was tempting.

Then I recalled that I had my checkbook on me. I almost never write checks, but carry it in my purse pretty much solely to write my monthly check to my mom for child care services.

I told Ben this.

Ben, I have a checkbook in my purse.

I'm pretty sure gas stations don't take checks.

Well, you should go in and see.

I should? I think you should. It's your checkbook.

 Your name is on them  too. You should definitely do it.

But I don't ever write checks.

That doesn't matter. You have to do it because it's your fault you didn't put my debit card back in your wallet.

I have no compunctions about using guilt trips to get myself out of uncomfortable situations.

It worked. Ben skulked into the gas station with check in hand.

Rejected. They most certainly didn't take checks.

Neither did the gas station across the street. Nor did the dinky one just down the street from that, but to be fair, they also were shut down with the windows boarded up, so it's possible that at one point when they were still a functioning establishment, they did in fact take checks, but that didn't help us any.

We sat in the van to think for a few minutes.

We finally decided to take our chances and head north into Sturgis, Michigan, about fifteen minutes north, to see if we could find any check-taking establishments there.

Two minutes later, we passed a Dollar store. I whipped the van around (okay, that's not true, I made a very conservative left turn onto a gravel road and then turned around in someone's driveway, and made my way back out to the main street. It drove Ben crazy. He's a sucker for a good U-turn) and sent Ben into the dollar store to see if he could buy a pack of gum or something, and write a check for some amount over, and get some cash in return.

No-go.

But, they steered us to the Wal-Mart in Sturgis, another five minutes north of us and just across the Michigan state line, where they assured us we should be able to write a check and get some cash back.

At Wal-Mart, Ben once again made his way inside to try his luck. He bought a sandwich, some Pringles, Twizzlers (we were hungry) and orange soda, and was able to write a check for twenty bucks over. A maximum of twenty dollars over; Wal-Mart's apparently pretty cautious about check-fraud.

With our twenty dollar bill clenched in our little hands, we made our way to the gas station in the Wal-Mart parking lot.

Gas was a full forty cents cheaper than what it had been in Indiana.

Ben's a bargain shopper when it comes to gas. He can tell you the gas prices of the five gas stations in our immediate vicinity at any given time. He lamented,

This is like a cruel joke. We stumble across the cheapest gas station we've seen in a month and we're not able to spend any more than twenty dollars at it.

He seriously contemplated sending me back into Wal-Mart to write another check and get another twenty bucks, but at this point, we were kinda tired of the whole game. We put twenty bucks' worth of gas in the van, and finally got back on the road.

On the way home, gas tank half-way filled, I told Ben this story would at least make for a good blog post.

He responded, "Hey, if what you want out of a relationship is good blog-post material, you married the right guy."

Amen to that.

Life is Short....

Well, I got to cross something off my "list" this weekend.

That's me, crossing the finish line of my first-ever triathlon, a Sprint Triathlon at Ancilla College in Plymouth, Indiana.

All told, it was a 500-yard swim, 11-mile bike, and 3.1-mile run. I told people I'd be ecstatic with a 90 minute finish time. I managed to squeak in under that by 3ish minutes, with a final time of 1:26:35.6.

I started in the second wave, behind only the young kids, so all the "good" people started behind me. This became painfully obvious during the bike leg, when I got passed and passed and passed and passed again. The race had been limited to the first 150 participants, and I just kept thinking to myself, "Have 149 people passed me yet??"


I reassured myself, however, by noting that practically every single bike that passed me was one of those hard-core racing bikes, designed for triathlons, with super-thin tires and those really low handle-bars, and crazy disc-spokes-thingies, and clearly I don't belong in a triathlon field because I have no idea what these things even are.

I mean, seriously, I was walking through the transition area before the race and noticing all the people with a different pair of shoes for the bike versus the run and I wasn't even aware people cared about what kind of shoes they wore on a bike.

At any rate, the swim was bad, as I thought it would be. I have zero swim technique and finished dead last in my wave. I also was a little panicky at the beginning and didn't really pay any attention to my breathing, which is bad when you're in the water, trust me. I kind of choked and sputtered a bit, and then realized I was feeling out of breath and I hadn't swum 50 yards yet. That got me a bit more panicked so I kind of slowed down a bit and tried to gather my bearings and meanwhile the wave behind me was already passing me and I was thinking the shore didn't look any closer than it did at the beginning.  (Swim time: 9:41)

But, I made it to the shore finally, fumbled my socks and shoes on, slapped on my helmet, and choked down a Clif bar before hopping on the bike. The bike ride was long, a little hilly, but not totally horrible. I'm not fast on a bike, so I just went fairly steady while I kept marveling in my head that yes, I was actually in the middle of an honest-to-goodness triathlon. (Bike time: 46:30)

Then came the run. I was a little shaky at first, but after about a half mile, started to feel back to normal. I'm obviously much more comfortable with running than I am with either swimming or biking, so I was happy to be on my feet and doing something that I knew I could do. It was starting to get a bit hot by this time, but they did pretty good with the water stations. I ran slower than my typical race pace but not a bad showing, all things considered. (Run time: 27:06)

Now, as triathlon times go, mine is really nothing to write home about. I finished 107th in the field of about 130, and got beat handily by at least one 70-year-old. But, it's also something I've never done before, I was clearly out of my element, but doggonit, I did it anyway.

I told Ben I was a bit surprised by how hard-core these people were, I was kind of hoping for a more casual triathlon atmosphere.

He said, "I don't think there's much of a market for the casual triathlete."

Well, that's what I am, as is my pal Erin, who raced with me. And I think we did the casual triathlete group proud.

(Us, with our cheerleader Melissa)

No, You Don't Have to Be a Boy

Poor Sophie.

She's the little one in the family, with her two older brothers, and her two older cousins that are both boys, and they all get to do really cool stuff that she doesn't get to do yet.

Like go tubing.

And play t-ball.

And ride regular bikes.

And go to school.

And pee standing up.


Oh, that's right, she'll never get to do that one.

Anyway, her little brain is smart enough to understand that she's somehow different from this group of older boys, and that leaves her unable to partake in some really cool activities.

But, she's decided that said difference must be her girlhood.

This has left her with a very strong desire to become a boy. She tells me this regularly.

Mom, when do I get to be a boy?

 I wanna be a boy!

Will you make me a boy? 

The other day we were discussing the fact that she's going to start school in 2013. (We're not ready to unleash the madness that is Sophie on those poor unsuspecting pre-schoolers just yet.)

She turned to me, all excited, and said, "(gasp!) Does that mean I get to be a boy!?"


A couple days ago, Noah was asking me if I remembered last summer when the boys went tubing with their cousins at the lake.

Sophie said, with a pouty face, "I didn't get to go tubing."


pause


more pouty face


"Because I'm not a boy."


I keep explaining to her that her being left out of certain things is because of her age and not her gender, but it hasn't quite sunk in yet. At a party with friends last weekend, she announced her desire to become a boy. One of my girl friends sat her down and extolled the many virtues of being a girl, that she can be a princess, and a mommy, and, well, anything she wants to be.

She thought about that for a moment, then said:

"I think I want to be a TV."


Oh dear. I don't think she's quite getting it.

Happy (Early) Mother's Day to Me

Tonight at Cub Scouts, the scouts made Mother's Day presents for their moms. The premise was supposed to be that they took them home and surprised their moms with it on Sunday, but -- well, that just wasn't gonna happen in this house. I'm the mom that has to bring all three kids to the den meetings (normally, it's because it is Ben's bowling night, but even now that bowling is over, he's on a business trip in California right now). Today, it was all I could do to keep Sophie from (literally) climbing the poles in the cafeteria. I plopped myself in the back corner of the room, and I pulled out my "mom bag" filled with iPod Touches and crayons and puzzle magazines and word searches and IceBreakers mints and mini bottles of wine.

Okay, just kidding.

I didn't have any mints with me today.

Anyway, after the chaos of trying to keep Noah and Sophie occupied so they weren't screaming random competitive challenges at each other "Beat ya to touch this corner of the table first! Beat ya!" during the Pledge of Allegiance, I didn't have the energy to pretend I didn't know what my Mother's Day gift was.

But it's a sweet gift all the same.

Before starting the project, the den leaders asked the scouts what some of the nice things were that their moms did for them.

They take care of us when we're sick!
They buy us stuff!

They make us dinner!
They do our homework for us!


That last one got a few raised eyebrows. It wasn't Travis that shouted that one out, I can assure you.

Anyway, here's the bag that Travis made for me.

He picked a frog because he knows my favorite color is green.

Looks like I got me a new "mom bag".

Thanks, kiddo.

Yummy Caterpillars?

Today, Travis and Noah had a playdate with some classmates; a little boy that is in Travis's first grade class, and his little sister who is in Noah's pre-school class.

They invited us to play in their backyard, on the giant trampoline, which the kids absolutely loved.

We wanted to make a snack to bring over -- so I started looking up snack ideas that fit into Travis's limited appetite.

We decided on banana caterpillars.

They were quite a hit.

Travis said, "You won't believe how excited I am to eat a caterpillar!"

Meanwhile, while we were putting the finishing touches on our caterpillars, Sophie created her own snack.

Pretzel sticks, dipped in peanut butter, with raisins stuck to them.

We call them "raisin trees".

Yum.

Be the match. I dare you.

A few weeks ago, I signed up online at www.bethematch.com, an online bone marrow registry.

I'd heard about it, was intrigued, researched it, and decided I wanted to join. So I can be a bone marrow donor for someone in need.

Even with millions of people on this registry, some people cannot find a bone marrow match.

Imagine if I could be that match for someone.

So, I talked to Ben about it. I was a little unsure what his reaction would be -- which, looking back on it now, is a little crappy of me. Ben's not selfish by any means, he's an organ donor, and I should have assumed that he'd be on board with this idea. But he's also the kind of guy that has expressed to me his complete-opposite-of-DO-NOT-RESCUCITATE-orders, namely resuscitate at any cost and using any means within your disposal.

Diane, if I'm on my death bed and only staying alive by the use of machines and/or feeding tubes, with little to no sustainable brain activity, you make darn sure to keep me hooked up for as long as possible.

So I thought he might be all, "nobody touches my bone marrow!"

But he wasn't. I told him about my decision to join the Be the Match registry, and he got all pumped up and said he wanted to join too.

So I ordered our swab kits.

They came in the mail this week.

Basically, there are four cotton swabs, you swab the inside of your mouth four times for ten seconds each, attach a little sticky flag to each swab, and mail it back.

Forty seconds later, swabs are popped in an envelope and ready to be mailed (postage-paid!) back to Be the Match.

Check out the website at bethematch.com. Consider signing up. Maybe save a life.

There are worse ways to spend forty seconds. I'm just sayin.

Just a couple Sophie-isms

For a while, Sophie would always try to delay bedtime by asking if she could cuddle for a 'lil' tiny bit'.

Mom, I just wanna cuddle with you for a liiiiiiil tiny bit, okay?

Usually, I shuffle her off to bed, but occasionally, I've let her cuddle for literally a couple seconds.

Okay, there you go, that was a little tiny cuddle, now off to bed for you.

She's a sharp one, though. Now, she comes to me and says,

Mom, I just wanna cuddle with you for a big tiny bit, okay?

Sneeeeeaky.



The other day, Travis and I were cuddling together, and she came up and asked to cuddle for a 'big tiny bit'. I assented.

She took one look at us, Trav and I cuddled on the couch together with no space for her, and screamed,

Mom!!!! There's no skootch! PLEASE give me a skootch!

Rest assured, once Travis and I recovered from laughter, we gave her plenty of skootch.

If I NEVER see another paint roller again, it will be too soon.

Four one-gallon cans of paint? Check.

470 square foot of new carpet? Check.

3 new curtain rods? Check.

New window treatments for two long windows, one bay window, one sliding glass door, and one kitchen window? Check.

New lighting fixtures for kitchen, stairway, dining room, laundry room, and main entry? Check.

New refrigerator ordered and on its way? Check.

Four rooms on main floor remodeled?

Flipping CHECK.

This weekend has been a frenzy of moving furniture, dripping paint, lost screws, sticky painters tape and minor fears of electrocution.

(Don't worry. We cut the power to the entire house rather than risk it.)

The kids have been systematically banned from one room after another, and spent a fair amount of time watching movies or playing in the secret agent room in the basement.

Poor Canada has barely been allowed to roam the house for fear of getting dog hair trappings in the wet paint.

BUT. It's mostly over now, save for some minor finishing touches.

And me trying to get all the paint speckles out of my hair.

At least this time, I didn't need a head lamp.

This past weekend, I completed my "big" run of the year, a 10-mile trail run at Winona Lake Trails. It solidified one thing for me.

I LOVE trail running.

This was my second-ever trail run and I gotta say, I'm kinda hooked on it. I've spent the last few days Googling trail races and trail running websites and trying to figure out what Ben's reaction would be if I told him I planned to travel the country and hit random trail races every other weekend or so.

This course was a challenging one, and by challenging I mean barely-one-foot-wide-single-track-winding-through-the-woods-with-steep-ascents-and-descents-and-I-mean-STEEP-as-in-I-am-having-to-grab-onto-this-here-tree-trunk-as-I'm-climbing-this-hill-to-keep-myself-from-sliding-back-down-it.


It was FABULOUS.

My time was decent, I'm not a super-star by any means, but my goal was to finish in under 1:50; I made it in 1:43:43.

I think I can honestly say I would not have enjoyed a straight 10-mile run nearly as much. There's just something about trail running that energizes me so much more.

The problem is, trail runners tend to be....how can I say it....NUTS.

The two trail runs I have done have both had multiple races, so you can choose between a) long, b) really long, or c) you are clearly certifiably insane.

Like my first race, a quarter marathon (6.55 miles); the other two choices were a half-marathon or full marathon.

This race, I ran the 10-mile loop. You could also sign up for a 30-mile or 50-mile race.

Yes, you read that right. FIFTY miles. Through the woods. It took one person 14 hours to complete this. I can't even SLEEP for fourteen hours straight very well.

I'm really not interested in marathoning, certainly not ultra-marathoning, and I'm pretty hesitant to even try another half-marathon. I did pretty okay on this 10 miles, so another 10- or 13-mile race might be doable, but that's really not my passion. I adored the quarter-marathon race, that distance is PERFECT for me, but it's a lot harder to find trail races that are that short of a distance.

At any rate, up next for me is the sprint triathlon next month. 500-yard swim, 11-mile bike, 3.1-mile run. This is my first ever triathlon, it's one of those things on my list that I've always wanted to do, so I'm pretty pumped about crossing this one off.

(As an aside, I found a nearby triathlon including trail run that is scheduled for August. If my first tri goes well, you can count on me signing up for that one.)

Me, crossing the finish. (I'm the one in the blue.) 

 Me and Tammy, post-race. Tammy clearly taking advantage of the post-race goodies.

Tammy and her husband, Dave.

We've created a monster.

I've mentioned in the past that we use marble jars as a form of reinforcement for the kids. Good behavior = marbles earned, poor behavior = marbles lost.  Earn a certain number of marbles, they earn the right to buy a toy. The first time, they had to earn 25 marbles, then 30, then 35, and so on.

The boys have lately become obsessed with the Skylanders video game on the Xbox. They like the game well enough, but they also actually like just playing with the characters as little action figures (since the game consist of actual figurines that you place on the "portal" so they can come to life in the video game). They also like reading about the Skylanders and their various powers and histories in their Skylander book.

At any rate, because of this newfound obsession, the boys have been saving their earned marbles up in order to purchase new Skylander characters.

Okay, put the Skylander/marble topic aside for just a moment, and let's talk about Travis's timed math work at school. He's a whiz at math, but has a hard time focusing well enough to buckle down and get the timed work done in time. His teacher has been sending it home for him to finish.

I've been timing him, and pushing him to get 3 rows done in 1 minute. He's come close one time, but keeps getting distracted and hasn't yet met this goal.

Tonight, I told him that if he accomplished this goal of 3 rows in 1 minute, I would award him with a marble.

Mom, what if I got 3 rows done in 30 seconds?


Well, that would be amazing and I would give you 5 marbles.


What if I got.....um....what's one-half of 30? Oh wait, I know. What if I got 3 rows done in 15 seconds?


Well, then you are a super-amazing genius and I would give you...uh...50 marbles!


That would mean I have 82 marbles!!


Yep, that's right. [Needless to say, he currently has 32 marbles.]

So.....[thinking]....what is 12 minus 5? Um....7, right? So that would mean that if I got both Stump Smash and Drobot, I would have 7 marbles left.


At this point, I was lost. I wasn't sure what he was trying to calculate, I didn't know why he asked what 12 minus 5 was, and I had no idea what he meant. I know that Stump Smash and Drobot are both Skylander characters that he wants, but beyond that his statement was meaningless to me.

I asked him to clarify.

He explained.

If he were to somehow earn those 82 marbles, used 35 for Stump Smash, used 40 for Drobot, he would have 7 marbles left.

I actually had to pause, re-do the math in my head, and confirm he was right.

It took me longer to confirm it in my head than it had taken him to make this deduction.

I'm still not entirely sure why he needed to know what 12 minus 5 was, the only thing I can think of is that he first calculated if each toy were worth 35 marbles, thus 35+35=70, and then the difference between 82 and 70 is 12, and then he knew the 2nd toy would be worth 5 marbles more, so 12-5=7.

Ironic for a kid who is struggling with math at school, eh?

Race-of-the-Month Club

I've been trying to sign up for about one race per month.

If things go as planned, I'll hit all but two months between May of 2011 and October of 2012. And I've got two scheduled for July. So....17 races in 18 months.

Not bad.

This month's race was a 5-miler in Fort Wayne. This race also had an option for a 20K (about 12.4 miles), but I've kind of decided to focus less on the distance runs and more on the adventure-slash-trail races.

I ran with two co-workers, one being a total hard-core ninja who went for the 20K (you're a rock-star Sandy!!), and the other being my regular running partner, Erin.  Erin's not been available for most of the other races I've signed up for, so this was actually her first official race since the days of high school cross country in North Branch, Michigan.

Erin and I are very similar in our running capabilities, and we literally crossed the finish line together. Ben asked if I grabbed her hand and held it overhead while running through the finish-line arch, but unfortunately I hadn't thought of that idea beforehand otherwise I totally would have done it.

I didn't hit my goal of 45:00, but I'm reasonably pleased with my finish time of 46:03.

As a brief aside, Justin and Erin graciously agreed to drive me to the race to allow Ben to take the kids to Angola. Mandy, the aggravatingly annoying voice on Erin's Tom-Tom GPS, has proven herself to be less-than-trustworthy once again, as she led us to a totally off-the-beaten-path, random location that turned out to be fifteen miles beyond where we were actually supposed to be:

Mandy: You have arrived at your destination.
Justin: .....uh.....I have? This looks like someone's house. 

But, we made it to the race on time, it was a perfect day for a run, and Justin got to witness what he described as a totally-awesome vomit story, of which I shall spare you the details. Rest assured that neither Erin nor myself were actually a part of it, so I consider that a WIN.

Next month: 10-mile trail run in Winona Lake.