#1 Run a Marathon

Two years ago, about this time of the year, I was meandering through life wondering what to do. I had to scale back quite a bit with school because I had Josh and my days were not quite as full as they once were. Also, I was feeling a little sluggish and out of shape.



I attended a 5k with my sister-in-law on May 20, 2004, The Blood Run for the Hemophilia Society of Utah. I can remember the exact day because it was the day that started everything in motion. I was slow and weak, but I finished. It was just over a week later that I had this great idea to run a marathon. Why not? It was the perfect time in my life. It gave me something to look forward to, it'd get me in shape and I would finally get to cross it off my "list".



I made up this great plan off the top of my head. We would do the Top of Utah Marathon in Logan the following September. My sister-in-law reluctantly (she'll deny it, but I clearly remember the look on her face at the mere mention of a marathon) stayed with me that summer through an insane self-penned training regimen that had us running six days a week and completing two 5ks a month. This lasted until my sister-in-law announced her pregnancy in August. By that time, I had already told everyone under the sun what my plans were and so it was too late for me to back out as well.



While talking with a neighbor who has completed 50-plus marathons himself, I decided in late August that if I was only going to run one marathon in my life, I would want it to be the St. George. It's the most famous one in the state and apparently pretty gorgeous and slightly easier(?) then the other offerings locally.



Over the next 9 months, I finished up my bachelor's degree and tried to keep up my running. It was hard because as it turns out I'm a true fair weather runner. I don't particularly like to run in the cold, the wet, or the wind. Once school was out, I started training hard core. Every Saturday, I'd start off early and run my long runs and then sleep for a few hours, soak in the bathtub and treat myself to lots of sweets and diet coke.



I can distinctly remember running 9 miles and thinking there was no way I was going to be able to go out the next Saturday and run 10. Once I finished with 10 miles, I showered, got back in the car, went to the ice cream shoppe and treated myself to a huge caramel sundae. And a new shirt from the only clothing store in town. Only 16 more miles to go.



The summer wore on and in July, Wade won a spot in the marathon from a local 5k we did. He started training as well and on weekends we were the worst parents, setting our kid in front of the television while we napped.



When October rolled around, I was ready for the whole thing to be over with. I was done with training and spending weekends on the couch. My feet had blistered over and I was tired.



The marathon was the most grueling thing I have ever done. I was kaput by mile 11, but managed to drag myself the final 15 miles to the finish line. I stopped no less than 7 times to pee and had to start using Ben-Gay on my knees at about mile 17. It was excruciating to say the least.



With that being said, the last .20 miles toward the balloon arch signifying the finish line was incredible. I had more energy there then I had since mile 6 and I couldn't believe I had done it.



The circled part of my leg is the muscle definition I gained over the year plus I trained for this one day of glory.

I missed my time goal by over an hour, but in the end, it didn't matter. I had come and I had conquerered. I'd worry about time later.

To date, completing a marathon has been the hardest, most exhilarating experience that I have done on my own free will. Having Josh was the hardest, most exhilarating experience ever, but I had medicine to help and he was coming out whether I wanted him to or not. There was no turning back. But the marathon...I could've turned around at any point and put the whole nonsense behind me, but for once I followed through and did it. And could even smile after it was all over and done with. That's why it's number 1 on the list.

Why Don't They Teach You About This in Driver's Ed?

Somedays are prime candidates for funny blog entries. Today didn't start out that way. I was going to take advantage of the good weather and meet a friend for a picnic at a park in North Salt Lake.

I went outside, buckled Josh in the car, got his bike and our lunches and headed off to freedom. We were cruising along on the freeway, listening to talk radio when I hear a faint meow. Then another, much louder meow. I ask Josh if he's pretending he's a kitty. "No," came his reply. Then some more distressed meowing. Then it dawns on me that in this smallish, metal vehicle that is going 80 miles an hour there is a loose cat. Cats, as you may know, are not famous for their car passenger skills. In fact, many hate to be in cars.

I frantically grab the phone and dial Wade, but he doesn't pick up. Then I try my mom. She's not home either. I'm not sure what they would have been able to do about this except laugh, so it's probably a good thing neither one of them answered. Then I finally get a hold of my senses and pull off on to SR-201 so I can turn around. I think for a minute that perhaps it's a stray kitty and I can just let it go by the side of the road and continue on my way, but as I glance into the back seat, I notice that it is in fact one of my kitties and so I have to go home. I briefly consider taking him with me to the park, but decide that this is a bad plan. He may get out of the car, but he probably won't get back in. Besides, the meowing has reached a high decibel range and we're 10 minutes from home instead of 40. The whole time Josh is chanting "kitty in car, mommy. Kitty in car, mommy." This serves as a reminder that this particular cat is not the friendliest of our two cats, especially towards Josh, and I can only imagine what being in a car is doing to the cat's demeanor.

So I turn around and head home. Meanwhile, Mocaco, the cat stuck in my vehicle, is trying to paw his way through my clothes. He wants to sit on my lap...no, he wants to sit on my feet...no, he wants to go through the window. I'm trying to keep him from attaching himself permanently to my scalp all while trying to steer my way home. Meanwhile, he's figured out how to lock and unlock the doors, roll down the windows, flip the turn signals, and flash the brights. If I had a camera to capture the look on people's faces as they drove by, it'd be priceless. I'm sure I was swerving and looking like a complete lunatic on the road as I tried to navigate us to safety. And then to see me wrestling with a cat as they passed?

Luckily, after she calmed herself down enough to speak, my friend was quite understanding that I was going to be nearly an hour late for our picnic due to the unforeseen incident with the cat. I made it home without being clawed (thank goodness we had the front paws declawed when we got them) to death and as far as I can tell, he didn't pee either. Cat pee is some caustic stuff that is hard to remove from upholstery.

Mocaco's brief ride has worn him out and as far as I can tell has spent the rest of the day lounging in the rays of sunshine that the sun casts through the windows.

A Step by Step Guide to Playing With a Three Year Old

Step 1: Abandon all preconceived notions that you are "playing". This is merely an exercise in receiving orders


Step 2: Sit down exactly where you are told to. Do not try to scoot over to rest your tired back on something. Do you lay down. Do not kneel.


Step 3: These are HIS toys and he will let you know which ones you are allowed to play with. These will invariably by the ones he doesn't care for as much as the other ones. Do not, under any circumstances, touch the other ones.

Step 4: Three Year Old (TYO) will direct you to your area of the playroom. This is where you will play. He gets reign over the rest of the room, but you must stay in this area. Do not cross into his play area. This will result in a melt down of astonishing proportions.

Step 5: He will give you precise instructions on how to "play" with your misfit toys. They will sound something like this: "Take this and klcaboutaberd sasdfertfgasdf sdfsdjlsgss, okay mommy?"

Step 6: TYO will then return to his (much larger and spacious) play area and proceed with his playing. Having not yet translated klcaboutaberd sasdfertfgasdf sdfsdjlsgss, you will try to mimic what he is doing. That is apparently not what klcaboutaberd sasdfertfgasdf sdfsdjlsgss means. This results in a meltdown because you're not "playing" right.

Step 7: After yelling at you and giving you more precise instructions: "sdesgsrewtg hiouewtjg seeuoikjsdf wetaisdgjfgsdg. Yowetkjsagsdg sdkfietlsdkgj right here. Crash! Okay, Mommy?" You finally ask him to show you what to do. He concedes to show the imbecile parent how to properly play with his toys. It looks easy enough.

Step 8: Repeat Steps 5-Steps 7 until you're both in tears.

Step 9: Start over with a new set of misfit toys and vow to be more attentive.

Step 10: Engage him in a new activity while you slip away to retrieve your book and read.

Book Review Friday 4/25/2008

Book: Curse of the Spellmans
Author: Lisa Lutz
Pages: 400

This is the sequel to the Spellman Files I read last month. I enjoyed Lutz's writing style the first time around and figured I'd enjoy the next installment. Which I did. Mostly.

PI Izzy is back with all her antics and tricks and paranoia. The book starts off with Lizzy being bailed out of jail by her octogenerian lawyer. He needs the facts of the case so they can start preparing their defense. It's not looking good since this is her fourth arrest in 2 months (though she claims two of them didn't count).

So Izzy starts from the beginning. A new neighbor moved in with the all-too common name of John Brown. This sparks Izzy's curiousity and she's off to try to find out what he's hiding. She becomes obsessed with this new guy and is eventually slapped with a restraining order, which she inevitably violates. The story follows Izzy as she tries to capture Suspect doing something illegal while trying to sidestep her parents ever careful eyes. Coupled with Izzy's little sister, Rae, and her crazy existence as well as Izzy's older brother's breakdown from his usual perfection, the Spellmans' are back to their usual form--dysfunctional and paranoid.

I enjoyed the story, but I had a hard time with Lutz's writing style this go round. She referenced a lot of foot notes and sometimes I found that I missed the footnote in the page, so I would have to search for it after finishing the page. It made it hard to get completely engrossed in the novel. Also, she shamelessly promoted her first book throughout this second book. I hate when authors do that.

With that being said, I did finish it in one night, so I must've enjoyed it quite a bit. I would recommend this series to someone who is looking to get away from serious deep stuff for a stint and read something light hearted and fun.

Happy Birthday!

Joshua Wade was born at 10:31 am on Monday, April 25, 2005. When we first found out we were pregnant, I was worried about choosing a name for our baby. There's so many to choose from and we're not known for our quick and determined decisions. However, as we were leaving our ultrasound appointment after having just learned we were having a boy, Wade asked "how about Joshua?" The name was perfect, and so it stuck.

At the end of March 2005, the doctor said I could potentially go at any time. I worked an evening shift in Salt Lake and would drive home at 10:30, 11:00 at night. I was scared that something was going to happen on my way home from work, so I quit the first week of April even though Josh wasn't due until April 28. I had a lot of down time on my hands. I slept late, took long baths, read, played computer games. Watched a lot of tv. I was bored out of my mind, coupled with the anxiety of not knowing if today was going to be the day.

I went in for my weekly check-up the Wednesday before Josh was born. I was bored, fat, and done being pregnant. When the doctor exclaimed, for the 3rd week in a row, that she was so surprised that I was still here, I wanted to smack her. I then broke down in tears when she announced that I had gained seven pounds that week. Is it even possible to gain 7 pounds in a week? A fifth of my total weight gain occurred in that last week alone. She said it was all baby weight (yeah, like I was having a 13 pound kid).

After the appointment, I met Wade for lunch. He told me I didn't look that fat. That made me cry harder. Then I can remember sitting on my mom's bed and crying because I was done being pregnant. That was when I knew it could be any day now.

On that Sunday afternoon, I made Wade march me around the neighborhood. I told him I was not going in until this baby was ready to come out. We walked about 2 miles. Then I gave up. However, that night, I went into labor, not really recognizing it until I was nearly 6 minutes apart. It was all back labor and so I thought I was just having back pain until I started timing the spasms and noticed they were on a schedule.

We went off to the hospital where my (doctor: I'm estimating your baby is going to be about 7 pounds) 8 pound 11 oz baby boy was born. The first thing the doctor said was "look at those hands!" And she was right. He had some huge hands for such a little guy. And the most perfectly round head with a 1/2 inch yarmulke-looking bruise on the back from the vacuum that was used to get him out.

Josh was the sweetest baby. He slept through the night at six weeks. He ate really good, often going 3 or 4 hours between feedings. He liked his car seat. He wasn't particular about being held so I would just set him up so he could see what I was doing. Often times, he preferred to be away from the bustle and noise, so at friends houses we'd just lay him out on a blanket in another room and he'd coo and play in there.

Then he turned 18 months. And the kid was a terror. The next year was a nightmare. His stubborn personality shone bright. He was slow to talk so we were both frustrated with the lack of communication. He spent some time in day care while I finished school and he learned a lot of bad habits like biting, scratching, and hitting. Church was a disaster every week. He wouldn't eat. He wouldn't go to bed. He whined and hit and bit and threw fits in the store.

He seemed to mellow down by the time he turned 2 1/2--either that or I grew exponentially in patience. He still has his moments, but his verbal skills are much better so we can understand what he wants and he can understand why we say no.

Josh has always been a careful kid. He's not prone to ride out in the street into oncoming traffic. He's afraid of things that move or bark or stare. If it's just us in the store, he stays right with us. He's definitely a follower, so if there's a bigger kid who's prone to running off, Josh will too. But he obeys pretty well.

He forgives very easily. If I lose my temper, I know that in a few minutes, he'll come up and give me hugs. He never seems to hold my short temper against me. I think he understands that he's pushing my buttons.

My favorite thing he says is in the morning when he wakes up. He'll be fast asleep and the next minute I look over to find him standing by me. When he knows I've seen him he yells "good morning". It's the cutest thing. He's wide awake and rearing to go.

Josh is really good at entertaining himself. He could play with his cars for hours. The other day, when visiting my grandma's elderly neighbors, he played with a container of cars for 2 hours. Didn't whine or anything. Just let us adults talk. When it's just me and him at home, he'll play by himself as well. I can hear him pretending to be the different cars. "You can't go there, okay?" "Okay." And he likes to pretend that other friends are over there for lunch. He divides his lunch up and gives it to his "friends".

Josh has really been a blessing in our lives and it's hard to imagine life without him. Happy Birthday Josh!

Last Day of Bowling

It was our last day of bowling for the season. I have dramatically improved over the last 8 months. Before, I rarely got over 100, now I hardly get below. It's a small step, but a step indeed.

They gave out prizes today. And money. That was a nice added bonus. My team got $15 each for coming in second place. We also got a trophy. It's been years since I've gotten a trophy. I think I'll add it to my collection of running accolades. I have a few medals from age categories--but don't think that I deserved them. I got them out of default. Either not enough people from my age category signed up or I beat the last one or two to get third place. In either case, they are all mine.

Another surprise was that I got the third highest scratch game in the league. That means that I hit the third highest number of pins in one game over the course of the entire season. I got another $10 for that.

I'm kind of glad that the season is over for a couple months. It was awkward with our team imploding around our ankles. Next season, I'm the activity chairperson, whatever that means. I'm in charge of birthdays and parties and all that jazz. And I've recruited a new group of women to play. Maybe we can stay on each other's good sides. It will be nice to make some new friends in the process.

Bowling has definitely been the highlight of each week. For $8.50, I get to bowl three games and talk with adults. Included in the price is day care. And that's a very nice thing. I'd pay $8.50 just to have someone watch Josh for a few hours once a week so I could just chat with adults. The bowling is a bonus.

The Best Neighbors

Yesterday, I spent the day with my mom. We had a plethera of errands to run and she just had shoulder surgery so I was her chauffeur. One of our errands was to visit the neighbors of my grandma (grandma has been gone for 4 1/2 years and before that lived in a rest home for 7 years, but these are the neighbors that have lived across the street from her old house for 40 years.) My mom has become good friends with Tom and Flora. Tom is 82 and Flora is a few years younger, maybe 76 or so. They might be the best neighbors I've ever seen.

Tom and Flora immigrated from Holland via Austraila about 45 years ago. They have never lost their dutch accents. I don't know if they speak their native language at home or not, but both tongues are still very much dutch. I can catch about 90% of what Tom says immediately. My mind takes a few extra seconds to decode the rest. There's a small percentage that I never really get, but I just nod and pretend that I do. It's easier that way.

I'm not sure what religion they belong to--it's not mormonism--but they seem to know a lot about the culture. They don't necessarily agree with mormonism, but they're careful not to put it down either. Every once in a while, they'll make comments reflecting the neighborhood being caught up in their religion and not seeing the goodness of "nonbelievers". It's a shame because they really are the best people I've met in a long time.

Every time I go to visit, which is not often, I learn something new and totally unexpected. For example, yesterday Flora was telling us about how they sailed over to San Francisco from Australia and it took them 28 days. They had an 8 year old and a 2 year old and Flora was so sea sick the entire time she wanted to die. So was the two year old. That's the last time they sailed recreationally. Neither one of them has ever wanted to do a cruise since that voyage. I can't blame them. I can imagine that 28 days on a boat would be a long time. Especially with a two year old--sick or not.

No subject is taboo in Tom and Flora's house. We've talked about most everything from religion and politics to sex and abortion. It's nice to meet people who aren't afraid to voice their opinions and don't put you down for yours. They are the nosey ones in the neighborhood and can tell you about every person living nearby, but not in a bad way. Most of the neighbors adore them and will come over to chat on a whim. Much of their afternoons are spent looking out the window, keeping tabs.

Whenever you visit, you can guarantee you'll eat. They will push food on you until your seams feel like they're going to explode. Yesterday, we ate a strawberry dessert and some pound cake. I instantly regretted the extra fries I ate at lunch because my belly was about to explode from the food. I have learned not to turn down their food. They take offense to it. My mom learned not to eat so much. They don't let you live it down.

Tom shamelessly flirts with every middle-aged, and beyond, woman. It's all in good fun though. His nurse called while we were there and he invited her out to lunch after his appointment. You could hear her laughing through the phone. You know this is a regular offer.

I wish I could transplant Tom and Flora out here. No disrespect to my current neighbors, but I'd love for them to live next door or across the street. Even a street away would be okay. Entire afternoons could be lost inside their world and I'd be wiser for doing it.

They started out as my grandma's neighbors. Then they became her friends. Then they became my mom's friends. Now, it looks as though the baton is being passed to me. They could certainly outlive us all and each generation will take their turn watching over Tom and Flora.

Numbers + (3/4)*Words = Love

I love numbers (hence the almost degree in mathematics, which is not, concidentally, about numbers). When I'm bored, I count. Weird, I know. But it seems to soothe the dullness. I count ahems and uhs and ticks on the clock. When I was in school and enduring a painfully boring lecture, I would count how much time was left, parcel out my chosen treats and then eat them at set intervals to alleviate the boredom.

I have a theory that we all exhibit some sort of OCD behavior, some more prevalent than others. We all have those few things we obsess about. Mine is numbers. I memorize phone numbers using mathematical properties hidden within. 0538= 0+5+3=8. 2439= 2^2=4 and 3^2=9. 9662=9-6=3. 6/3=2. Not surprisingly, I'm good with dates as well.

In conjunction with numbers, I obsess over time. On a whiteboard in my bedroom (we currently have two whiteboards--one is a normal sized board by the computer desk in our bedroom. The other one is a 4'by 8' board that stretches from floor to ceiling in the tv room. I would use this to write out my mathematical proofs when I was in school. Now it's a canvas for our three year old.) I have down all my best times for various exercises, such as 3 mile run, tempo run, 1 mile speed run, hill, and lap at the swimming pool. I am constantly trying to beat these times. With that being said, I never take it to the point that I beat myself up for not having surpassed that time the next go round, but it's nice to have something to work towards.

The lure of numbers to me is the ability to manipulate them. I love working out a problem and getting the correct answer. I also equally love getting a zero. That means everything was equal on both sides of the equation, even when it didn't seem like it was going to work out that way. Zero is a pretty number. Except for when it's showing your current balance in your checking account. Then zero is not so pretty.

Another love--words. I love words, but probably at a ratio of 3/4 to how I love numbers. While I can manipulate words to say what I want them to say, words have a tendency to fight mean. Numbers don't lie. But words, they will rip you apart, chew you to itsy, bitsy pieces and spit you out. I can always feign stupidity when I write a check for $1000 instead of $100, blaming that pesky zero, but if I call you a name, I can't suddenly turn around and say "that's not what I meant. You heard me wrong." And writing them down is much, much worse. There's no excusing that. I tend to get myself in a heap of trouble with what I say and write.

The other day, I used the word innoculous in a normal conversation. I was quite pleased with myself. It shows that doing at least one crossword puzzle a day will help you with normal day-to-day conversing.

I'm always amazed at how other people string together their words. When I read a book and review it on Goodreads.com, I always make it a point not to read the other reviews until I have finished mine. This makes it so I don't have a bias going in to it. However, after I've finished mine, I go and read theirs, and they say it much better than I did. We may have the same opinion, but their's is articulated clearer, using 25 cent words instead of 1 cent words.

If there was a profession where I would have this ratio of love--numbers +(3/4)*words, I would be all over it.

What's So Hard About This?

At about this time of the year, I start itching like crazy to get outside. My house has lost all it's winter charm and I'm ready to stretch my wings and get some fresh air. That's why I get so mad at the weather guy on tv. Doesn't he know how cruel it is to be continuously changing the forecast during this crucial time? During the winter, you can guess that it's going to be cold. There's no surprise there. It's cold whether it's 17 degrees or 27 degrees or 37 degrees. Ten or 20 degrees is not going to make or break my day during January and February. On the flip side, summer is a no-brainer as well. 90, 100, 110, it's all hot.

However, April is Wacky Weather month. There's no telling what will happen in April. It's 80 degrees one day and the next day we top out at 43. A week ago it's going to be a gorgeous weekend, now there's a storm rolling in on Sunday. I have learned to detest the weather man because he hypes up the warm days and as they draw nearer they magically turn into cold days.

It's been a long winter this year. So, we've been bundling up and going outside to sit in the driveway nonetheless. Last Friday, though it was chilly, the sun was out. In fact, so out, that I fried my face. I honestly didn't think about sunblock because I was still wearing my fleece jacket. Monday, when it was a perfect 80 degrees, I put on sunblock. However, I missed one whole side of my leg and ended up with a bizarre looking burn on the inside of my one leg. Yesterday, it was only in the lower 50's but again, the sun was out. I had on my fleece jacket again and I told myself I was only going to be outside for 20 minutes max. 3 hours later, I can actually hear my face sizzling and I finally packed it up and went back inside, but not before the damage was done.

You wouldn't think it'd be so hard to remember sunblock every day as part of my beauty(?) regimen, would you?

Book Review Friday 4/18/2008

Book: I Am the Messenger
Author: Markus Zusak
Pages: 357

This is the second book I've read by Markus Zusak. The first one, The Book Thief, was an incredible read. I was prepared to be disappointed, but turns out I really liked this one as well. It was a lot different, but in a way, much the same.

Ed Kennedy is your average boring 19 year old who drives people around town in a cab that he lied about his age to get. His friends are equally as dull--on the outside--and they get together a few times a week to play cards.

After being present for a bank robbery and foiling the burglar attempt to escape, Ed is regarded as the local hero. A few nights later, the first ace card shows up in his mailbox with three addresses and times on it. He mulls over what to do and eventually finds his way to the three listed homes. It's here that he realizes he is suppose to help these people with reaching their true potential.

As he crosses each house off, Ed finally starts to evaluate himself and his life. His mom hates him for never leaving town. He hates himself for getting stuck there. Then the next ace card shows up with three more obscure clues and he's off on another hunt. Whereas Ed starts off helping other people, it's really himself he's saving.

The ending at first was a bit vague and disappointing but after contemplating it for a few days, I finally understand that it couldn't have been written any differently--or better. Sometimes, I get so involved in a story that I picture the ending somewhere in the middle of the story and then get thrown off track when it's not what I expect.

I thought this was a great story with a fun writing style. Zusak has a knack for introducing a different point of view into his books. While I didn't enjoy it as much as I did the Book Thief, it was definitely a good book. Word of caution though--while it's billed as a young adult book, the language is attrocious. For the most part, it doesn't distract from the overall meaning of the book, though I'm surprised that it would be classified as a young adult read. The Book Thief wasn't like that, so it's not the author's style per se, but perhaps his experience as a 19 year old boy.

Judgement Day

Today was the day I've been awaiting--dreading--since December when I received notification that I still had not passed the GRE math subject test.


I've been studying my little brain out for the last few weeks, though I probably could've studied more. You can always study just a little bit more, can't you? I don't ever want to see another math problem as long as I live.


So, the second time I took the test, I didn't tell anyone outside of my family. None of my friends knew. None of the neighbors knew. I was embarassed I was retaking the test. The third time, I told people afterwards. This time, I was much more open about it, actually soliciting prayers and well wishes from everyone around me. I hope it worked.


Initially, I was suppose to take Josh to my in-laws, go to the test, come back, pick up Josh, my mother-in-law and Wade's grandma and go to a baby shower down in Provo. However, Josh woke up with a really bad fever and so I didn't take him down to the shower. That meant an extra 40 minutes of sleep.

I arrived on campus with plenty of time to spare. I sat in the parking lot debating on whether I should go inside and wait and risk having people from my "former" life see me there...again. However, as I got to thinking, if they're seeing me it's because they haven't passed it either, so I didn't feel nearly as bad.

Sure enough, inside were two friends I studied with last year. We got kind of caught up. One just became a father a few months ago and the other one is marrying the other girl in the study group in June. I was blown away. When did that happen?

I think part of my problem with testing is that I can't effectively block out all outside interruptions. In fact, they seem to intensify while I'm taking a test. For instance, I go bonkers if someone has a cold and keeps sniffling. I'm not so much like that in other settings, but during a test, it's the only thing I can concentrate on. The other thing is temperature. I hate being too cold. And it seems that a lot of rooms at 8:30 on a Saturday morning at the University of Utah campus are cold. This time, though it was gorgeous outside, I wore layers and shoes, not flip flops. Every test, this one and all others I've taken, I can pinpoint the person who ruins it for me. The one person who breaks my concentration. Today it was the guy next to me with--and I'm dead serious--two bananas, an apple, a bagel, and an entire tub of cream cheese. He told the test proctors that he was diabetic. I'm no rocket scientist--this is my fourth time taking the test--but I can guarantee that no diabetic is going to keel over in the three hour test time. I mean, they have medication for the disease. People have learned to deal with it without carting in their entire pantry. The kicker was that just before the test started, he leaned over and said "do you want to know a secret?" I replied, "sure. What's your secret?" "I'm not really a diabetic. I'm trying to build muscle so I need to eat all the time." The logic is a little lost on me as well. But he did have some muscles for such a tiny little man. So throughout the test, I get to smell and listen to him "gain" muscle. Nice.

My stragedy for this go round was that I was going to go through the entire test and circle the problems I knew I could attempt and then do those first. That's how I did the first five problems (there's 66.) After starting over and more thoroughly looking over the problems, I was able to complete about 6 more. After that, it was a wing and a prayer. I was able to do 20 of them. I figure if I get half right, my raw score will be an 8 which might be good enough to pass. Laws of probability have my actual number right closer to 13, so that would be a raw score of 12 and I would definitely pass then. However, I felt much better about this test when I left than the other three. It's either I passed or I've grown ambivolent to the feelings of failure.

So when do I find out? I can find out if I'm pregnant in 3 minutes and I can get a firearm in three days, but apparently technology has not advanced to the point where I can find out if I passed the stupid test in less than 42 days--six weeks. Mind you, our house was built in a mere 56 days.


I came home and immediately felt a sense of...something. I can't quite place my finger on it. I've been so busy the last two years, that it seems almost sad that this could really be the end of this chapter. Before this last attempt, it was the cruise, and then attempt three, then the marathon and attempt two, plus finishing up school and attempt one and...There seems to be a void where this test has loomed over my head. I'm not in the clearing yet, but I have a really good feeling about this one. Now what?

Book Review Friday 4/11/2008

Book: When Friendship Hurts
Author: Jan Yager, Ph.D.
Pages: 220

I originally thought that maybe this book would help me deal with a friendship that has soured over the last few weeks. But the book was way too bizarre. It had a few redeeming factors about it--a description of the 21 types of negative friends and how to associate with them at their level as well as a few guidelines as to when to save a friendship and when to let it go. However, for the most part, the people surveyed about their friendships had really strange back stories involving screwed up childhoods filled with abuse and incest. Can you really generalize friendships based on the ones people who lived these hideous childhoods have? There has to be some lingering effects from continual abuse that overplays into social situations, right?

On that regard, I found the book a little off base. I think that in order to generalize a relationship as broad as friendship, you have to take a bigger and more diverse cross section of the general population. 188 people is not enough to gather inf0rmation, especially if you're population is slightly skewed by past issues. Also, the author tries to tie sibling and parental relationships in to why a friend acts like they do. I think that's a bunch of hooey. I know plenty of people with "bad" childhoods who turned out good, while those with "good" childhoods go off the deep end. I think we, as a society, tend to place blame on everyone around us for not cultivating the perfect speciman, but we don't ask ourselves what we're doing to better our lives. It shouldn't be anyone else's responsibility for you to be a good friend. And you shouldn't be able to use your sibling and parental relationships as scapegoats as to why you're not a good friend. If you're an adult, there should be some criteria dictating that you should act like an adult.

With that being said, I thought one particular chapter really touched home with how I was feeling at the moment. It was reaction stages to unexpected betrayal, patterned on the stages of guilt. When this particular incident happened involving a friend, I was in shock. I couldn't believe that this would happen. When things got a little better, I was in constant fear that something would happen again. When it did happen again, only this time much, much more serious, I alternated between apathy and anger. I was really angry I didn't see what was going to happen and then would change to a "I don't care" attitude. I'm finally at the resolution point where I can see past the initial incidents--and the incidents following--and decide what's best for me.

Other than this brief insight into the stages of what I was feeling, the rest of the book was pretty much a waste of time. If nothing else, it showed me how bad off I really could be.

Boys Will Be Boys?

Last night, we went the rounds with Josh. He's a funny kid. Not funny as in ha-ha, but more like funny in a I'm-going-to-wring-your-neck kind of way. He's really particular about his clothes. I've had to hide his pajamas--all of them--because he will not change out of them. Yes, I know, I'm the mother. But if you have never tried to change a kid out of pajamas who is adamant that they are not coming off, then you don't have a leg to stand on. Raging wars have ended with fewer negotiations then those proposed to a 3 year old boy to "please take off those stupid pajamas so we can go to lunch/walmart/bowling/grandma's/church."

So, back to last night...Josh is all ready to go to bed in underwear and a t-shirt. I have him change his underwear so we don't have a melt down in the morning. He insists on putting on two pair of underwear. It's a battle I'm not willing to fight at 11:00 at night, so whatever. He puts on his second pair. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he notices the half-used bag of diapers sitting on the top shelf of the closet. He hasn't been wearing diapers to bed for a while, but I haven't gotten around to putting them away. He quickly sheds his two pair of underwear and is insistent that I put a diaper on him. In walks dad.

Maybe it's that I've spent all day with this kid and I'm tired, or maybe I just don't care as much, but Wade is adamant that Josh wear one pair, and only one pair, of underwear. Of dad's choosing. So Wade wrestles Josh into a pair of underwear. Then into a pair of pants--not pajama pants because those have been outlawed. So our kid is now dressed to go out--which he was not dressed to do for the past 3 days. We go back to our room and get ready for bed.

After Wade gets done brushing his teeth, he peeks into Josh's room and notices that Josh's pants are on backwards. When he asks Josh about this latest development, Josh grins and says "Big boys all gone." Apparently, Josh took off his pants, took off his underwear and then put his pants back on just to show dad. Wade wrestles another pair on him, closes the door and it's the last we hear from Josh for the rest of the night.

Fast forward to this morning. I go to aerobics at 6 am, come home at 7 and dink around on the computer for a while as Wade is getting ready for work. As he's leaving, I peek in on Josh and notice his pants laying beside him on the bed. Out of curiousity, I peek under the blanket and here's what I find:

He's wearing something like 12 pair. Josh 1 Dad 0.

A Tale of Two Running Shoes

This time last year, I was in the throngs of my last semester of classes, studying for the GRE math subject test, and trying to get my base running up to a manageable level before starting to train for the St. George Marathon.

This year, I'm still studying for the GRE math subject test, debating on doing the St. George again and trying to reenter the world of running.

For the record, I'm not a good runner. I have horrible posture and I tire easily. But, I really, really, really like to race. I don't ever win--well, in some of the smaller ones, I've won age category prizes because of lack of entrants--but overall, I don't win anything. I'm not fast by any stretch of the imagination. But I really like the competition of going out there on a Saturday morning and not having to rely on teammates to pull me through. That it's my own blood, sweat, and tears that gets me from the starting line to the finish line--sometimes the same line.

I realized in about November of 2006 that I am not a cold-weather runner. There is a group of runners in the neighborhood that run every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at 6 am without exception. Rain, snow, sleet, hail...they run through it. Even the lady who's pregnant. I'm not like that. I don't like to run when it's cold. I especially don't like to run when it's wet and cold. However, during the summer when we're hit with a quick shower, I enjoy running through that, as long as it's not cold. I am definitely a fair-weather runner.

So last week was the first week that I've consistently run since the marathon. And I was pleasantly surprised. It felt really good. Like I've found a long lost friend. Good thing as I seem to be losing real, human friends left and right. Saturday, I awoke and left for a three mile jaunt to a neighboring township and back. It was the perfect length. Not so long that I would have to spend the rest of the day recovering. But not so short that it wasn't worth the time getting dressed. I even ran the whole thing, albeit slowly and painfully, something I haven't done in a long time. And I forgot the watch, so who knows how long it really took me. The air was crisp. The weather was perfect. It was right where I wanted to be at 8:30 on a Saturday morning. It even got me to thinking that maybe I could do the St. George again this year. I could conquer it and redeem myself from last year's disappointing finish (though, I do have to point out, I finished). I even thought about what I'd change in training and how to maximize my time on Saturday morning long runs. Then it was time to go inside, and it felt good to be done at 9:00 and not noon. And to not sit the rest of the day on the couch in a comatose state recovering. I guess the memories are still much too vivid to attempt it again so soon.

My Week in a Nutshell

Sometimes, when I'm going about my day and everything seems quite ordinary and happy, I'll think to myself, things are looking up. Then I'm always reminded that there is still at least one rung lower on the ladder of desperation I have yet to step upon.

Tuesday, I'm spending the day with my mom, like I do every Tuesday. We combine our errands together and then go out to eat as a reward. The errands are pretty much the same every week. Bank, Post Office, Library, Market. Things like that. So Tuesday, we have to stop at Staples. Our quest is to find a pen refill for my mom's pen that she got from a friend. It's a bizarre pen in that it's short and the refills have to be skinny. I had the ink filler that originally came with the pen in my hand, careful to keep the spring and the top doohickie all together. We find the perfect refills and we're looking around for whiteboard markers. I keep thinking to myself that I should hand back the ink filler to my mom so I don't lose the spring or the very, very, very small mechanism on the top, but I don't. I'm walking down the aisle towards the whiteboard markers when the mechanism pops off and disappears into oblivion. A very dirty, dusty oblivion somewhere beneath the shelves. I spend the next 30 minutes or so searching for this mechanism. Without it, the pen is rendered useless. Mind you, it's very, very, very small and black. To effectively search beneath the lip of the display shelves I actually have to sprawl out on my belly. Since I have no idea where the mechanism bounced to I end up belly crawling all the way down the aisle, multiple times. Since I have a three year old that is in the phase of copying everything that mommy does, there are two of us slithering along the floor. At one point a saleslady shows up at the end of the aisle and asks me if everything is okay. I tell her my plight. She mutters some encouraging words and moves along. No help there.

You would think that the gods of all things dusty, gross and full of dark recesses would look down on me and give me some sort of reprieve. But no. I never do find the mechanism and we leave the store defeated. The pen doesn't work without it and there's nothing with this mechanism on it.

And that, my friends, was the highlight of my week. Top that.

Book Review Friday, April 4, 2008

Book: Eat, Pray, Love
Author: Elizabeth Gilbert
Pages: 352

For starters, I was a little skeptical reading a book that over 23,000 people have rated on Goodreads.com, but I've been interested in seeing what all the fuss has been about and so when I saw it on the library shelf, I picked it up.

It turned out to be really, really good. In fact, I want to take a year off and go to Italy (eat), India (pray), and Indonesia (love), but alas I have these things in my life called...responsibilities. I guess if you don't have kids or pets or an office job or a mortgage, you can afford to leave everything at 34 and go off to "find" yourself. In this respect, I found the book to be quite self-indulgent. How sad that she had to sell both houses when she was getting divorced. But lest I digress.

My favorite section of the book, surprisingly, was India. I thought for sure I'd hate the new age-meditation-yoga-part, but I actually really liked it. And I liked that Gilbert believes in God. I don't particularly care if an author believes in God or not, but when they mix in a lot of Eastern religion and culture, trying to make us "God-believers" see the error in our ways, I get a little standoffish. Gilbert was careful to bring her beliefs into harmony with the teachings of the Ashram she was staying at. In fact, it made meditation more approachable for me and I'm now trying to implement meditation into my daily life--with mixed results.

This was definitely a book I needed this week, so I'm glad I did bite back my skepticism and went ahead with reading it. I'd recommend it for anyone looking to make themselves better.