oh my – an attempt to redeem myself

Well shoot, so my blogging efforts for the week are already off to a rocky start. Not only did I miss posting yesterday, but it was also brought to my attention that my first post on Monday caused reason for alarm.

I know I can be somewhat naïve at times and look at life through these cheerful little lenses, where folks’ intentions are pure and there is goodwill of man. Unfortunately that is not always the case in the world we live in and I really should work at being more aware of the ugly reality of the way things are.

With the post “funny search engine results” , I had laughed at the assumed innocent and random seeking that brought someone to my site. But I didn’t go the extra step further and consider “WHY??????” would someone want to find internet results of little kids in their underwear (and in the mud, as if it isn’t wasn’t “dirty” enough already). When someone pointed out what I had failed to consider, I was like UGH! And I felt the physical jolt inside my soul as the metaphorical ton of bricks hit me in full force! The red flags went up and mortification sent chills through my bones. That initial amusement I had felt on Monday died immediately leaving me feeling completely and utterly disturbed.

So if you had felt any embarrassment for me and what I was unsuspecting of, know that I have seen the error of my ways! I have also changed the title of the post to “Disturbing search engine results.” I am not sure if that is a breach of blogging etiquette, or if there is such a thing, but I felt the need to make amends.

I don’t want to be considered “one round short of a loaded magazine” to the neighbor/friend that pointed it out (one who is always on the look out at protecting his family), even though he probably already has his suspicions, and even more so now :-) I really do want to be alert, because unfortunately life is never completely safe. I don’t want to live in a paranoid mindset, but I am learning there is a need to be ever aware of potential threats and that I need to take more caution in my day-to-day activities.

And maybe in all my catch-up up blogging, I’ll post more on the two defensive pistol classes (12 hours worth) I have recently taken at KR Training. That way, any more sickos that end up on my site searching for inappropriate content, might get the hint that they should not dig around any further. Because someday I will have my CHL and I will be able to quote Sandra Bullock from the movie Blind Side when she says, “You mess with my son, you mess with me. I am a member of the NRA and I am always packing!”

But first on the priority list are the family/memory type posts :-)

sometimes the word ‘bottom’ doesn’t actually mean ‘bottom’

“Let us draw the curtain of charity over the rest of this scene…”

The above quote was from Mark Twain in his book ‘The Adventures of Tom Sawyer’ at the close of a chapter where the author chose not to disclose the further events of one particular awkward moment for the story’s main character. And if you as a reader would like to leave a “curtain of charity” drawn over my own humiliating scene I am about to share, please do :-) But if not, you can open it up and either learn from my experience (and not repeat it yourself) or maybe get a laugh at my expense. But either way, I thought this was just too funny not to post.

Here goes.

I am not sure when it happened exactly in our area, but the ragweed has bloomed or blossomed or blew up (not sure what the correct term is…) And the abundance of this unwelcome pollin in the air has caused crazy allergies for Rob and me. His misery began over the weekend and he finally went in yesterday to a clinic to get some sort of shot to help alleviate the symptoms. So when uncontrollable sneezing and watery eyes came upon me when I woke up this morning, I decided it would be best not to waste anytime and I scheduled an appt for a shot as soon as possible.

Rob had told me already that you get the shot in your ‘bottom’ and I really had no reason to question that statement any further. It made sense to me that the location he mentioned would probably be the best place (the one with the most padding) to stick a long needle in. I wasn’t at all bothered by that information and I didn’t think it was really that much of an inconvenience; especially if it meant I would soon be free from allergy agony.

After delivering babies (as most mommies probably can relate), I have lost all shame of naked exposure when it comes to medical personal. The birth of the twins really helped me kiss modesty goodbye in hospital settings because 10+ unknown people (who were required to be alert and ready in case anything were to go wrong with a vaginal delivery) surrounded me in the Operating Room, while below the waist was completely unveiled for all eyes present (if that is TMI, sorry) Plus my epidural made me high as a kite and the whole procedure was a positive one (and if you are really bored, you can read about that event here :-) if you are in want of something to do).

Anyways, when the nurse at my appointment told me to face away from her because the shot was in the ‘bottom’, I turned myself around. She didn’t ask me to drop my pants, but thinking I could just save her the trouble, I do so anyways (because that is what you would need to do if there was a shot to be given in the ‘bottom,’ right?) By the time I felt the needle go into my LOWER HIP (ugh! not my bottom!), it was already too late for me to correct the position of my pants. In my shock I sheepishly remarked, ‘um, I guess I didn’t need to pull my pants down at all” and she kindly agreed. How embarrassing!

It was even more humiliating when you hear what I was saying to the girls during these moments of humiliation. Dee also had an appt with the dr at that time to get some warts frozen off (right after the nurse was done with me) She was feeling very nervous about that and I wanted to help her not be afraid. I was hoping to help her see that what I was going through wasn’t so awful, so I kept saying, ‘look how brave I am’ and ‘see, this isn’t so bad’ But because I was in a very awkward situation with my pants unnecessarily pulled down to my knees, the words were also for ME, to calm myself as well.

So my apologies to the nurse who got an unexpected peep show today. Sorry. I just need to make it known that the lower hip and bottom are two completely different areas, if you ask me. And by clarifying appropriately, further mishaps like this could be avoided.

The end.

“I Saw Three Ships” – Another post with a twist on a Christmas song

But in my rendition, it is called “I Heard Three Ships.”

Or to remain true to details, I should give the title “My Girls Heard Three Ships.” Because, what happened is that, I actually spoke the word ‘ship’ three times (this week!)

and um…OK, so it was not actually the word ‘ship’ that was uttered with much intensity and exclamation from my mouth.

But, my girls think that is what I said…

And you have to know that this is such an off topic for me to write about; such a remark is just not part of my spoken vocabulary (don’t get me wrong; I do have plenty of other issues with my tone and my words, but somehow, it has never been in the 4 letter area).

The last time I can recollect actually saying such a profanity, out loud, was during my senior year in high school when I was on the tennis team. A girlfriend of mine and I were challenged by some fellow guy teammates to a match. They were behaving super cocky and we had determined in our minds there was NO way they would defeat us. As we played on, the game grew in intensity and was drawing quite the crowd from other folks on the courts (all cheering for us girls, by the way). And after a long time of great effort to keep victory in our sight, we were finally at the last set. I know there was a continuous exchange of advantage in/advantage out points between us, but I don’t really remember how the end played out. The final game details are all a bit hazy in my mind because, it is the incident that happened AFTER it was over that stands out in my memory. It was when they won the last point (or maybe we lost the last point) that I shouted out, in my loudest voice ever, “Oh SH _ _ !” This shocked everyone because no one would have ever imagined that quiet little JoAnna, who rarely speaks anything at all, could have just said that! Me neither!! I couldn’t believe that I had 1) even used an expletive AND 2) done so at the top of my lungs. So I laid down on my back in the middle of the court in utmost embarrassment, laughing uncontrollably at this completely unexpected outburst. I brought the racket over my face, trying to hide from all those around me. But hiding beneath a tennis racket has the same effect as using it as an umbrella – none. And I realized there was nothing that would save me from this moment of mortification. Later as I reflected on the day, I was able to chalk it all up as just being part of adolescence and those embarrassing moments that go with it. I affirmed to myself something like that would never happen again because as I matured in age, I would learn composure and dignity in my choice of expression.

Not so.

Because three times this past week the word ‘ship’ surfaced from the depths within and freely set sail right out of my mouth. The first time was last Sunday, driving home from church. I was cruising on the highway in Rob’s truck when this little tiny car decided it would switch lanes and pull smack dab in front of me. I couldn’t believe the nerve! How completely shocked and caught off guard at the audacity of this extremely small piece of metal trying to pull in front of a tank-like hunk of steel (traveling at full speed, mind you)! So my brain quickly did an inventory of all the words stored up that I could use to accurately capture my feelings at the moment and presto, that was the word it came up with; and so out it came. Fortunately, that is not what the girls heard me say. Halle questioned me by asking if I just said ‘ship.’ I thought quickly and well… Perhaps I “could” have said that. I didn’t tell her ‘no’ because I could just piggy back on her understanding of the situation. I could continue on with the idea of how using the word ‘ship’ could be an appropriate exclamation here. I tried to explain that this truck is like a big ship and would crush any little boat that got in front of it. And doesn’t that person steering the little ‘boat’ in front of me know how big we are in this ship; we just don’t have the ability to stop quickly enough; we could have killed him…. because we are a very big SHIP! There was a moment of silence, for clearly they were trying to process in their innocent little minds this crazy explanation of mine. Then Dee brought up the remembrance of a movie where someone else used that word. She recalled that ‘In Fly Away Home,’ the dad said ‘oh ship’ also. “No,” Gracie corrected her, “He said, ‘holy ship!’ Thanks girls for backing me up here and allowing me to wallow guilt-free in my false testimony!

Since then there have been two additional times where, in my disbelief and frustration, that word was blurted out of my mouth. Both times were in the presence of my girls and both times it was followed with the question, “did you say ‘ship’ again?” It took some cleverness on my part as to why ‘ship’ would be a comment when I could not get Dee’s seatbelt buckled. And it was really a stretch of my imagination to explain why I would use it in the kitchen when I heard a big crash and thought something had broken (it turns out it was just a metal pan shifting in the sink…) But I did it! Craftiness was displayed (or is it wickedness?) My girls are so trusting that they haven’t questioned me yet on my explanations. I am not sure how all this will come back to ‘sink’ me, but I am sure I have not seen the end of all this.

convicting eyeballing or curious envy

Not too long ago, I set up for myself a little challenge. I wanted to see if I could refrain from consuming alcoholic beverages for 15 days. Now before you start jumping to all sorts of conclusions, I must first clarify that I don’t have any sort of serious issues with drinking! Nor do I consider my evening glass of wine a vice. I just had a few reasons for wanting to discover possible benefits of doing without for a set time frame (they are listed below).

So more than a week goes by, tra la la, life is good. All was going well and I didn’t feel too much of a withdrawal while I was refraining. Until…

A weekend birthday party (and for a toddler at that!!) put me right in the line of fire with major temptation!!

There were beverage choices galore and the lusting/longing (both words apply here…) for a lager was almost overwhelming. Because there were many brands and names that I had never heard of before, I was doing some extreme scrutinizing of those sipping merrily from their bottles. I wanted to know what they were enjoying and take some mental notes for when I could indulge again. But the next day, I was troubled that I might have given false impressions to those who were victim of my most severe stares. Apologies were made and I pleaded for pardon, as I confessed not as one who judges, but as one who suffers from another transgression: jealousy. I needed them to be assured that it was not convicting eyeballing that caused me to look their way, but rather curious envy.

And on that note, I am concluding that this little “no drinking challenge” with the goal of possible benefit has, on the contrary, done me (and as it appears, others too) more harm than good. Friends that didn’t know I drink had to endure and wonder what my glaring was all about. I had to put my first $1 in “mommy’s yelling jar” after making it two whole months without any uncontrollable hollering (is there a correlation between not drinking wine and acting like a crazy mom? Perhaps…). I still wake up restless in the middle of the night (I had always concluded being wide-eyed at 1 am was from wine intake. Guess not). But the biggest letdown was in regards to my main reason for the challenge. Knowing that wine and beer have lots of calories, I was really hoping to see some improvements in weight and appearance by foregoing a couple hundred calories a day. Nothing happened. The scale still spins to the same number, my jeans remain a little snug, and my meaty, bulky looking right arm is still seriously disproportionate with the rest of my small scrawny bone frame. You see, I had heard of “beer belly” where folks just gain a larger middle in their abdomen area from drinking; so I had this idea that maybe I suffered from a rare case of “wine arm” and that a lack of wine would remove the extra bulk from my right arm leaving in its stead a sinewy slender limb. Not so!

Oh well, if anything, I have learned for certain that sipping on my evening glass of wine and enjoying beers on the weekend (all in moderation, of course) have no negative consequences. And April 1st (my target date), I can say “cheers” again with a glass in hand!

to hoard a gourd

There is a familiar passage in the book of Matthew that says this.  ”Not what goes into the mouth defiles a man; but what comes out of the mouth, this defiles a man.”  And even though I know without a doubt, there is 100%  inerrancy in this Scripture, I am struggling to believe (and maybe it doesn’t) that there can be NO truth in the first part of this verse.  Because as it stands now, I have two cases, in very similar scenarios, revealing times where my character was indeed  ”defiled” by what I would put into (or wanted to put into) my mouth.  It was after posting this very dishonorable story , that my conscience was not slow to remind me of yet another time the possible pleasures of pumpkin flavored goodness put my morality to the test; and not surprisingly, I failed.   

And real quick, a little fyi; I looked it up and discovered that a pumpkin is a fruit (did you know that?).  For now, just hold that fact in the back of your mind, it will be used later.   

Anyways, it is nearing Christmas time.  Rob, the girls and I are all out running holiday type errands and shopping for gifts.  Hours into our outing, we see the all too familiar green circle coffee-shop sign with the face of a woman and her flowing hair outlined in white.  One shouldn’t have to think long to know which logo I am referring to.  It is the one where the lady figure in the center of the sign has that smile of pure contentment; suggesting to all who pass by that they should enter in, buy her brews, and then be equally happy (bewitching almost…).   And it is because we have been feeling very generous spending money on others this day that we consider it justifiable to enter this establishment and purchase something with which we can treat ourselves to.  

I need to take a brief pause from the flow of this story to make you aware that this “treating” truly is something rare that we don’t often do.  We have been living frugally on a tight budget for many years now and we allow ourselves a very limited dining spending allowance (two starbucks alone would use up a fourth of our alloted monthly funds for restaurants).  So it is a big deal to decide that we would find a way to not sacrifice our eating-out money for some lattes.  

OK, back on track.  So with this decision, I am bouncing out of the truck and running into the shop to get some drinks for Rob and me.  As I wait in line, there is enough time to notice all the edible delights they have on display; cheesecakes, over-sized brownies, carrot cake muffins, donuts, eclairs…YUM! But there is one baked item in particular that strikes my fancy; the seasonal pumpkin loaf bread.   I can feel the drool sensation begin to hit me.  But our planned purchase was only for the drinks. That means, if I am to indulge, I will be required to withdraw an extra amount from my own limited spending money to satisfy this craving I now have.   I reason, however, that for a slice of this highly desirable pumpkin loaf bread, it is well worth it. 

Back in the truck, Halle (not quite three years old at the time) is curious about the items I returned with. She is already accustomed to mommy and daddy drinking various “adult drinks” and knows from past requests, that coffee related beverages cannot be sampled by her.  But she spies the brown bag I have and wants to try her luck with a taste of whatever contents might be found within.   The dreaded question comes when I put my seatbelt on and start opening up the bag, “Can I have some?”  Now I love my baby girl DEARLY, but to share or not to share at this moment (with this particular possession that I want to savor solely by myself) should not be an indicator of an action that would display that deep and passionate love for my daughter.  I mean this kid would be perfectly content with a stick of gum, a marshmallow, an m&m; any little morsel would suffice to make her feel like she has received something of great value.  And I can arrange for that to happen (at a later time); she doesn’t need some of MY bread to feel loved. Still, I don’t want to say, “no” to her (I want to be a good model of sharing and all – rules for good parenting – blah blah blah…)  So I manage to say, “Halle, I would love to give you some” and reluctantly a little piece is broken off and handed back to her.  

“Mmmmmm, this is sure good.  Can I have some more?”  

What to do? What to do?? I choose to respond with, “Sorry little one, there is no more for you” (this choice I made to add the “for you” part makes my remark true, no lies told, right?). But Halle is a smart girl and my reply is not a plausible one. I think she knows that I could not possibly have already finished my bread.  So she asks me to SHOW her the bag.   Grrrrrr…. I don’t have time to remove the bread as she is watching my every move.  My mind thinks fast and I quickly grab the bag at its center.  This allows the remaining contents of my pumpkin loaf slice to be concealed in the bottom half of the bag while the top part is now almost in exact appearance of what an empty sack would look like.  ”See baby, doesn’t the bag look empty?” I make the opening very wide and allow her to see and conclude for herself that there is nothing there, the bread appears to be gone.  But, this smart two year old is still not convinced. She tells me she wants to HOLD the bag.  As you can see, it is becoming more and more difficult to take pleasure in eating my pumpkin bread, but I am not giving up yet.  I bring the bag back in front of me and am now forced to empty it.   Hidden by my purse, out of site from the eyes of this too-smart-for-her-age preschooler, I remove the slice.  ”Here Halle, you can have the bag.  See it is empty. There is no more bread for you to have.”

In letting her first SEE the “empty” bag and then HOLD the empty bag, I have evaded her skepticism.  She loses interest in pursuing the matter any more and starts to talk with her dad.  I feel in the clear, the bread is mine (mine. mine. mine!!!) But in order to remain above reproach and continue to thwart the truth to my daughter, I now have to eat the remains of my bread in secret.  Sitting in the passenger side in the front of the truck, with Halle in the back, in the middle seat, the profile of my face is clearly in her line of sight.  If I were to sit normal and put anything in my mouth, she would take notice.   Because of that, I am not able to enjoy my bread in a preferred manner. And with every bite, I have to either bend over to look down at the floor of the truck (staring at all the typical grime and yuck you would expect to find where dirty shoes rest) or I have to hold up my purse on my left shoulder and turn my head to take a bite.  Neither option provides me with the most gratifying way to relish the taste of such a delicacy.   Instead, with each bite consumed in secrecy, there is the bitter flavor of shame for not sharing with my daughter. UGH!  Another goodbye to my vanishing virtue!! 

So with this new story fresh in your mind involving another propriety-lacking plot prompted by a pumpkin; you can help me determine if perhaps it wouldn’t be a stretch to say that, for me, this orange gourd should be a “forbidden fruit” (a fun play on words, yes? ) 

the kindness of my husband and the wickedness of his wife

OK, so usually I don’t share events in my life that would give folks extra grounds to conclude what a pitiful soul I am (they most likely can do that on their own, without my assistance…). But this particular incident I am about to make mention of was just too humorous to not pass along.

so here it goes…
The past four nights my mom was in town and she had arrived bearing many goodies and gifts. One of which was this pumpkin spice coffee-mate creamer (by the way, I have not been able to find that item ANYWHERE in the grocery stores). Two bits of information should be noted here. One – it is a well known fact among most family members and friends that I love coffee mate creamer (I absolutely do!) And two – oooooooooooh how I also love any pumpkin-flavored treat!!! Knowing that I had a double dose of taste-bud heaven before me, you could easily guess that I was most delighted at this offering. So thrilled in fact that I turned greedy and evil! This truly terrible person emerged from within my being and took over. You see, I made a conscious deliberate decision that I would not tell Rob about this new creamer we had received. And even worse, I went through much effort to actually hide this creamer on a bottom shelf on the door of our fridge; ensuring that he would not come across it when he went to doctor up his cup of coffee in the morning. Then…UGH!!!…that night, lying in bed, I became so convicted of my selfishness. With much guilt on my shoulders, I decided to turn from my self-centered ways. The next morning, before he was awake, I pulled the pumpkin spice creamer out of hiding. I cleared off all items from a shelf in the fridge and left only the pumpkin spice creamer, placing it front and center, directly ahead of our half-gallon sized French vanilla creamer we normally use. I had had a change of heart. I honestly did want Rob to be able to see it and share it with me. But here is where the kicker is, when I asked Rob if he had used the pumpkin spice creamer, he so sweetly and sincerely replied, ‘No, I knew how much you would like that. And I didn’t want to take any away from you.” So on top of my already convicted state, I ended up feeling really really crappy. And with all my shame and sorrow, I did humbly come before Rob and share with him all that I had done. His response, you might ask??? He just laughed and laughed and laughed (serves me right!).

If I can’t win, I won’t run

When I first heard those lines, my immediate response was this. “How arrogant! That guy has some serious pride issues!” My heart never skipped a beat nor did I allow that remark to strike a chord with me as the rest of the dvd, ‘The Chariots of Fire’ played on. I had heard there were some great quotes concerning running and faith in the script and I thought this movie would be perfect to watch before running a half marathon. I was hoping for some extra motivation; some positive mental reserve I could call on in the final miles to keep my spirits up and help me finish strong. And while watching the film, I certainly didn’t think the olympic sprinter, Harold M. Abrahams, who confessed, “If I can’t win, I won’t run” to his leading lady would be the one to challenge me and inspire me. Because honestly, I had never considered myself competitive (with others), I am not one who believed it is important (with regards to others) to be first at things, and the idea that actually winning anything (even 1000th place) in this half-marathon (with 6000 others) was absolutely inconceivable. So what could I possibly have in common with this pretentious character who has this complex of needing to win and be the best? No, this line DID NOT apply to me! Or so I thought…

With the first half-marathon, the experience was a positive one, at least in my summation. But instead of just being excited that I had run farther than I ever had run before _{(that detail got lost in my “non-competitive” mind)}, I focused only on my completion time. And because I wasn’t disappointed with the results, I now had a determined mindset that ALL future marathons HAD to be finished with my average pace falling in a certain range. Anything less would not be acceptable to me.

That first race was so fun!! Lots of people cheering, music, a completion medal & t-shirt, food, and (I love this next part) it was perfectly acceptable to drink a couple of beers before 10 in the morning! It totally had me fired up to try again for another half. It was very doable and I had a great time. But could I push myself even more? I didn’t really care, no time to think about that. I seemed to be content just knowing that I did what I already knew I could do _{(a little bit sad when you think about it)} . And I still believed attempting a full was out of the question. But at this point, I never allowed myself to wrestle with “why?” I felt that way.

So the night before the second marathon comes along, we host a pasta party with other fellow runners. They are all running the full 26 miles, I am the only one running 13; so I begin to feel a little bit of ambition tugging at me. But I didn’t really toy around with that possibility. My focus was still set, only because I felt certain I could, to keep my time for this half within my acceptable pace range. Little did I know, or admit to myself, that I was labeling this goal “acceptable” because I would consider the race a loss in my book if I didn’t meet my completion time standard _{(some might say the opposite of lose is win, yes? And “win” is in the title of this blog. See…I am still trying to help you out with the foreshadowing here)}

Ten miles into my second race, the half-marathoners split up with the full-marathoners. The folks in my group finish up running a “measly” (I’m using that word in comparison terms only here…) three miles while the latter continues on with another 16. I do begin to feel rather mediocre. But I press on, making sure I don’t suffer defeat with a speed slower than my goal. Thankfully the big stop watch at the finish line assures me that I made it; wahoo! another personal victory (yes, there is sarcasm there). Because when I succeeded with that, it just wasn’t as satisfying as I had hoped it would be. I think it was due to the fact that, secretly, I had already believed myself capable of attaining the pace I wanted (and what is so noteworthy about that?). I was starting to realize there was this side of me that only sets out to try new things that I feel certain I won’t fail at.

Whatever happened to give it your best and have fun?? I don’t know, that wasn’t in my realm of reasoning. So questions were pondered. Am I shying away from attempting to run a full because I think I have to do it with a certain pace? Shouldn’t it be fair to say a self-victory of finishing a full-marathon for the first time is indeed “winning”? Or do I think “winning” involves keeping the same pace as my half-marathons and focusing only on the speed. For me, it was the pace thing : ( And so I had to come to terms with the reality that I too was in essence saying, “if I can’t win, I won’t run.”

But in the movie, Harold’s girl Sybil very wisely counters his comment with, “If you don’t run, you can’t win.” How true!! And yes, while my first desire would be to know that maybe, just maybe, I could run the full distance with my ideal pace (and that I won’t know unless I try); it is even more important for me to own up to the fact that I need get over this personal pride issue. If I am going to be teaching my children to be brave and try new things, giving it their best, and to enjoy themselves no matter what the results (because isn’t that what true “winning” is all about?); I need to be able to be someone to model that behavior to them. “Do as I say, not as I do” doesn’t work here.

Wow, sorry I am looking up through all these words and realizing this is very long! I’ll try to wrap it up. So all said and done, I made up my mind that for better or for worse, I need to do this. In March I signed up for the Rock ‘n’ Roll San Antonio marathon . The big day is November 16th. And “low” and “slow” are the categories for this blog; for many reasons.

Low: Well, I had to learn how prideful I was. That is a low feat. And sadly, I am STILL of the mindset that I will not learn my lesson soon enough. Just knowing how my brain works, I still believe I will be sorely disappointed if my time doubles my half-marathon time by more than just a couple of minutes. I desperately want to get over that goal and just be proud to know I attempted such a long run and that I gave it my best (regardless of what that clock at the end says). But I am sure it will be a long drawn-out process in getting myself to wise up in that area. I know that I need to redefine in my mind (and heart!) what success and winning are really all about.

Slow: This is a time-consuming training and slow-going process, with many more weeks to go. I won’t be ready, mentally or physically, overnight. And, with the last long-training run I did on Saturday, I am seeing glimpses of just how “slow” I might really be when it comes race day. That little virtual runner on my garmin forerunner quickly ran off my screen with the pace I gave him; and I never did catch him. I’ll get him next time! Oh wait. I can’t admit that, I forgot I already claimed that am not competitive : )

So stay tuned and see how I do. Do I learn my lesson? Can I actually survive all the training AND then the actual 26.2 marathon miles? I hope I can write about saying, ‘yes’ to all of them!

The girl who cried “BEE-e-e-e-e-e-S!!!!”

It was a nice and warm summer evening and the girls and I were all having fun outside. I was at the patio table reading. Halle, Dee, and Gracie were finding ways to entertain themselves with the grass, the flowers, the playset. All was well.

Until…

I hear this blood-curdling scream coming from the playset. Now a piercing sound like this coming from any other child would definitely stir fear into the hearts of a nearby parent. Signals would be sent to their brain. Instincts would prompt them to act NOW and come to the rescue of whatever danger is evoking such a cry of distress. But with Halle, her high decibel shrills have a proven track record of amounting to nothing more than a little bit of sensed unpleasantness. We try and try to work with her to help her understand that her level of reaction MUST have a true correlation to the level of physical or mental suffering. But it is of no avail, still she screams. A dirty look from her sister, a bump on her leg, hurt feelings, spilled milk, being told, ‘no’, a paper cut; all these minor offenses warrant, in her book, a scream.

So when I hear Halle cry out this time, of course I respond in a nonchalant manner because I thought for certain (like usual…) nothing was really the matter.

Baby, what happened?
BEEEEEEEEES!!!!!
OK, come on down, it will go away soon.
NO! BEEEEEEEEEEEEEES!!!
No worries. Just stay still, it won’t bother you.
NO! BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES!

This back and forth dialogue went on for awhile. Me trying to convince Halle everything was cool. Halle responding back like the sky was falling.

Finally, I actually try to look for this bee. My head turns up to the play set and…

Oh My…  

Goodness!!!  

I was beholding a truly dreadful sight!! The picture doesn’t do the spectacle justice, this was a swarm of THOUSANDS of bees and was about 2 feet in diameter. It sent shivers up my spine to look at.

Moments later when we were all safe inside I said, “OK Halle, sorry sweet girl. It is ok to scream for seeing this many bees.” She then insisted that we should make a rule that it is ok to scream for bees.

And with that, ‘screaming for bees’ is now officially added to our list of appropriate times to wail loudly. Halle keeps a running list in her head of these. So far she has come up with (and we have agreed) that when you are dying, someone is in your house that you don’t know, and getting shot with a gun are all ok times to demand the attention of others with your voice. And now, appropriate reason to scream #4 is this. Bees!

In light of this event; Halle screaming, me not responding… we have since pulled out the book, ‘The Boy Who Cried Wolf’ as an extra teaching aid for this learning experience. I believe she understands all this in her head, i.e., why she can’t just scream for the heck of it. So hopefully soon, she’ll apply what she knows with her responses.

Halloween and the not-so-horrible mom

Some of you might remember Halle’s costume from last year.      

  
 
She came up with the idea to be a scuba diver, all by herself.  I thought it was one of the most brilliant, creative ideas ever (especially from the mind of a 3 year-old).  And I expected her ideas to just get better and better with each coming year.  But then, the very next day following Halloween of ’06, Halle told me she wanted to be The Little Mermaid.  What?? Really??? I must confess that I was a bit disappointed in such a common, pick-one-up-at-walmart costume idea.  Even though I didn’t respond with a flat out, ‘no!’ (because that would be HORRIBLE), I did try to change the topic of conversation.  I thought maybe she would just forget about her wish if I quickly moved to another subject matter.  But it was a fruitless tactic, because Halle never forgets things – that just doesn’t happen! She brought up her little mermaid wish several times every month.  November, December, January, February, March, April, May, June… Come July, I took action.  I started trying to alter her thinking about fun things to dress up as and to try to get some other creative juices flowing in that sweet little brain of hers.  It would be a HORRIBLE thing to tell her how lame a little mermaid costume would be, I would never sink that low.  But I did do something almost as evil as a I attempted to coax her into other possibilities, with suggestions I thought would be clever.  I had grown accustomed to having a theme with the girls’ costumes and I was determined to keep that trend going.

Dee and Gracie experienced their first two Halloweens wearing outfits that partnered very well with Halle’s.

The first year, they were Litlle Bo Peep’s lost sheep 

The second year, they were the scuba diver’s underwater friends.  

 

In August, I had the thought that The Cat in the Hat partnered with Thing 1 and Thing 2 would be another ingenious plan.  But this notion left me with a two-fold dilemma to wrestle with.  One, it wasn’t Halle’s idea and two, it was denying her simple request to dress up as Aerial.  And in September, after telling the umpteenth person Hallle wanted to be a mermaid, but ‘no’ I was not going to let her.  I began to feel HORRIBLE! I had a sad glimpse of the future.  If I wanted to control my 4 year old’s costume wishes, what would be next? Her favorite color, her most enjoyable play time activity, her preference of an ice-cream flavor, her college degree, the name of her first born… where would I stop???  I concluded it would be a HORRIBLE mom who does such things.  And I realized that Halle wasn’t trying to be clever with her scuba diver costume, she was just sharing what would be fun for her.  Now, to offer up a little forshadowing of this story’s happy ending, I quote Sebastian, the lobster from the little mermaid who spoke these lines to King Tritan, “It’s like I always say, your Majesty, “children have got to be free to lead their own lives.”  You can know that the mom in this story was inspired, some, by this movie comment and was further motivated to find something not run-of-the-mill for Halle to play out her dream.  And in turn, this mom turned out to be not-so-horrible : )  

Meet this Halloween’s Little Mermaid and her sisters as Thing 1 and Thing 2 (at least I can still control Dee and Gracie’s costume ideas at least for another year…)