Girl Vs. Food

I started out Thanksgiving Day at a 5k with my cute cousins, Alisa and Jamie. It was so cold out that I could only think swear words in my mind.

We ate dinner with Jack and Kay. They were hard at work when we arrived. The kids colored Thanksgiving placemats and complained that we were starving them. Bruce and Dave were in charge of child wrangling while Liza and I made pies and sides. They did an admirable job. Me and Liza. In honor of the holiday, I rechristened my fauxhawk "The Faux-Waddle."
The Thanksgiving Spread.
The kids' table.
Bruce, Dan, Liza, Dave, John.

Jill and Kay
Bruce tried to play a little joke on Kiki. He gave her the turkey leg to eat thinking she would be intimidated by the task, but instead she replied, "You'll need to cut it up for me." Then she commenced eating.

After dinner, we went to see my mom, George, and my Grandma, along with my bonus sibs. Grandma, as I have mentioned, is suffering from Alzheimer's. She told me that my mom "didn't have very much food," told my mom that her cherry pie was "gross," told Liza that her daughter's teeth were terrible, and mentioned to my bonus sis that she had a lot of gray hair (which she doesn't). Happy Thanksgiving!

So You Think I'm a Turd?

Kiki and I went to Target yesterday and when we came back out, I had a note on my car. It said:

You are a turd!

Way to pick on a grandma!

It's a parking spot!

Get over yourself!

I was mystified for a second, but I hypothesize the following:
Since I didn't cut anyone off or steal the spot from anyone, and I was well within the yellow lines on all 3 sides, I think the note came from the person who drove the car parked in front of mine. They owned a hatchback and had pulled all the way through so that when I parked I was pretty close to their back end. I figure the person had hoped to load their purchases in through the hatch and since my bumper was roughly the height of their back window I'm guessing that didn't go too well. If my hypothesis is correct, I can see how that could be extremely frustrating. However, if you are counting on loading your purchases into the back of your car, you probably shouldn't pull all the way through the parking spot so that the front of your car is facing out. Did I deserve the note? Maybe, maybe not.

I've been reading the Jon Krakauer book about Pat Tillman ("Where Men Win Glory") and it is excellent so far. So excellent in fact, that I was reading so intently at the gym the other morning that I didn't even notice that the woman in front of me had passed out and fallen off of her treadmill. Even worse, I wasn't wearing earbuds. Anyhoo, I've really been thinking a lot about something that was said in the book.

During Tillman's senior year of high school, he was involved in a brawl outside of a pizza joint. Long story short, he assumed that a bystander was involved with the confrontation and beat the living snot out of a kid who had nothing to do with the fight. He was sentenced to 30 days in jail and 250 hours of community service, and received a misdemeanor conviction so his college scholarship would not be jeopardized. The episode in the book ends with the following statement, made by a close friend of the man who had been so brutally beaten:

"At the time I didn't agree with the sentence at all. It seemed like the judge was more worried about Pat losing his scholarship than what happened to Darin...It didn't seem like justice had been served...When I heard on the radio that Pat Tillman had been killed, I remember the air being sucked out of my lungs...He was the first person I knew who had died in the war, and that war suddenly became very real to me...What I take from Pat Tillman is that you are not who you are at your worst moment."

You are not who you are at your worst moment.

I've thought lots about this the past few days. I have made a ton of mistakes in my life- big ones that hurt people, hurt myself, and jeopardized long term goals I had for myself. Although I consider myself changed in many ways now, I still look back at certain actions I took and wish I had a time machine so I could go back and stop myself. I'd be lying if I said I had totally forgiven myself for those things- I still think of the things I said and did and find them still cringe-worthy, but the simple statement above has given me permission to think that the things I DID aren't the only things that define WHO I AM.

I think back then, to the woman who was so frustrated by my accidental inconvenience to her that she actually put pen to paper to leave a terribly rude note on my car. She made huge assumptions about the kind of person that I am- that I am a jerk, that I don't think of others, that I don't like grandmas (that's actually true), that I would place the desire for a very average parking spot at Target above a stranger's feelings, and that I am an egomaniac. My first point is this: None of those things are actually true. My second point is this: How many times have I done EXACTLY what that woman did to me? I think it numbers in the millions: I have assumed someone is snobby when they are probably just shy, I assume people are bad drivers when they probably have two screaming kids in the car just like I do, I assume people are rude but they are probably just preoccupied. I could in fact, assume a lot about the kind of person who would leave a note on a stranger's car, but instead I'm going to go with, "That poor woman must have had a horrible day."

Really, the only thing I absolutely know about her is that she ate an insane amount of food only minutes before writing the note: She scrawled it on the back of a Del Taco receipt.

Dear The Whole Entire World: On Behalf of My Youngest Child, I Apologize.

The very instant Kiki was delivered, I knew she was my last child. It was a gift to me, because I savored her babyhood. I admit, also, that I have kept her a baby. Even though she is 4 years old in a couple of months, I still feed her if she is feeling lazy, or carry her into the store if she doesn't feel like walking, and haven't tried very hard to break her of the thumb sucking. Uggh. Just writing all that down makes me seriously question my motherhood judgement.

I used to work with a woman who was still breast feeding her 4 year old. Her rationalization?

"Oh, sometimes he doesn't even want to nurse- he just wants to touch them."

I judged her harshly at the time, but today I say to myself, "Lady, I am on the same damn slippery slope that got you a suckling pre-schooler."

Seriously. I have tolerated monkey business from Kiki that I never did from Kate, all on variations of the same excuse, namely, "She's just a baby/just so little/just so darn cute." All true, yet not a good reason either to just give up all discipline. My eyes have been opened the last few days- she does some really rude things, she talks back, she refuses to pick up, she wears completely inappropriate clothing, she wastes food AND toilet paper. I could go on, but now this is getting extra embarassing. For ME. And, we are at this crossroads where I realize that I have let my darling child become a little bit of a monster, and it is my fault, and I don't want to keep going down the same path. I have let her cuteness sway me, but the day has come when the fact that she calls a jam sandwich a "jamwich" just isn't enough social currency to buy my complacency anymore.

Now, before anyone calls social services, let me say this: Kiki can be the most charming and funny child ever. It's the only reason she's alive at this point. I love her so much. She is smart and good company, but my frustration has been that her bad behavior is Just. So. Bad. And while her behavior isn't always and consistently appalling, it is too frequently appalling.

I started the reprogramming yesterday with what I will call "The Stuffed Animal Standoff of 2010." All I wanted was for her to pick up her stuffed animals and put them in their designated basket. She whined and stalled. I warned her. More whining and stalling. I took away her blanket. Escalation of whining and stalling. I swatted her on the bum. Her reaction was complete hysteria- you would have thought I had whipped her on the bare back with a switch. And then, she caved and picked up all the stuffed animals. Later, we talked about it. I actually apologized for the bum swat, because it's not a discipline method I subscribe to (on paper, anyway...), but we chatted about what went wrong and what we both could change. This morning, I asked her to do a similar little task, and she raced off to do it shouting, "...and you don't need to spank my bum!!!" Then tonight, Bruce and I were (still) talking about the incident with her, and I said, "Kiki, why did I swat your bum?" hoping she would say, "...because I wouldn't pick up my toys," or something. Instead she replied, in a voice tinged with a little regret or maybe sympathy,

"Well, you're not the best mom."

No Kidding.

Past, Present, and Future

We celebrated my dad's birthday on Sunday. I think a good time was had by all.

I made my delicious chocolate layer cake for the second time in 4 days.

(That's 10 sticks of butter, if you are into keeping track of those sorts of things. If you aren't, forget you ever read this.)

The Shelton's drove all the way from Pocatello for the occasion, then turned around and drove all the way back on the same day. I think my dad was very surprised to see them- we kept it a secret that they were coming. I know it meant a lot to Jack that they made the sacrifice of a 400 mile round trip to come to his party, and it got my wheels turning in my mind about my family.

I sat around my dining table Sunday night with my nearest and dearest and all I could think was, "These are people who I have known and loved almost my whole entire life." There is so much shared history there- we know almost everything about each other (and frankly, we probably know at least a few things we SHOULDN'T know. It keeps us close because you don't want to make an enemy of someone who might let it spill that you once spent a long weekend in jail.). I think that the past has knit us together- our shared experiences and mutual love binds us together in a way that feels so permanent.

Monday morning I attended the funeral of my step-dad's father. George and my mom have been married for 5 years, and between the two of them they have 9 grown children and 8 children-in-law. It's a big group, and until the day our parents married each other, we hadn't met. We instantaneously earned the title of "family" but without all of the shared history to bond us. I think I've said before that it's pretty damn easy for adult step-siblings to go on as before if they want, and maybe see each other on the major holidays and call it good. Happily, I feel like the Barratt/Hunter bunch has chosen something different. While I don't know what they were like in elementary school, or who their first boyfriend was, or what college was like for them, what I do know is that I plan on being there when they have children, or make big changes, or experience losses. And while we are still working on a shared history to bind us, we instead have the promise of the future to bind us.

On Monday night, Bruce and I went out to celebrate our ninth anniversary. Bruce and I had both been married before, and we went into this marriage with our eyes wide open about what we expected from each other and what we were willing to give of ourselves. We both firmly believe that two people who both want to stay married will do it, no matter what the circumstances, and we also believe that a marriage requires near constant attention (Some married people call that "work" and I think that referring to it as such makes marriage seem like a pretty crappy time.). My marriage seems like a combination of past history and future promise- we have been together almost 11 years now and have had some amazing times and some terrible times. We have seen each other at our best and worst, and we choose to go on for more. I will never sit back and feel like my marriage is a sure thing or a guarantee, because I know that it isn't. No matter how much we have shared in the past, it all can be undone in moments if we were to choose otherwise in the future. I chose Bruce the day I married him, I choose him today, and I will choose him tomorrow.

Whether grounded in the past, or promised for the future, or a little of both, I have felt really lucky the past few days to have an amazing family.

I Can Create A Running Analogy for Any Life Situation

It's a little hard to believe that it was only last year that I ran my first half-marathon. I've run 5 since then, but the Just Cuz this past weekend was my first same-race repeat.

Compared to last year, this year I was 12 pounds lighter and 22 minutes faster. The two statistics kind of go hand in hand, I suppose.

This is Liza and I pre-race.

Every year the race has a theme (and also an end of race craft). It's a silly thing, really, but people take it very seriously. Last year I was too worried about finishing to think about a costume, but this year Liza and I embraced the Wild West theme and ordered socks that looked like cowboy boots.

I will say this: this course has many more hills than I remembered. I think it would be fair to classify it as 1.5 miles of downhill followed by 11.6 miles of rolling hills.

This is our friend Barry. He ran the race dressed like a sheriff, and his costume included SPURS. Also, he is fast. So while I was unable to beat the Sheriff, I narrowly missed beating a man dressed in red long underwear, and DID beat General Custer.

Liza beat everyone but the Sheriff.

I'm mainly posting this picture because I'm surprised at how thin I look.

I'm pretty sure it's the bib placement.

I raced my way to a new P.R.

I wanted to break into the 1:40's, so technically I cut it pretty close.

I'm actually thrilled that I made my goal, especially considering that the course was more difficult than I anticipated.

Because Liza and I are OCD runners, we analyzed our performance for about twice as long as our respective race times. I came in 62nd overall out of 279 runners and 15th in my age group of

of 79. Liza finished fourth in our age group at 1:43 and some seconds.

Here's some things that I know about running:

1. Running changes the way you think about life. I apply "running lessons" all over.

2. I'm amazed at how many dividends result from short-distance speedwork. All those hill repeats paid off in this race.

3. I'm surprised by how long I can maintain a pace that is uncomfortably hard.

Like an hour and 49 minutes, to be exact.
4. Apparently you get fewer blisters wearing socks that look like cowboy boots instead of fancy and expensive running socks.

5. I can't believe that someone as old as I am can keep getting faster.

So, all in all, I'm happy to end the year on this race.

A final note: I'm sore. Real sore. I've taken a ton of Advil. I'm quite certain that my blood is so thin that if I cut myself my blood would just evaporate.

Happy Halloween. Our Bellies Hurt.

The celebrations started early around here. The girls love the Dinosaur Museum, so we went there last week. As usual, Kiki was dressed completely inappropriately for the weather. She even wore running shorts so she could skip underwear, meaning she braved the October chill in exactly TWO articles of clothing and flip-flops.

All in all, it was a fun start to our Fall Festivities.

Tuesday night was the ward Halloween Carnival.

Kiki was a cheetah-Rarr! (That's how you have to say it.)Kate was a fairy.

We had our first snow this week.

True to form, this:

...is how Kiki dressed to go play in the snow.

She didn't last long.

Thursday night the girls carved pumpkins with Bruce.

This job always falls to him because he is super artistic, very patient, and skilled in knife handling. Also, when his kid requests that her pumpkin has a "Butt," he happily turns the pumpkin around and carves one.

Friday was the school costume parade.

After school I asked Kate, "Why didn't you smile? Were you not having fun?" and she proceeded to tell me how "awesome" the whole day was, so I guess the caption for this picture should be: Smiling on the inside.

I made this awesome chocolate peanut butter tart with a pretzel crust.

Go to my recipe blog if you want the recipe, because it is evil and delicious.

Bruce's place of employment hosts a huge trick-or-treat event every year. People turn their offices and cubes into spook alleys and every department has a different theme.

Kiki went as a frog this time, and I also managed to get pants on her, which was a real milestone for the week. The candy flows freely at inContact, so the girls came home with heavy treat bags.

Then we went to Dan and Angie's for a Halloween bash. We roasted ourselves and marshmallows in front of a bonfire, and Angie made a (not too) scary spook alley for the kids.

Grandma Trea spoiled the girls with hugs and loves.

The other milestone that was reached on Friday night was that Kate spontaneously gave Uncle Dan a hug, no coercing necessary. Yep, only took her seven years to warm up to him.

By the time Saturday came, I was worn out already! And I'd eaten so much junk that I felt bloated and gross. So I ran a 12-miler on Saturday morning as penance, then we had our usual lunch at Mi Ranchito, joined by our friend Jim.

Bruce forced the girls to take a nap, and then it was FINALLY time to trick or treat.

We live in Utah County.

It was a foregone conclusion that the trick-or-treating would take place on Saturday.

The caption should read:

Our heroine wonders why she is freezing her can off so her kids can collect more candy even though they have an insane amount of candy at home already. Stupid Halloween.

My mom hosts a Halloween party every year, so we avoided most of the rain by hanging out at her house with assorted family members and eating soup and bread. The girls had to race Aunt Jamie to the door to give candy to the trick-or-treaters- it was hard to tell who was most excited about it.

Then, like all fun evenings, we collapsed on the couch in front of a movie. The end.