A ribbon for showing up.

I'll admit, I'm a pretty competitive person.

I've been this way ever since I can remember.  I've always wanted the best grade, the highest score, to win the game, whatever.

But also, I always knew where I stood.  I could win the spelling bee, no problem.  But on my elementary school basketball team, I wasn't the best player.  Heck, I wasn't even close.  I played, because every girl needed to play so we would have enough for a team, but it was clear to me and everyone else I wan't particularly good.

And you know what?  My self esteem was just fine knowing that.

From an early age, I knew what my strengths and weaknesses were, and I was still able to lead a fairly normal, productive life.  Well, relatively speaking, I guess.

After I grew up and I became a bookstore manager who was in charge of hiring people, I began to notice an incredibly disturbing trend.  There was an entire group of people about ten years younger than me who all shared the same kind of self-awareness.   The common traits among these people were that they all thought they were the best at everything, they all needed constant feedback proving this, and they expected their consistently mediocre work to be called out as "special" on a regular basis.

It took me a long time to make the connection, but when I finally did, it became clear that these were the people who were among the first to fall victim to the shift in the American school system (and parenting philosophies, to be fair) away from calling out excellence and failing poor performance to rewarding mediocrity and giving everyone a ribbon just for showing up.

From what I saw, the results of this were pretty catastrophic.  Here was an entire generation of people who thought, because they had all been taught that (at both school and home) everyone was equally special in everything.  Everyone, from the highest scorer to the bench warmers got the same praise on the soccer field.  Grades went from A for "excellent" to M for "meets expectations" and pretty much everyone got an M in all subjects.  All these children believed that they were the best. In everything.

But of course, that wasn't the case.  

Happily, my time managing this generation is over, but of course since I spend way too much time wondering about how my boys are being raised, I worry that this continuing trend of rewarding average performance will affect them as well.

Recently, I've been reading a number of articles that are calling for the ban on scoring kids' sports games.  Instead, the focus is supposed to be on having fun and gaining new skills.

Those are wonderful things for kids to learn, of course.  Of course.

But what about learning how to win graciously?  Or learning how to lose?  And what about letting kids figure out what their natural skills are, and letting them know where they have a aptitude and where they might need to work harder?

What's happening to these things?  Aren't these things my kids need to learn, too?

I'll be the first to admit, it's my natural inclination to want my kids to have it easy, to be happy, and to excel in things.  But I'm not so sure I'm willing to give in to it all the time if it means they will never learn those other, just as important skills of losing sometimes, winning graciously, and figuring out early on what they're good at.

When my boys do mediocre work or have mediocre behavior, whether it's at home, at school, or in an extracurricular activity, I want that to be rewarded with an "I think you can do better" instead of a "Great job!" so that they can learn to push themselves to be and to do better.

When they are good at something - really, really good, I want them to know that they are good at it so they can see where their talents lie and so that they can learn to be gracious to others who have different strengths and aptitudes.

And when they are not up to standard, I think they need to know that, too, so that they can work harder, get better, become successful.

It's a scary thing as a parent to realize that I might be the sole person willing to point all these things out, and it's a nearly impossible balance to praise enough, correct when necessary, and teach these boys of mine to grow up into reasonably self-aware and well-adjusted adults.

This parenting business is HARD, and I'm never going to know if I'm doing it right.

And for a competitive girl like me, that's the hardest part of all.

Valentine's Day Advent Mailboxes

And yes, I totally Googled "advent" to make sure it worked here.  And it does.  Mostly.

I used to ignore most holidays altogether, but over the last few years, a perfect storm of more free time plus Pinterest envy plus kids who are old enough to understand holidays plus my unnatural desire to WIN at parenting has led me down the dark, scary roads of holiday decor and festivities and whatnot.

Sometimes I tend to... overdo things, but I'm going to declare that these Valentine's mailboxes are nothing but win.

I saw these little cutie mailboxes in the dollar bins at Target, and quickly snatched up four.  My Target had the red and blue ones, but my friend Natalie found pink and white ones at her Target.  Wal-Mart also has some similar ones in with their Valentine's Day stuff, too.

I printed out some name labels (which would have been WAY fancier if I had this Silhouette Portraitcutting tool that I covet SO SO HARD), then found a quick free "I love you because" printable, and the rest, as they say, is history.

Now in the days leading up to Valentine's Day, my boys and I can leave each other cute little notes, plus I got a few cheap candies (like conversation hearts) to surprise them with along the way.  We have been doing this a total of ONE day, and they are already watching their flags like hawks, because they know a raised flag means a new note or treat. 

I found this note from Zachary in my mailbox this morning:

and while I'm not sure what it is I'm the best at, exactly (the best at yelling?  the best at making pancakes? the best at saying "uh-huh" when he talks at LENGTH about Beyblades?) I'll still take it, and take it happily.

Because he took the time to write it for me, and that means the world.




This post contains affiliate links. 

Goals are good.

Like most of the people I know, I seem to have more interests than time.

It seems like every time I make a choice to do something I enjoy, it is also a choice NOT to do something else.

I can either blog or read books.

I can either run or craft.

I can either cook or sew.

I can either keep my house clean or work in my yard.

I can either watch tv shows or watch movies.

I can either play video games or read magazines.

But what I can't do?  I can't do it all.  At least, I can't do it all to my liking and to the extent I want to do it.  

But I still try.  Sometimes my to do list includes things like "read Runner's World magazine from last month," just because the new one has come already.  But anyway, for me it's always, always, always a challenge to prioritize what I want to do and accomplish with my limited "free" time.

Last year, I used 122 hours of that time to run, logging just under 700 miles.

Considering that for the entire month of November I ran only four (yes, four) of those miles, I'll have to say that while 700 is a good number, it could have been better.

So that's why for 2013, I'm committing myself to running 1,000 miles.  

That's just shy of 20 miles per week.

At my current pace, that's about 180 hours of my life.

That's 180 hours that I won't be sewing or cooking or crafting or reading or watching tv.  It's also 180 hours that I won't be cleaning my house or playing with my boys.

It's a big commitment.  REALLY big.

 I'm going to have to stay on track EVERY week to make it happen, which is scary and daunting when I think about it too much.

So instead of thinking about it, I'm just going to do it.

Just watch me go.

I'm tracking my progress in the sidebar.  Feel free to egg me on and/or ridicule me to do better.

On Jack O'Lanterns and Overachievers

Every year the boys and I carve jack o'lanterns, where by "the boys and I" I mean that I let them watch me while I work on some ridiculously complicated design that I've decided that we just MUST have in order to win at Halloween.

The last few years have been a little superhero heavy, with some Mickey Mouse thrown in for good measure.   These creations take hours and are not without considerable sacrifice on my part.  The Batman I carved last year reduced several of my fingers to bloody nubs but I just kept on going and saw it through.   I'm such a good Mama that way.

See what I mean?

When it was time to do our carving this year, I had a plan all mapped out in my head about how it should go.  "Hey guys!" I started gleefully, "Since we are all dressing up as The Avengers this year (oh yeah, it's going to be EPIC) wouldn't it be cool and awesome if we carved our jack o'lanterns to look like the Avengers, too?"  I fully expected them to just go on along with my plan, because HELLO! - it was an awesome plan.  

"Oh I know," Zachary said excitedly, "I know what kind I want!"

I smiled to myself, because I was sure he was drinking the kool-aid and was totally on board with with my plan at this point.

"I want mine to have triangles for eyes, and a triangle nose, and a jaggedy scary mouth!"

"Um, you mean like a REGULAR OLD JACK O'LANTERN?!?!?!" I asked incredulously.

"Oh yeah!" he said.  "That sounds PERFECT!"

"I WANNA CAT!" Cooper yelled.  Thanks for backing me up there, kid.

I may have negotiated longer and stronger than I'd care to admit to try to get them on board with my awesome plan, but they held firm and it did occur to me that really this was supposed to be fun for them so I should probably just let it go.

So finally I did.

When carving day came, Zack changed his mind and decided on a scary scull, and Cooper held on to his cat idea, and they had a blast helping me get the pumpkins cleaned out and ready.

When it came time to make the first cut, I sighed a little to myself then let my dreams of matching Avengers pumpkins go, once and for all.

And you know what?

I'm glad I did.

Color Runnin'

Before...

If my friend Natalie and I ever wrote a co-biography, It would most certainly be called "It Seemed Like A Good Time At The Time."

We have a long and colorful history of getting excited about something, making grand plans to do it, talking about it and scheming about it for months, then realizing we don't want to really DO it and oh dear god who had this idea anyway?

So back in May when Natalie texted me a link to this 5k run and asked me if I wanted to do it, I of course jumped right on board.  Running three miles while people throw colored powder all over you in an attempt to get you as rainbow-colored as possible?  Of COURSE I'm in.

Then as the date approached both Natalie and I did what we always do - we started stressing about the details of travel (the race was in Nashville) and parking and packet pickup and logistics and...

Suddenly it didn't seem as fun any more.

But we soldiered on.

And we got there just fine, and got our packets picked up just fine, and found ample places to pee before the race began, and everything was just FINE.

And... we had a blast.

And after.

We ran together, and even though I've done lots of races in the past, this was the first time I had actually run WITH someone the whole time.  We talked and laughed and pointed things out to each other and got totally covered in magical colored dust, and it. was. awesome.

My slightly neurotic, homebody personality often keeps me from doing things just because of a fear of the unknown, and it's amazing to have a friend like Natalie who drags me out of my safe little cocoon of a comfort zone from time to time.

At the ripe old age of 38, I'm starting to realize that life is really just a series of memories strung together by common threads of people and places, and that I need to do more things, make more memories, and live more of my own life.

And this was a great and colorful place to start.

And In August, I ran...

In August, I ran.

And ran.

And ran.

Every single day.

Every. Single. Day.

Every day I strapped on my running shoes and ran.

Some days it was only a mile or two.

Most days it was three or four miles.

One day it was even 10 miles.

I got tired and didn't want to do it some days, but I did it anyway, because the others in my little virtual running group were doing it too.

It's nice to have a support system like that.

So on and on and on I ran.

I logged a little over 100 miles (AGAIN!) and I feel pretty badass about it.

Except why am I still fat?

Oh well.  Fat or not, I'm a badass runner.

And now I have to go.

It's time for my run.

Run, Mj, RUN!

So I mentioned awhile back that my friend Natalie and I had set up a Facebook group of runners, walkers, and crawlers, and that for July, we were going to challenge each other to run 75 miles.

And amazingly, all six members of the group did it.  I say it was amazing mainly because most of the group members had never ever ever run/walked/crawled anything close to that much in one month before.  But we all did it this time.  Here's to the power of groups!

I was putting in that kind of mileage back when I was training for a half marathon but that was over a year ago, and my stubby little legs had gotten complacent since then.

But my determination (and competitiveness) were greatly renewed by being in this little group, and for the month of July, I finished up at just over 100 miles.

Uh huh.  That's right.

100. Miles.

Ok, now would be a great time for all you "real" runners to just move on along.  100 miles, you scoff.  I ran that much just yesterday.

Well, whatever, you imaginary nay-sayers.  Like I said before, just keep movin' on along, because I'm pretty proud of my feat, and of all the people in the group who completed exactly what they set out to do.

And now it's August, and for the month of August, our group (which has now grown to 9 members!) is going to streak.

The days in a row kind of streaking, not the clothes off kind of streaking.

Although what they do in the privacy of their homes it totally their own business, and I'm not going to judge.  But wouldn't that chafe just a little?  Whatever.  No judging here.

The rules are simple.  Run, walk or crawl at least one mile every day in August, then post your results on the group Facebook page.

I have no doubt that the members of our group will do exactly what we set out to do.  After all, we're runners, and runners can do anything.

Anybody else wanna play along?

Tae Kwon Do Dads

Back in May we decided to enroll zj in Tae Kwon Do classes, and I'll have to admit it's been pretty good for him so far.

He makes his bed up in the mornings that we are going to go to class because his instructor asks about it, and occasionally assigns push-ups when it hasn't been done.  He answers most questions now with "yes, sir" or "no, sir," which is wonderful unless the asker is a woman, then it's just a little awkward... "Oh no of COURSE he doesn't think you're a man.  It's just a LITTLE bit of a mustache, really.  It hardly shows at all."   He's interested and engaged in class, and this week he had his first demonstration performance for the public.  I made RJ take him because my heart just couldn't take it.  I hear it went fine.  Just fine.

If all goes according to plan, he will be testing for his yellow belt in a couple weeks.  He's beside himself with excitement about this.  Honestly, I'm awfully proud of the way he's taken to it.  I'm glad that he's found something that he enjoys doing and gets a sense of accomplishment from, and I'm glad it's a place that rewards performance, not just attendance.  There are no ribbons for participation in Master Lee's class.  You come to class, on time, prepared, you do the work, and then you do it again tomorrow.  This is a lesson that I think is sorely missing from, well, pretty much the entire country, but that's a topic for another day, maybe.

Anyway, the way his class works is that you pay for it up front, then you can come to as many or as few classes as you want, and there are classes every day, Monday through Friday.  We've missed a few days here and there because of of vacations and whatnot, but for the most part, we have been going every day this summer.  I mean, why not?  Even though it requires that I put on a bra and leave the house - neither of which I'm all that excited about - it's good for zj to have some structure over the summer, and it's a great place for him to run out a little bit of his seemingly boundless energy.

Since this has become a nearly every day affair, I've met many of the parents who also take their kids to class.  Usually I'm busy just trying to keep cj quiet and occupied for the entire hour, but it's really interesting to watch the parents watch their kids.  I'm a people watcher by nature, in a totally non-stalkerish way, of course.

Here's what I've observed.  Every mom - every single one - who comes to class brings a project or something to keep her busy.  One mom knits.  Many bring books or magazines.  A couple have laptops.  They all sit there for the hour, working away on whatever, glancing up occasionally to ensure their kid is still there and not in any distress, they they go back to whatever they were doing.

This is SO not what the dads do.

The dads come with an agenda, and it is to coach from the sidelines.

They mutter under their breath "No, it's a high block.  HIGH BLOCK!"  and "Kick higher! Like I showed you!" and "Hey, pay attention!" although how they expect their kids to pay attention to both them and the instructor at the same time is beyond me.

They shadowbox along with the forms, bobbing and weaving from side to side, following the movements from a position that is squarely and firmly on their asses.

They keep their laser-sharp eyes focused on every move, every nuance of the class, and as soon as class is over they say things to their kids like "How did you miss that kick?  That one right when class started?" and "I think we need to work on your form when we get home.  It looked sloppy."

The moms greet their kids after class with "Did you have a good time?" and "Don't forget your water bottle."

Usually I'm not one to place stereotypes on people because of their gender or whatever else - as a muscle-car-driving, beer-drinking, power-tool-wielding girl married to a fruity-drink-loving, shoe-polishing, girl-band-loving guy, we tear down stereotypes just by placing a drink order.  I cannot count the number of times RJ's fruity drink ends up in front of me and my beer ends up in front of him, placed there by the well-meaning server who is just certain the drink order got reversed somehow.  It's become our running joke.

But at this place for some reason, the people I meet are consistent.  That's not to say that there might not be knitting dads in some other class, but so far, I haven't had the pleasure of meeting them.

I wonder if it's some sort of vicarious competitive thing, but since I'm maybe the most competitive person I know, occasionally resorting to competing with people who are unaware of said competition, I doubt that's it or I would be doing it too.  Maybe it's just some Dad thing that I'll never understand.  Maybe I should just be glad I didn't sign him up for soccer, where I hear this is so prevalent as to cause actual fistfights in the stands on a regular basis.

Maybe I just think about things too much and should learn to mind my own business.

Yeah, that sounds about right.

Here's to 75 Miles in July

While I was away on vacation, I got a text from Natalie.

"So, what do you think about running 100 miles in June?  To keep each other motivated?"

Motivation, my ass.

I smell a competition gearing up, and Natalie knows exactly what motivates me.  We had recently both signed up for The Nashville Color Run, and even though it's JUST a 5k, and even though it's MONTHS away, I've been itching for a really nice, healthy competition to get me running more often.  Maybe even one where both parties involved are aware of said competition.

Anyway, before either one of us took one step in June, we decided that maybe 100 miles was a bit much, so we would do 50.  That's 100 miles TOTAL, so it's not like we backed out or anything.

And so I ran.

And Natalie ran.

And we taunted informed each other via Facebook posts and many, many text messages.

Sometimes she was ahead.  Sometimes I was ahead.  I did bathroom surgery on my toe and had to take a couple days off.  She worked a full time job and still found time to run somehow.  I broke in a new pair of running shoes, much to my little piggies' dismay, yet still I ran.  She went away on vacation and still ran.  Every day.  Twice some days.   It didn't really matter.  We were both going to finish come hell or high water, because that's just how we are.

Natalie and I used to work together, in exactly the same job in exactly the same place, and oh boy did we ever compete with each other.  However, we managed to do it in a way that made us both better, and without hating each other or ever, ever throwing each other under the bus.

And since we're still the best of friends years later, that must say something about our ability to be competitive but still maintain some sense of sanity about it.  Well, maybe "sanity" isn't exactly the right word, but still, it's nice for a crazy competitive person like me to have someone to go up against whose head I don't want to bash in the entire time.

And I'm proud to say that as of June 30, we had both gotten our 50 miles in and had agreed to shoot for 75 in July.  We've even set up a Facebook group called Run, Walk, Crawl - 75 Miles in July to keep up and keep motivated.  We've even found a couple more die-hards to drag along with us.  

Because that's just how we roll.  Or run.  Whatever.

Bunk beds - the final decision.

A few months ago I told you I was considering bunk beds for the boys.

I finally decided.

Not.

My decision was based totally on the fact that sometimes, occasionally, like nearly every day and twice on Fridays, I needed to put the boys in their own separate corners, so to speak.

But that didn't fix the fact that zj, who has grown three more inches in the past three months, was all but falling out of his too-small toddler bed.

So a compromise was born, and enter... TA DA!  zj's new loft bed.

I ordered it online and it was totally reasonably priced and it came in a box in about 4,000 pieces with disclaimers like "requires two people minimum to assemble" which just sounds like a challenge to me.

So I asked RJ to leave work early one day to come home and help me assemble it and then I did it all myself before he got home.  I also strategically moved some other furniture to cover up the holes I made in the walls and by the way, I don't think my foot is actually BROKEN, just BADLY BRUISED.

Two people minimum my ass.

When RJ walked in and saw that I had done it already, he just shook his head and smiled.  He knows me so well.  

Anyway, zj has adjusted to it amazingly well and while changing sheets on a bunk bed is no picnic for this 5'1" Mama, I like it pretty well, too.  He has a desk to sit at and do homework or draw or whatever, and I only occasionally have to scream things like "Don't jump down from there!"

In exchange for the fact that I didn't move the boys into the same room, I've been promising them plenty of sleepovers over the summer, and they are both enjoying using the computer that we moved from it's never used spot in the basement.

Also, if you look closely in the picture, you can see all the dust on the ceiling fan.

I'm gonna go put that on my to do list, right away.

To take care of sometime in 2013.

Competition.

A few weeks ago, I sent my friend Natalie a text:

"I'm pretty sure I pulled something in my leg while I was running today, but I had to keep going because I'm in a competition with someone."

Her response? 

"Someone imaginary or someone real?

Sad that I had to ask."

Ah, she knows me so well.

"Well, he's REAL," I responded.  "He just doesn't exactly know that we are in a competition.  It's some dude I went to high school with who was kind of a jerk to me.  He keeps posting his runs on Facebook, so every time he does, I have to run more miles plus faster than he did."

A few minutes later I texted her again.

"Oh great.  Now he's started 'liking' my runs on Facebook.  I think he's on to me."

Natalie answered, "Oh my.  Please don't break yourself.  Also, don't accidentally friend his wife."

ME: "Well, maybe she runs, too, and I can compete with her.  Secretly, of course."

Natalie: "NO NO NO!!! Step away!  You may not stalk people and run 5ks with them without their knowledge!"

It's sound advice, I guess, but then who would I compete with?   

I'm not a quitter. No, really, I'm not.

Last year at this time, I had just finished running my first 5k, which I promptly followed up with a 10k, then a 10 miler, then a half marathon.  There were a couple other races thrown in there too, just for good measure.  It was my all consuming passion of the moment.

I started running for all the wrong reasons, promptly became totally addicted to it, and then, as I am prone to do, let it consume my life.

I trained every day.

I had visions.

I had goals.

It was a competition.  For goodness sake, it was a RACE!

I was going to be the best overweight middle aged housewife runner on my street!!!!  Maybe in my whole subdivision!!!

And then, right in the middle of training for my second half marathon, I hurt myself.  And no amount of Tylenol, ice or Ben Gay would allow me to run.

I was off for three months before I even felt like I could sholg (shuffle/walk/jog), I missed my fall half marathon (WHICH I HAD ALREADY PAID FOR BUT I'M NOT BITTER), then it was Thanksgiving, then it was Christmas, then suddenly I wasn't a runner any more.

Because every time I tried to run, I felt like I had lost so much ground.  So much stamina.  So much speed.  And it made me Hulk-Smash angry at myself, because if I can't win then I will just take my toys and go home, thanks anyway.

Then one day a couple months ago, I felt like going for a run.  So I put on my running shoes, cranked up my iPod, and I ran.  It was just a couple miles, but it felt good.  A couple days later, I did it again.  And again.

And now I've fallen into a pattern of sorts.  I run two or three days a week.  Sometimes I run four days a week. Occasionally, it's just one.  I run when I feel like it, and I run until I don't feel like it any more.

I think of it kind of like showering.  I do it because I should, I never really look forward to it exactly but I always feel better after, and maybe I should do it more often or more thoroughly but what I've found really seems to be working for me and it keeps the stink off, so to speak.

And I think I've accepted the fact that I'm not ever going to be some late to the game extreme super Boston qualifying marathon winner, and I'm ok with that.

I believe what I have found with my running is something called "balance."

This "balance" business has always been something I've heard of, but it was mythical, like unicorns, leprechauns, and the nude cheat code for the Laura Croft: Tomb Raider video game.

It makes me wonder if it would work in other areas of my life, like housework and spending time with the kids and cooking and my new craft obsession and quality time for me and quality time with RJ.

Nah.  I think it's just for running.

But that's ok.  I'll take it.

The lunchbox dilemma.

I was unsure about a lot of things when zj started kindergarten this past fall, but one thing I was pretty sure of was that I really didn't want him to take his lunch.  I wanted him to try what the cafeteria had to offer.  Although he's not a picky eater, he does mainly prefer things from the "orange" and "yellow" food groups, and I thought this would be a great way to expose him to some new kinds of foods.  Also, I am lazy and did not want to pack a lunch for him every day.

And that was fine for a while.  Every day, I quizzed him about what was for lunch and whether or not it was good, and how much he ate.  He seemed pretty happy with the school lunches, and although they weren't terribly impressive in their creativity (chicken nuggets, pizza and nachos were the staples), it was all just fine.  JUST.  FINE.

Until it wasn't any more.

One day out of the blue, zj said "Mama, can I get a lunchbox?"

"Why do you need a lunchbox?  You eat the school's lunches."

"Well, maybe I could, ya know, take my lunch some time?"

I asked a lot of pointed questions about WHY he wanted to take his lunch - Do you get to go first in line if you brought your lunch?  Do you sit at a special table?  Do you just want a cool lunchbox?  Do some of your friends bring their lunch? - and mostly satisfied with his answers, I relented.

Spiderman lunchbox.  Check.  Toy Story thermos?  Check.  My never-ending desire to win at everything, even things that aren't competitions? Check.

So I researched, and by that I mean I got on Pinterest, came up with a dozen or so stinking cute, really impressive lunchbox ideas, and we were off.  I made dinosaur shaped sandwiches with lettuce for grass and broccoli trees, turkey wraps with his name written in cheese, grapes carved into the Leaning Tower of Pisa, I did color days (all red foods! all green foods! all blue foods!), I did shapes (everything's a circle!  everything's a square!),  I wrote notes he couldn't really read on his napkins, and it was great.

The first couple of weeks, zj came home every day with an empty lunchbox, and I silently patted myself on the back for my wonderful lunches, all the while trying to come up with even more impressive ideas...  I WOULD WIN AT LUNCH!!!  I WOULD BE THE BEST MOM IN THE WHOLE KINDERGARTEN CLASS WITH MY PHINEAS & FERB SHAPED SANDWICHES!

One day last week, zj asked, kind of offhandedly, "Mama, can I have a wrap in my lunch tomorrow?  Ya know, with turkey and honey mustard?  Junior really likes those."

Ummm... what?!?!  Why does it matter what Junior likes?

"Zj, do you always eat all your own lunch?  Or do you share with the other kids?"

"Oh, we share.  Sometimes we trade stuff."  He seemed totally unconcerned that my head was blowing right off at that exact moment.

"So, last week when I stayed up late the day before Valentine's day cutting all your lunch into little bitty hearts and cut my finger while scalloping your tortilla hearts, did you share your lunch that day?"

"Oh yeah!!! Casey really LOVED all those hearts!"

Well, bully for Casey.  The little lunch-stealing brat.

Further questioning on my part led me to believe that most of my most impressive efforts had been traded for things that I don't normally buy, like Lunchables, Twinkies and Little Debbie Cakes.

I guess that's just what kids do, right?  Trade lunch?  I told myself I would just have to get over it.

Fine.  But no more fancy, labor intensive lunches here.

Next time, it's pb&j all the way.

And I may not even cut the crusts off.

"You can bring the Doritos."

See, the thing is, I sort of fancy myself to be a rednecky Martha Stewart.

Ya know, minus all the tax evasion and jail time.

I make crafts that look like this:

I cook - FROM SCRATCH - meals that look like this:

Recipe coming soon.  I promise.

I decorate for holidays like this:

Just in case you missed it last time.

I make - and can - my own applesauce, jams, jellies, and other cool things.  

I also do a lot of other cool domestic-y things like sew and coupon and quilt and whatever.  I just don't have any photos of those things handy.

Anyway, when Z started school this year, my creative craziness kicked into high gear.  I would be the Queen of the Kindergarten Room Mothers!  I would WIN at holiday parties!  I would be AWESOME!!!

I may be just a TOUCH on the competitive side.

Once, long ago, RJ signed us up to bring corn to his holiday party at work. 

I was distraught.  "BUT YOU CAN'T WIN WITH CORN!" I wailed.

"Win what?" RJ asked me, clearly not understanding my passionate response to the corn situation.

"LIFE!" I screamed.  "YOU CAN'T WIN AT LIFE WITH CORN!!!"

Ahem.

Anyway, I waited and waited until it was time for the first party of the year - the Halloween party. I pinned a ton of cute stuff to Pinterest in preparation, then I waited.  And waited some more.  Impatient?  Who, me?

FINALLY, I got a note from the teacher asking for volunteers for the "Fall Party."  Call it whatever you want, it's Halloween.  In the note, she mentioned that in years past, there had been an abundance of sweets like cupcakes, candy and cookies, and she asked for some other options.  Ok, I can work with that.  I quickly checked my board for non-sweet options, and decided that I would go with either this:

 which I found on this cool blog

or this:

from the PBS site.

The note I sent back was wonderful in it's simplicity.  

"Dear Teacher, I would be happy to bring something for the party.  I could bring fruit or pretzels or whatever you need.  If I don't hear back from you I'll bring one of those things."

Oh, wouldn't everyone be surprised at how wonderful my simple little "fruit or pretzels" turned out?  Clearly,  I WOULD win at Kindergarten Halloween Party.  

The next day, I got another note from the teacher.  It read, in it's entirety:

"Someone is bringing pretzels.  Can you bring the Doritos? Circle yes or no."

Doritos?  DORITOS!?!?!?!?

If you can't win with corn, it's abundantly clear that you can't even place or show with Doritos.

So now what?

I ran to my computer, intent on Googling things like "homemade Doritos" and "Doritos Halloween crafts" but before I got there, I turned around, swallowed my pride, circled "yes" on the note, and died a little inside.

Then I went out and bought two giant family-sized bags of Doritos.

The party is tomorrow, and I'm sure zj and all the other kids will have a great time.  I'll take my Doritos, and the kids will eat them and not care one bit that they are not carved into the shape of bats or coffins or whatever.

But I swear, by all that is holy, if there is even ONE undecorated or unadorned cupcake or cookie in that room, the Doritos will hit the fan.

 

Broken.

Hi, I'm mj, and it's been 22 days since my last run.

"Hi, Mj!"

A little over a year ago, I started running for the first time in my life, and my treadmill immediately tried to kill me.

It's ok, I eventually tamed that sucker, and took up running with a passion that I can only attribute to severe insanity coupled with fierce competitiveness.

I started running in actual races and to be quite honest, I've never been quite so addicted to anything in my life, and for someone who has a slightly addictive personality anyway, that's saying quite a lot.

So in keeping with my somewhat crazy outlook, I signed up for another half marathon for the fall, and decided that I was going to go all out with my training.

The slightly less than three hour finish in my last half marathon just wasn't good enough, so I upped my mileage, worked on my speed, and pretty much otherwise rocked the running shoes every chance I got.

My stamina was excellent.

My speed improved and I was consistently shaving over two minutes per mile off my previous time, even in long runs.

Until... one day, on a short easy run, I started feeling some pain in my right lower leg.

Now, let me start by saying that I have a ridiculously high tolerance for pain.  I'm not sure why, but every medical professional who has ever done anything supposedly painful to me has remarked on it.  I'm always just confused that it was supposed to hurt, and how can it be over if it didn't?  Anyway, I shrugged it off, finished my run, and ignored it for the next couple days, until it was time to run again.

And... I couldn't.

I. Could. Not. Run. At. All.

The pain was too intense.

So I tool a couple more days off, did the whole ice plus Tylenol thing, and got right back on the treadmill to "catch up" on the running I had missed over the past few days.

And... I still couldn't.

So I did what any reasonable, stubborn, pigheaded gal would do - I ignored it some more.

Until a week had passed, and it STILL hurt.

Then I got serious.  I started Googling it.

Google is my doctor of choice, you know, and I learned a lot about running injuries and how to prevent them, but not so much was available on how to CURE them.

My self-diagnosis is that it's a pulled or torn ligament.

Probably.

So I iced it, took some Tylenol, and mostly ignored it some more.

And still, nada.

So now I'm more than three weeks into a period of no running.  I'm grumpy.  I'm emotional. I'm broken.

I would have never predicted that not being able to run would affect me so much.

But I've made the decision to wait till it's completely healed before I try again.

Because I have to get better soon.

I've got some races to run.