Wal-mart - it's not just for grocery shopping any more!

This picture has nothing to do with this post.
At all.  I just think he's adorable. 

Potty training Zachary was the single most painful year and a half long experience of my life, so I'll admit, when it was time to potty train Cooper I put it off for far too long.

Finally, I decided I was going to have to just do it, so as I put him to bed, I prepped Cooper (and myself) the day before I was going to start.  "Cooper, you are getting to be such a big boy!  Do you know how Zachary wears underpants, and Daddy wears underpants and Mama wears underpants and not diapers?  Well, starting tomorrow you get to wear underpants too!  You get to go pee and poop in the potty!  Isn't that wonderful?"

The next morning when I went in to get him out of bed, he had taken off his diaper, put on underwear, and that was that.  Boom.  Totally potty trained.  I guess he was ready, huh?

Anyway, it was blessedly easy, which I'll have to say I think I deserved after the train wreck that was potty training Zachary, but having small children who are potty trained is not without it's own particular brand of challenges.

The greatest of these challenges is, of course, having a potty plan for when you are not at home.  Since I am a creature of habit, I go to the same places over and over and I have a potty plan for them all.  Except one.  Zachary's Tae Kwon Do class has a bathroom, but the setup is such that if a class is in session you have to walk through the middle of the class, thereby interrupting everyone's concentration, and then you have to do it again on the way back to your seat.  But class is only an hour, and I always make sure Cooper goes to the bathroom right before we leave for class.  It's only an hour, right?

So one day a few weeks back we were sitting at Tae Kwon Do, watching Zachary's class, when Cooper leaned over to me and said "Mama, I have to poop!" Oh great.  The class was in the middle of forms, which requires some concentration, so I asked him "Can you wait till we get home?"  "No Mama, I need to poop now!"

Ok then.  I made a split second decision that I would take him to Wal-Mart, which is just across the street, so he could use the bathroom there instead of interrupting the class twice.  We went, and he went, and everything worked out just fine.

Until the next time we were sitting in class, a few minutes in, and Cooper said to me "Mama, I need to poop.  Can us go to Moo-mart?" (Moo-mart is what he calls Wal-Mart because, hello! we do what Mickey Mouse does!)  After asking some questions I determined it was pretty urgent, so off to Moo... I mean Wal-Mart we went.

Now every time we are in the general vicinity of Wal-Mart, he decides he needs to go there to poop.  When I told him the other day to get his shoes on because we needed to go to Wal-Mart so we could get some groceries, he replied "YAY! AND US TAN POOP THERE, TOO!"

Um, yeah, kid, I guess we can.

Rules of the sleepover.

Don't they look sweet and innocent here?

My boys have always been good sleepers.

By eight weeks old they were both sleeping through the night - seven to eight hours at a time - with no drugs, sorcery or "crying it out" involved.

I did, and still do, consider myself VERY blessed by this particular fortune.

They have continued to be good sleepers at night.  Naps have always been anybody's guess and vary wildly from day to day, though.

So anyway, a couple weeks ago when they asked me if they could have a sleepover in Cooper's room, I said "Sure, why not?" because I assumed they would be good sleepers TOGETHER just as much as they were good sleepers SEPARATELY.

You can see where this is going, right?

I even prepped them beforehand.

Right before bedtime, I called them over to me and said, "Guys, I want to talk to you about the rules of the sleepover, ok?  Rule number one of the sleepover, you DO NOT talk about the sleepover."  This elicited completely blank stares from them, and I made a mental reminder to show them Fight Club some time in the near future.  I can't have my kids being pop culture deficient, can I?

So I continued. "Ok, forget that one.  Rule number one of the sleepover: What happens at the sleepover stays at the sleepover."  Blank stares from them again.  It's like they were raised in a barn or something. Sigh...  I expounded on this a bit.  "That means get along, stay in the room, be quiet, and no tattling."

They seemed to grasp this one a little better. "But what if I have to pee?" asked Zachary.  "Do I just pee in Cooper's room?  Maybe on the floor?"

"Um, no.  You may leave the room only in the event that you need to pee," I responded.  "Or poop," I added quickly, because I can still OCCASIONALLY outsmart them.

"Ok, now who can tell me the rules of the sleepover?" I asked.  "DON'T POOP ON THE FLOOR!" Cooper shouted.

Eh.  Close enough.  That's a good rule to follow pretty much all the time, so I let it slide on that.  After all, they are GOOD sleepers.

So I tucked them in, reminded them to get some sleep and closed the door on their sleepover.  An hour or so later, I peeked my head in to check on them and they were fast asleep.  Smugly patting myself on the back, I went to bed.

Fast forward three hours...

I was abruptly roused from my slumber by what must be... "Oh my god how did ELEPHANTS get in my house?!?!  R, get the elephant gun!  We've been invaded!  Do you hear that?!?!"  R rolled over long enough to mumble "It's the boys," then fell promptly back asleep.

I crept cautiously into Cooper's room where I was greeted by both boys, wide awake, lights on, music blaring.  "LOOK MAMA!  US IS DANCING!" Cooper yelled.  And indeed they were.  I told them it was 1am and that dancing was firmly prohibited before 7am, so they needed to go back to bed and to sleep.

2am:  I wake again, this time to the sound of a door slamming.  Repeatedly.  I marched toward the booming sound, and found Zachary on the outside of the door pushing it shut and opening it over and over, while Cooper hung from the doorknob on the inside.  "WHAT ARE YOU DOING????!!!?!?!?!" I shouted asked calmly, to which Zachary replied, "Oh, it's ok, Mama, we're just playing hide and seek."   Oh well, if that's all it is, then carry on.

3am: I hear yelling.  And crying.  And more yelling.  Assuming that they are being abducted by a stranger, a monster, an alien or a zombie, I run into the room, only to find them sitting innocently on the bed, looking at me innocently and being all innocent.  "GO TO FLIPPING SLEEP RIGHT FLIPPING NOW!" I yelled.  When I crawled back in bed, R asked me "What are you yelling about?"

4am: I wake to barking.  "Oh, it's just the dog," I think, then close my eyes to go back to sleep... "WAIT! WE DON'T HAVE A DOG!"  When I go into their room this time, Cooper greets me with a growl and tries to lick my face.  "Us is playing puppy!" he says joyfully.

I'm not sure I ever really slept again after that.  After firmly telling them that I didn't want to hear a peep from them until the sun was up, they both remembered the bathroom loophole and had to pee about 47 times each over the next couple hours.

Finally around 6am I gave up, made them breakfast and drank a couple gallons of coffee.  Once I was feeling slightly human again, I asked them "Did you guys enjoy your sleepover?"

"It was the BEST!" Zachary answered.  "Can we do it again tonight?"

Hell no, kid.

HELL. NO.

The boys' bathroom.

It doesn't LOOK all that scary, right?

I sit here in front of my computer typing away.

It's not because I have anything profound to say, really.

It's because I'm avoiding something.

I'm avoiding my most hated, most dreaded, most loathed of all tasks.

See, it's time to...

Cue ominous music.

Clean the boys' bathroom.


*Duh-duh-DUH!*


First, let me say that I realize just how fortunate I am to have a separate bathroom for the boys.  I'm THRILLED that I don't have to share my personal private bathroom space with them and all their bodily fluids and little boy funk.

But cleaning their bathroom is BY FAR the worst job I've ever had to do, and coming from someone who worked for seventeen years in a retail store that had public restrooms, that's saying a LOT.  Lord, the things I saw...  I'm still not sure how women manage to pee on the walls.  Men, I get, but women...  It's anatomically impossible.  Except, somehow, apparently it's not.

I was definitely one of those stupid "I will never ask you to do anything I wouldn't do myself" kinds of managers, which means every time somebody pooped in a urinal or flushed a diaper and caused an overflow, guess who got the call?  Yeah, me.  Once when I was an assistant manager, a customer approached me and said "Your men's room needs attention."  Uh-oh.   That's never good.  Also, he looked kinda green when he said it.  Expecting to walk into a giant mess, I suited up - rubber gloves on, trash bags ready, mop bucket prepared, plunger in hand, only to walk in and see... nothing.  No shit dripping from anywhere, no overflowing toilets... I kicked open the first stall.  All clear.  Whew.  I kicked open the second stall, and there I saw it.  In the toilet was the largest poop I have ever seen in my life.  It was perfectly round and roughly the size of a cantaloupe.  Flushing just made it swirl around, but it was too big to actually go down.  Finally, I resorted to breaking it up with the stick end of the plunger so it would flush.  Afterwards, I threw the plunger in the trash, and the manager blamed the cleaning crew for stealing it.  I never said a word.  Some things, you just don't talk about.

But I digress.

To be honest, I'd rather be back in the land of giant poops and toilet paper all over the floor than to have to clean zj and cj's bathroom.

'Cause it's RANK, y'all.

I mean, I clean it more often than I do any room in my house, and while that's not saying a lot, really, it still amazes me how they can manage to pee on everything in there.  In one bathroom trip.  And I mean EVERYTHING.

And the smell.  Lord, the smell.  It's something between locker room and sewer, with just a touch of old garbage can.

Seriously, how can two little little boys cause such an atrocity?

I can only imagine that this will get (*gag*) worse as they get older.

Ok, forget it.  I just talked myself out of it,  I'm not going to clean their bathroom.

I probably need to start building up a tolerance to it, right?

The bathroom incident.

At least a couple times a month, RJ and I take the kiddos out for breakfast.

Breakfast is easier.  Breakfast is cheaper.  Breakfast is less crowded.  Also, even though I consider myself to be a pretty darn awesome cook, I cannot seem to make scrambled eggs that aren't brown and rubbery.  So there's that.

Anyway, yesterday was one of those days.

After some debate about where to go - where debate equaled zj chanting "Crac-ker Bar-rel!  Crac-ker Bar-rel!" over and over, we made a family decision to eat at Cracker Barrel.

Breakfast was delightful, as it always is there, even though cj ate most of my eggs and zj ate all my grits and quite a bit of my bacon.  It's ok, though.  I protected my gravy and biscuits with the ferocity of a hungry wild beast, which I guess I was.

As we were wrapping up, I excused myself to go use the facilities.

I walked into the ladies' room, and took a quick inventory of where I stood, stall-wise.

There were four stalls.  Two of them had the doors closed, and I assumed they were occupied.

Two of them were unoccupied.

And there was a lady standing sorta kinda in front of one of the open stalls.

Oh, and she was blocking the way to the other open stall with her person.  Not that her person was particularly large, she was just one of those people who manage to take up a lot of space.  You know the ones. right?  She was older than me, but not OLD - maybe in her fifties - and the only notable things about her were the presence of a cane and an ugly black eye.  Maybe a car wreck, I mentally assessed.

Being the polite and wholly non-confrontational person I am, I waited a minute for her to move out of my way.

And I waited.

When it became clear that wasn't going to happen, I asked, rather politely, I thought "Are you waiting in line?"  Polite smile, not quite eye contact, you know the drill.

"Yes, I'm waiting for this stall," she replied, gesturing at the open one she was blocking.

"Do you mind if I squeeze by to that one down there, then?" Again, totally polite on my part.

"I'm waiting for that one, too," she said.

Um, ok?  I'm no expert on human anatomy, but I am pretty sure it's impossible for a woman to pee in two different stalls simultaneously.

Just then one of the occupied stalls opened and someone stepped out.  As she walked past me to wash her hands, she whispered under her breath to me "She'll let you in eventually.  If you're in a hurry you might want to skip it, though."

I looked at the woman who was keeping me from my potty break and asked her "Are you waiting for that one, too?"

"Yes," she answered.

So after one more really mean look at the potty police lady, I turned and left the bathroom, pee and all.

Something I am striving for in my life is learning to pick my battles, and this one just didn't seem worth it.  Clearly maintaining control of the restroom facilities at Cracker Barrel was important to this lady, and I didn't have to go THAT badly.

I could wait 15 minutes to pee, and having a throwdown with someone in the Cracker Barrel bathroom wasn't on my to-do list on that particular morning.

She better not catch me on a bad day, though.

Or the pee may just fly.

Project potty.

This week I have started to potty train cj.

He is two and a half, and was exhibiting all the signs of readiness, like pretty much insisting on going to the potty himself.

But I kept putting it off.  Mainly because potty training zj ranks in my top 5 worst experiences ever, right up there with major abdominal surgery, going to the gynecologist, and "drop-by" visits from my in-laws.

See, way back then, zj seemed ready, too.  Well, until I actually ASKED him to do it.  Then all bets were off.  There was much yelling, screaming, and crying, and he didn't like it much, either.

More than A FULL YEAR after I started potty training zj, I could call done.  Mostly.  Well, good enough.

I assumed that potty training cj would be a similar experience.  I would have seriously put it off even longer - I mean really, it's not like we actually GO anywhere, and we have three whole years before he starts school, but people were starting to ask me when it was going to happen, and by people, I mean cj.

"Pee potty, Mama?"

"Soon, baby.  Really, really soon."

So I began preparing myself.  I read about a zillion articles on potty training success, then chucked it all and stocked up on Mickey Mouse and Yo Gabba Gabba underpants, paper towels, flushable wipes, tequila (for me) and peanut butter balls (courtesy of my Sis B) for cj.

Two days ago, I started.

And...  it's fine.  Better than fine, really.  It's pretty great.  It works.  And two days in, it's pretty much done.  He has had one accident - ONE - and seems totally on board with the whole thing.

It has been so easy that I'm pretty sure I'm doing it wrong.

Maybe I shouldn't say it out loud, or I'll jinx it.

Actually, forget you just read this.  I don't want to push my luck.

A sense of urgency.

Back when I was a high powered bookstore manager with oodles of people working for me, I was often in the position to coach, counsel and/or otherwise flog people for poor performance.

One of the very vague, yet very real things that showed up with certain people time and time again was "lacks a sense of urgency."

What this means, in layman's terms, is:

Slower than Christmas.
Slower than dirt.
Slower than dial-up.
Slower than speaking French with a phrase book.

It also means easily distracted or unable to complete simple tasks quickly.

I have a lot of experience with people who lack a sense of urgency.

I have coached and trained them for years.  And years.  And years.

But nothing, and I do mean NOTHING, could have prepared me for getting zj ready for school and out the door every morning.

For years, I silently mocked couldn't relate to parents who would talk about looking forward to weekends so they could sleep in, how sending kids to school was a full-time job, etc.

Oh, now I get it.

Do I ever get it.

Here's how a typical morning goes:

5:30 am:  I jump out of bed just before the alarm goes off (every time, of course), shower, dress and head downstairs.
6:00 am:  Coffee is made, breakfast for the boys is ready, I check email, maybe throw in a load of laundry, pay some bills, putter online...
6:30 am: I head upstairs to wake zj.

Me: "Z, honey, time to get up."
"Z, honey, wake up."
"Z, time for school!  Wake up!"
"Z, are you awake?"
"Breakfast time, baby.  Get up please."
"Z, get up, please.  Honey?"
"Z. Get. Up."
"Z. Time. To. Get. Up."
"GET. UP. NOW."
"NOW!"

Zj: "Mama, don't wanna.  I'm too tiiiiirrrrrreeeeeddddd."

Me: "You don't want to miss school today do you?  Today is library day!!!"

Zj: "My legs are too tiiiiiirrrrrreeeeeeddddd.  I can't get uuuuuppppp."

6:40 am: Zj is up and sitting in front of his breakfast, but only because I physically picked him up, slung his body over my shoulder, and carried him downstairs.

Me: "Zj, I need you to eat."
"Eat please."
"Zj, we don't have a lot of time.  Please eat your breakfast."
"Sit up straight and eat please."
"Zj, stop trying to lay down.  You need to eat."
"Eat. Your. Breakfast."
"EAT!"
"NOW!"

6:47 am:  Zj sits up straight, suddenly wide awake, and jumps back into the middle of a conversation we had several days ago.

Zj:  "And I think that Ironman could beat Spider-Man in a fight, if they got mad at each other because Spider-Man only has webs as weapons and Ironman has blasters in his hands and Mama, did you know yesterday at recess, two girls in my class were trying to RIP ME TO PIECES?  They were.  Really.  One got one hand and one got the other hand and they tried to pull me apart and today we might get to have a popsicle party at school..."

Me:  "Stop talking and eat."
"Stop talking and eat."
"Stop talking and eat."
"Stop talking and eat."
"Stop talking and eat."
"Stop talking and eat."

7:02 am (TWO MINUTES OFF SCHEDULE, I MIGHT ADD):

Me: "Zj, time to go upstairs and get ready.  Here's what I need you to do.  Go upstairs, brush your teeth, go pee, wash your hands - WITH SOAP - and change into your school clothes.  They're already out for you.  Can you handle it while I clean up breakfast?"

Zj: "I know, Mama, I KNOW."

7:05 am:

Me: "Zj, are you brushing your teeth?"

Zj: "I'm just getting ready to!  Really!"

7:08 am: I head upstairs, and see zj, still in his pajamas, sitting in his floor playing with a Batman figure.

Me: "BRUSH YOUR TEETH!" in my best possessed-by-demons voice.

Zj jumps up, runs into the bathroom and I hear water splashing.  I pick up the toys, then round the corner to the bathroom, where I see zj sitting on the edge of the FULL sink, splashing water up on the mirror and making boat noises.

Me: "OH MY GAWD BRUSH YOUR TEETH AND THEN GO PEE THEN WASH YOUR HANDS WITH SOAP DO IT AND DO IT NOW OR REALLY REALLY BAD THINGS THAT I CANNOT EVEN THINK OF RIGHT NOW WILL HAPPEN TO YOU DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?"

Zj: "Ok, Mama, I was just getting ready to."

Me: *Head blows completely off.*

7:23 am: Zj is combed, dressed, brushed, and otherwise groomed.   Mostly.

Me: "Zj, head downstairs and get your shoes on.  Mama needs a nip of gin just a minute, ok?"

7:27 am: I head downstairs, where I see zj, sitting in the couch, fidgeting and swinging his still bare feet.

Me: "RJ! GET DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW AND GET THIS CHILD READY FOR SCHOOL BEFORE I DO BODILY HARM TO HIM AND HE HAS BEEN TOO DAMN MUCH TROUBLE TO WASTE ALL THE EFFORT ON SO YOU'D BETTER GET DOWN HERE RIGHT THIS MINUTE BEFORE CJ IS AN ONLY CHILD AND WHY CAN'T HE JUST GET FREAKIN' READY FOR SCHOOL ONE TIME WITHOUT MY YELLING AT HIM AND OH GREAT LOOK AT THAT NOW CJ IS AWAKE AND ALL I WANT IS FOR THIS CHILD TO HAVE HIS SHOES ON FOR CRYING OUT LOUD IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK FOR ONCE?"

RJ: "Z, buddy, put your shoes on, ok?"

Zj: "Ok, Daddy."

Me: *Full blown explosion of head, complete with wailing, gnashing of teeth, speaking in tongues and twitching of eyelids.*

7:30 am: Zj and I are out the door to catch the bus, and the hardest hour of my day is officially over.

Well, till the next day, anyway, when we get to do it all over again.

How to write an amusing blog post.

As we open the scene at 154 Hidden Court, it is mid-morning and cj and zj are working on a coloring project that is spread out all over the living room coffee table.  Crayons are everywhere.  Mj takes one last look to ensure the safety and well-being of the boys, then grabs her massive cup of coffee - Cinnamon Roll flavored - and sneaks away to the office.  She sits down at the computer, opens it up, and...


Cue ominous music.


Zj:  "Mama!  Cj won't share!  I want the green crayon because I'm coloring the Green Lantern and he's GREEN!  And cj won't give it to me!"


Mj sighs, gets up from the computer, and goes in the living room, where there are NO LESS THAN 15 different green crayons available to choose from.  She makes some deals, swaps some crayons around, no one is actively crying, so mj heads back to the computer.  She sits down, the wonderfully amusing blog post swirling around in her head, just BEGGING to be let out, and...


Sounds of the bathroom door opening, then a large SPLASH! followed by uncontrollable giggling.


Zj:  "Mama!  Cj threw something in the TOILET!  AND NOW HE'S TRYING TO FLUSH IT!  AND HE'S ALL WET!  WITH PEE WATER!  EWWWWW!"

Cj:  "Ewwwwwww!"

Mj sighs, gets up from the computer, retrieves the toy Ironman from the toilet, rinses it off, cleans water up off the floor, takes cj upstairs and changes his clothes and disinfects his toilet-germy hands.  As they come back down the stairs...


Zj:  "Mama, I don't want to color any more.  Can I play on the Wii?"


Cj: "Wii!  WHEEE!!!"


Mj picks up 4,923 crayons, mostly green, puts them away, and turns on the Wii.  As the boys begin to play Mario - Cj's remote doesn't have any batteries, by the way - she returns to the computer and begins to type.  This is going to be the best blog post ever!  The words are just pouring out!  


Zj:  "Mama!  Cj shoved something up his nose!  And I think it's a crayon!  And it's GREEN!"

Mj sighs, gets up from the computer, and extracts this from cj's nose:

In the middle of the crayon extraction, mj notices that her living room window looks... dirty?  Closer inspection reveals this lovely crayon drawing on the window:

Mj retrieves cleaning supplies and cleans the crayon off the window.  Meanwhile, zj has tired of the Wii and has wandered off to change into:

his Batman costume.  

Zj:  "Hey Mama.  You wanna play pretend?  You can be Catwoman." He is using his best cajoling, sing-songy voice.

Cj: "Nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh Batman!"  singing the Batman theme song.  In his OUTSIDE VOICE.

Mj:  "Give me just five minutes to finish up what I'm doing, then we'll play, ok, guys?"

Disappointed sighs all around.

Mj wanders back to the computer, determined to finish the damn blog post.  Well, as soon as she checks Twitter.  And Facebook.  And Pinterest...

Twenty minutes later...

Zj:  "Mama!  Has it been five minutes yet?"

Mj sighs, hits the "Publish Post" button, even though she's not really pleased with what she's written, and goes to play pretend.

After all, she DOES get to be Catwoman.

Meow.

Why someone ought to rethink those silly "no open liquor containers in the car" laws.

So, the J family is on vacation.

I'm currently sitting in a beautiful condo in beautiful Pawleys Island, SC, just waiting until it hits 80 degrees so we can hit the beach.

It's a hard life.

Really, it's a wonderful, laid-back kind of place.  The kind of place where the beaches are white and clean and empty, the locals are friendly, and nobody expects you to dress for dinner in anything that isn't flip-flops.

Which is a damn good thing, since getting here is a bit... er... stressful.

Fifteen hours.  One car.  One twitchy five year old.  One whiny twenty-two month old.  Two sleep-deprived adults.  Four different sets of directions/gps devices.  Incessant Batman cartoons.  Multiple pillow pets.  An entire electronics department worth of gadgets that beep and squeal and "Mama, this one doesn't work right!!!"  No liquor.

Hell.

Seventh circle.

For real.

They have no idea what's about to happen.

I think I've blocked whole portions of the trip.  It's a whole big long 15 hour day full of repressed memories.  It's for the best.  It's not like I really WANT to remember how I got us lost before we even left our hometown, or how many McDonald's I peed in, or how many Wal-Marts we stopped at before we found one with a gas station...  Hey, we had gift cards.  Gas is $37 a gallon, and our ginormous SUV gets about 2 gallons to the mile.  Don't judge.

I also have no desire to remember how, 30 minutes into the trip, cj started to tug on his carseat straps and yell "HELP! HELP!" at the top of his lungs.  Or how he spent the entire trip, except for the one peaceful hour he passed out, practicing his favorite new words at the top of his lungs, in seeming random order.  "Mine!"  "Bear!"  "Hello!" "Mine bear!"  "Cow!"  "Moo!"  "Nose!"  "Help!"  "Mine nose!"  "Dada!"  "Mama!"  "Mine!"  "Help!"  Or how he yelled "Ouch!" every time we hit a bump in the road.

Proof that he did sleep.  For a minute.

I also don't want to relive how many times zj said "Is there a bafroom nearby?"  Or how many times he peed on the side of the road.  And I especially don't want to remember the church that we stopped at so zj could pee on the tree.  Sorry, Jesus.  No disrespect intended.  But when a 5 year old's gotta go, he's GOTTA GO.  You understand, right?

And mostly, I don't want to remember exactly how many times I got us lost, with the four maps/gps gizmos in hand.

Yeah, totally blocked that.

Nope,  I'm just going to remember the beach and the sand and the sun and the boys having a great time.

And the beer.

I'll probably remember that, too.

Yeah, I just ran a mini marathon. My feet could star in a zombie movie. With redneck playlist!!!

So the running bug bit me a while back and it bit HARD.   I'm not an especially good runner.  My form is bad, my pacing is poor, my toes are black and look like they have been stepped on by an overweight elephant.  Also, I'm not really at a training level to run a mini-marathon.  Oh, and my feet... My poor, battered feet...  I am currently missing a toenail, am about to lose another one, and only have two that aren't black or bruised.  I have feet issues.  Serious ones.  But whatever.  I'd post a picture, but I don't want to run both my readers off.  It's ugly.  Maybe, just maybe, if you're lucky, I'll tell you all about my most recent shoe fitting, which led me to wear a pair of brand new, un-broken in, untried shoes for my longest race ever,  but for now, let's focus on the race, shall we?

Anyway, I signed up for, ran (mostly) and successfully completed this little mini, feet be damned.  Here's how it went down:

Starting Line - on the playlist:  Harper Valley PTA by Bobbie Gentry  I always wonder about the women at these races who have to get up at least three hours early to tease and/or otherwise bouffant their hair and carefully apply their makeup.  That woman up there has AT LEAST half a can of Aqua Net on her beehive.  That shit is going to melt once she starts sweating.  Hey!  Why is she in a faster corral than me?  Oh, here we go!!!

Mile one - on the playlist:  Van Lear Rose by Loretta Lynn  Ok, I wanted music to start that would help me pace myself, but... this song is so SLOW I'm practically running backward.  Hmmm... these shoes aren't feeling too great.  Actually, my left foot sort of seems like it may explode soon.  Hey Will, 5:30 Asics Pace Runner, do your really thing dropping trou and going pee in the middle of the race while a pace group is following you is a great idea? Ok, I guess you do.  Carry on, then.  And I kinda need to pee, too.  And what's that weird smell?

Mile two - on the playlist:  I Don't Want To Get Over You by Norah Jones and Willie Nelson  It's my man Willie's birthday today!  Love ya Willie!  Aw... isn't it sweet that the band kids are playing for us?  But could you crank it down a notch?  I'm trying to listen to Willie here.  And... my left foot is REALLY going to explode now.  It's ok, I didn't like that foot very much anyway.   Hi Mr. Policeman.  You are doing a good job keeping the traffic from crushing us on these side streets.  I appreciate that very much.  I'd appreciate it more maybe if you weren't the THIRD COP IN A ROW who was either playing Angry Birds and/or texting your wife/girlfriend/both on your iPhone.  I'm on to you.  I have an iPhone, and I know what it means when you hold it sideways...  And I REALLY need to pee.  And I STILL smell that smell.

Mile three - on the playlist:  I Feel Lucky by Mary Chapin Carpenter   Hmmm... this isn't the best neighborhood, is it?  Damn, my foot hurts.  Anyway, you adorable pit bull, you... you just stay on that side of the chain link fence, ok?  I really don't feel like being bitten today.  Unless maybe you could gnaw my left foot off.  Then it might be ok.  Hey, is that a hooker passed out on that porch?  Also, I'm thinking about peeing on myself.  REAL runners do that, right?  That smell... not going away.  What could that possibly be?

Mile four - on the playlist:  You're the Reason Our Kids are Ugly by Loretta Lynn and Conway Twitty  OMG IS THAT A PORTAPOTTY LINE?  I'm totally stopping...  8 minutes later... Whew, that's better.  I can totally do this.  Well, I could totally do this if my left foot weren't about to explode.  Ok, and that smell keeps getting worse.  And worse.  Are we near a dog food factory or something?  Oh... I think I figured it out.  I'M THE SMELL.  It smells like teen spirit up in here, y'all.  And it's bad stuff.  

Mile five - on the playlist:  Tainted Love by Soft Cell  Not.  Feeling. Well.  Nauseous.  Foot. Hurts.  And how the HELL did that song get on my playlist?  Maybe I'll step over here for a minute... My sincerest apologies go out to the members of the Daughters of the American Revolution and/or their groundskeepers for any vomit I may have left near your building.  I can assure you that it is in no way a reflection of how I feel about your fine organization.  

Mile six - on the playlist:  Lyin' Eyes by the Eagles  Ok, I feel better, except for my left foot.  And I'm not sure that will ever be the same again.  Did that Grandma in front of me just Jump. Up. In. The. Air. And. Do. A. Leprechaun. Heel. Kick?  Why yes, yes she did.  Go Grandma.  Right now I hate you with a passion that is indescribable, you and your show-offy heel kicky 70 year old feet that work properly.  Bitch.  I think I'm going to step over here to the side and maybe do a quick amputation.  Or maybe I'll just take my sock off and try running without it...

Mile six point one - on the playlist: Did I Shave My Legs For This by Deana Carter Alrighty, the no sock thing was a bad idea.  Guess I'll get out of traffic and put that sucker back on...  My left shoe, however, I think I can do without. 

Mile seven - on the playlist:  Mind Your Own Business by Hank Williams Jr.  Hi Old Guy.  You must be Gene, since your shirt says "Gene's 38th Mini Marathon."  Either you're Gene, or you rolled Gene in the parking lot and stole his shirt.  Yes, I know I'm carrying my shoe.  Yes, I know it's a bad idea to wear new shoes on race day.  Yes, I understand that the same thing happened to you back in '78 in Memphis.  No, really I don't care.  Gene, I appreciate your wise words and witty anecdotes and all, but I think I might move on over to the side and put my shoe back on.  No, no, you go on ahead.  I don't want to hold you up.

Mile eight - on the playlist:  It's A Great Day To Be Alive by Travis Tritt  Great news!  Now my left foot is completely numb, so it no longer matters if it explodes.  Except exploded foot is going to be Hell to clean out of those shoes before I return them... Hey!  Is this Churchill Downs we're running through?  Awesome!  Also, the smell of horse piss is stronger than the smell of ME, and also considerably more pleasant.  Hey lady?  Why would you stop in the middle of a race to take pictures?  Don't you know you can buy a postcard?  Whatever.  Cool!  Beer tents.  I'm gonna be over there asleep under that pallet of Bud Light Lime if you need me.

Mile nine - on the playlist: Delta Dawn by Tanya Tucker  I love this song.  It's one of those songs I just can't help but sing along to...  Oh, what are you looking at, lady?  It's a good song.  Besides, you are dressed like a middle aged, overweight Wonder Woman.  Clearly drawing attention to yourself is something you know a little bit about.  These people who stand out here and hand out water to all us thristy folks are awesome, but this group from Walgreens is the only group who is keeping the cups and bottles and other trash picked up along the way.  Clearly, being of the retail sort, they are used to picking up after other people.  And... my foot hurts. 

Mile ten - on the playlist:  One More Last Chance by Vince Gill Why are all the people around me congratulating each other?  We have THREE.  POINT.  ONE.  FREAKIN'. MILES. LEFT.  That's a 5k, people.  There is a more than even chance that SOMEBODY will drop out past this point.  Like me, maybe.  Wonder how that works?  Do I just raise my hand and ask to be excused?  Get a hall pass, maybe?  Or do I just go sit down on the side of the road and a bus comes and gets me in a few minutes and takes me to the gladiator ring with all the other losers and we get fed to the lions?  Hmmm...  I should have researched that a little better.  I hate being unprepared.  Guess I better keep going.

Mile eleven - on the playlist:  The Church on Cumberland Road by Shenandoah Seriously?!?!?!  Do you guys really think a mini-marathon is a good place to come on a getting-to-know-you date?  Also, dude, I'm pretty sure a line that starts with "I've made lots of bad choices in my life..." is NOT the way to guarantee a follow-up date.  And honey, you are way cute, but you are a hot sweaty mess right now, and your ponytail, which was probably all cute and perky this morning, is all higgledy-piggledy and askew.  You really don't want a guy to see you like that until after the third date.  And... my foot cannot possibly still be a functioning limb at this point.  That's ok, though.  I'll just get one of those super duper replacements like the Bionic Woman has.

Mile twelve - on the playlist:  Bye Bye by Jo Dee Messina One mile and change to go!  At this point, it will be easier to finish than to quit, because of the car is parked pretty close to the finish line.  Smart thinkin', huh?  Hey, is that Austin Powers up there?  Dammit.  I must be dehydrated and delusional.  Nope, that really is some yahoo dressed like Austin Powers.  Also, maybe I'll just get a peg leg and become a pirate, since my left foot is going to fall off soon.  Pirates are in right now, aren't they?  I'd hate to be a pirate if they were so last week...

Mile thirteen - on the playlist:  Beer for My Horses by Toby Keith & Willie Nelson There are two free drink tickets in my pocket calling my name.  After I finish this #&!@*$# race, I will drink beer.  And eat.  Possibly a whole cow.  With a couple chickens and a loaf of bread on the side.  And a pizza for dessert. And maybe a bottle of wine.  Or three.  Oh, and ice cream... Right after I throw up again... 

Finish Line - on the playlist:  Ready to Run by the Dixie Chicks  I can see the finish line!!!  I'm running FULL OUT!  Ok, maybe not.  How about moderately paced?  Anyway, surely the 10,000 people or so standing around the finish line aren't done already.  Yep, they're done already.  Including all those folks over there who are actual marathon runners.  They've run twice as far as I have, plus they've all had time to cool down, dry off, grab a bite to eat, tell a few funny stories, and... OH WHATEVER.  I'm done!  I did it!  And I got a freakin' medal to prove it.  Hey, why does my medal say "Wal-Mart" on it?


And here I am a couple days later, happy I did it, proud I finished, sore, tired, and planning how to do better next time... and there will be a next time.  


Actually, it's kind of like being pregnant.  It sucks and you're miserable the entire time, but you forget quickly enough, and do it all over again, because the rewards are worth the pain.


So, here's to the Derby City Marathon in 2012. 


I'm thinking by then, I'll be ready to run the whole damn 26.2.