ROCK AND ROLL!

The scientist has been a huge Van Halen fan (henceforth referred to as VH) for as long as I've known him.  Way longer, actually.  Not "big fan" as in, remembers hanging out with his buddies listening to "Jump."  Not "big fan" in that he goes to the concerts that come to the town he's in.  Not "big fan" as in, he knows who all the lead singers have been and who's in the band.  Nope.  Big Fan as in capital B and capital F.  Big Fan as in, flies to the opening night location of the last two tours (the only ones he's been old enough fiscally sound enough to fly to.  Big Fan as in, he painted the VH red, white and black stripey pattern thingy on one of our fences in the backyard one night.  Unbeknownst to me of course, until I woke up and let the dogs out.  Good times.  Big Fan, as in he owns the same ampifier Eddie owns and has The Eddie guitar.  If you're wondering who the heck Eddie is, the rest of this post is going to be impossibly confusing.  Stop.  Reading.  Now. 

Me?  I'm sort of an Indigo Girls fan.  Seen them multiple times.  I also like a good many country bands/singers and have been to my fair share of hair band concerts.  I have seen Billy Joel and his compadre, Elton, in concert twice.  Camped out all night to get tickets the first time.  Drove 10 hours, pregnant, to see them the second time. 

Opposites attract.  At least they better.  My whole dang marriage is sort of riding on it. 

VH has been on tour.  If you already knew this, it is probably because you, too, married a rock and roll boy.  We should get together and talk about Lilly Pulitzer patterns and cute shoes while the boys talk about guitars and Diamond Dave (see what I did there?) and wear t-shirts with words on them and pretend to be edgy at 40-something.  It's either that or you knew it because you bought tickets your own self and you're the girl he probably should have married.  In which case, don't expect an invite from me. He's still processing the fact that he married a sorority girl who can't name a single Metallica song.   We don't want to make things any more confusing than they already are. 

The Scientist went to the opening show of the 2012 VH tour and last night, they closed the tour in New Orleans.  I got him tickets for Valentines day.  It was right after he came back from the opening show and was proof that, contrary to what he you might think, I AM the girl he should have married.  Lucky thing.  I sort of saw it as a win-win.  He gets to go to VH (which he would probably have done anyway), I get credit for being Wife Of The Year, and we both get to toss the children off on friends (thanks, Rebecca and Elizabeth!) and have an extended date night.  In a hotel.  With no kitchen or laundry room.  Win-freakin'-win. 

So, we went, they rocked and I peeked between my fingers at the high kicks because I am not accustomed to seeing someone who I bet can get a senior discount at Winn Dixie on Wednesdays, get their foot over their head in a spin kick.  But, who's counting years?  Certainly not The Scientist and his people.  They.  Loved.  It.  It was like being back in the garage all over again.  It was like coming home to these fellas and it was happiness in over-priced, warm cup of beer to watch. 

Oh, there were some women there.  Many of them were my "sisters."  We didn't really know what the heck was going on, but had payed attention over the years to our men and knew to wrinkle our brows and nod solemnly and knowingly when they yelled into our ears that David was being "like 'old Dave'"  and to widen our eyes and mouths with delight and unabashed joy when they recognized the opening strains of "Hot For Teacher." From a wife-of-the-year standpoint, I rocked that concert.  As a reward for my efforts, I got an adult meal out for dinner (crabcakes with mushroom and shrimp creamy sauce on top, if you're wondering) and got to eat breakfast in a bar this morning.  It was New Orleans, after all, which makes that OK.  We also walked down Bourbon Street after the concert.  Since I was finally on the verge of either, 1) calling parents and having them come pick their 20-something year old children up or 2) adopting someone and taking them home for a balanced meal and a soft bed, (Think: The Blind Side), Trey hauled me home on the promise of a trip to Whole Foods the next day. 

I am not a rock-and-roll girl.  I wear a cardigan to just about every event I go to.  The Scientist thinks it's cute and sort of ladylike, and we'll just let him think that.   I have a suspicion that the members of Van Halen aren't that into hard-core rock-and-roll chicks anymore either.  It made me like them all the more to imagine that after a concert like the one we saw, they just want to go home to someone who loves them and knows what shows they want to watch on TV and knows just how to fix their grilled cheese sandwich.  Even rock-and-roll boys have to grow up sometime.

I should know. 

The Change

Among other topics we will not be entertaining today (such as the upcoming election, the discouraging European economy, and my fondness for chopping all my hair off as soon as the temps rise above 85) , we will also not be discussing my extended (humph) hiatus from the blogging world.  Said haitus may resume, without notification, at any time. 

With the disclaimers out of the way, I can now state that it is PESTO TIME in the Fish Tank.  This is glorious news for The Scientist.  It makes the whole house smell all clean (in an herby, slightly hippy-ish sort of way) and prompts me to come up with all sorts of creative uses for the oily, salty, herby goodness.  Tonight, it's flat bread.  Goodness, happiness and light abound.  Mostly. 

The Fishies used to dig stuff like this:  spicy noodles of all sorts, sushi, roasted red peppers, garlic and all sorts of other food items that aren't fried, breaded or include the word "nugget" or "-ito" in their name or description.  Somewhere between Huggies and homework they underwent The Change.  This appears to be a natural developmental stage that most children go through at some point.   The commencement point of The Change is directly proportional to said child's birth order.  In our limited study (of three test subjects), our research has shown that lower he/she is in birth order (and hence, the more nonesense he/she is exposed to from older siblings with peer pressured palate), the younger the child is when he/she undergoes The Change.  After The Change, my culinarily curious kids preferred chicken nuggets to cordon bleau.  Pizza to pad thai.  Grilled cheese to gumbo.  So, tonight may be an offense.  They love pesto as they believe it was originally intended to be eaten- on pasta with extra cheese, please.  And nothing too aged, if you don't mind. 

I'd say that if they turn their noses up at the flatbread offerings tonight, that you're invited to pinch hit.  But, let's be honest.  The Scientist and I might be hoping a tiny, little, bitty bit that we have to finish it up ourselves.  Don't expect a call. 

Mission (almost) Completed

Operation Merry Fishtank is nearing completion. Right on schedule. Even ahead by a day or so. My favorite decoration this year is my fireplace- new and improved for those of you who followed along with the fireplace saga earlier in the year. Pictures posted later.

Here was my favorite decoration last year. I am amused to say that it is even more laden this year and is beginning to look a little ridiculous. I give The Scientist a new ornament for it every year in his stocking and last year's was a three-fer. Three matching CU football helmet ornaments. If I weren't so attached to this one, I'd say we were going to need a bigger tree!

Operation Merry Fishtank

'Tis the season. I know this evokes lots of strong opinions. Some of you are horrified. "It's not even Thanksgiving yet, woman!" Others of you are seeing me as a kindred holiday spirit. Among those in the know, it is no secret that I am in the beginning stages of decorating for Christmas. The wreath isn't hung yet and we do a real tree, so that won't go up for awhile, but the groundwork is currently being laid for these things to happen. Here's how this process used to go a few years ago:

I would eagerly await the day after Thanksgiving so that I could start getting my decorations out. However, I am a social lemming, so I would never actually do this on Black Friday. I was at the malls. So, it waited until the day after the day after Thanksgiving. Which is always a huge football day, and we were too busy eating nachos and cheering or cursing, depending on the game(s). Then Sunday was here and nothing can ever get done on Sunday. Monday would come after that and the children were back in school and the official holiday maddness and Christmas countdown would officially begin. Maddness, I tell you. Pajama days at school, presents to buy. Cookie exchanges. Parties. Parties. Parties. Somewhere in there, I would start getting the decorations down from the attic. A big box would come down. I would race to get the stuff into it's appropriate place while the kids were occupied with a game or school. All the stuff that was now displaced in the house would get shoved into a closet or nook or cranny, awaiting the end of the maddness and it's return to rightful place on the mantle (or armoire, or side table or hallway wall). Invariably, this pattern would continue right up until the week of Christmas, at which point, I began hauling boxes down in a frenzy, throwing decorations up left and right and feeling guilty all the time that I hadn't done it sooner and that now we only had a short time to enjoy it and that my family didn't have a calm, cool and together mommy at the holiday helm.

None of this was joyful. It wasn't merry. It wasn't worshipful. It wasn't calm or bright.

It was crazy and frantic and all things that I never wanted my Christmas to be about.

So, Clemsongirl and I developed a plan a few weeks ago that I am eagerly and currently implementing. Here's how it works:

Today (yes, TODAY!)- the garage gets de-cluttered. I'm using this term pretty loosely because we are not un-cluttered garage type people. We are not European or South American. Therefore we don't park our cars in the garage. We store things there. So, really, it's a loose organization of the stuff we intend to be there. That loose collection of stuff has been organized (loosely, of course) and things that have been waiting in the launch-pad area to go up to the attic have been put up there. This is all in preparation for...

Friday- Christmas boxes are brought down from the attic and placed in a now cleared out area of the garage we will refer to as the "staging area." They will not be touched. Just brought down. This must be done this day because I will have the morning to myself with no children except Red Fish.

Sunday- Surface decluttering takes place and fall decorations come down. Anything that must be moved to make room for Christmas decor will be moved. Where? Not sure yet. Probably a big ol' box that will also be put in the "staging area." This is to prepare for...

Monday- The Most Wonderful Woman in the World (AKA- my cleaning lady) arrives. She cleans the now uncluttered surfaces and gives the house it's monthly thorough once over (Yes, monthly. Stop judging).

Tuesday- I teach in the morning (saying that still hasn't gotten old). In the afternoon, while Redfish sleeps and prior to school pick-up, I will begin putting up the decorations onto the clean and neat surfaces.

Wednesday- continue process from Tuesday.

Thurs- put empty-ish boxes back into attic. Boxes will have been re-packed with things that were removed to make room.

Friday- Thanksgiving feasts at both schools. Packing for...

Saturday- We leave for SC and will be gone until the Monday after Thanksgiving at which point...

We return to a schedule that will be wild until Christmas and a house that is ready to handle it! Voila! Now, won't it be fun to see how many excuses I can come up with for why this didn't happen as planned?

Trying to Reason With Hurricane Season

For those of you who have enough sense not to live at the ocean, hurricane season runs from June through November. Technically. Those of us who live here know that on paper it is six months long, but the reality is that as soon as the weather starts to cool, we can breathe a sigh of relief. So, I was breathing easier as of Halloween this year. Hurricanes are "fueled" by warm water and don't do well in cooler conditions. So, the November deadline is just to be on the safe side...or so we thought.

Hurricane Ida is aiming for us and I have my Thanksgiving decorations out. It just doesn't seem right.

I am not a girl to sit around and mope about a weather system I cannot control (although, The Scientist would argue that if a weather system could be controlled, I would be the girl to do it). So, I did what every other red-blooded American does during severe weather (like a mild snow flurry) and got my tail to the grocery store.

The beer was going fast. Thank goodness I needed Woodchuck cider. The ground beef and Bunny bread were flying off the shelves. Lucky for the rednecks behind me in the pre-hurricane supermarket buggy derby, that I didn't need beef or bread. Just Fontina cheese and roasted macadamia nuts for me, thanks. I threw in a few bags of Louisiana satsumas and some organic spinach and then bypassed the battery and bottled water aisles in favor of the aisle containing the all-important pomagranate-apple cider and the feta cheese. One bag of Fritos Scoops later, I was stocked up and prepared for Ida- whatever she may bring.

Wish us luck.

Hello, Long Lost Friend!

You're all right, of course. All of you who have been so kindly harrassing me via e-mail about my failure to blog. What you don't see is that this blog has become a very old friend- the one you know you need to catch up with and desperately WANT to catch up with, but the one you know will take a 3 hour phone conversation to fully catch up to. But, I'm vowing to chip away a bit at that phone conversation right now and reintroduce myself.

So, hello, old friend!

During our lapse in programming, I've been swimming with my head above water, but it hasn't necessarily been pretty. When we left off, I as headed back to work parttime. I dove back into the classroom at the end of August and have, quite frankly, felt like the luckiest girl in the world ever since. It was just like I remembered! The students are just as delightful and different from one another as they used to be. I've always loved the subject area and I think I love it even more now that I haven't been teaching it for so long. The technology has changed a bit (I was excited to have an overhead projector in my classroom the last time I taught!). Now, I lecture from Power Point slides and can post them online for any student who would like to print them. Strangely, you'd think the lazy ones would be the ones doing this. It's not. It's the on-the-ball students. The lazy ones didn't take notes back when I started teaching and they sure as hell don't print Power Point slides ahead of time now.

Here are a few of my observations since I was in the classroom 7 years ago.

1) It pains me to write this, but in the interest of full disclosure, I'll say it: I'm not as cute as I used to be. Not as young either. In a way, this is a benefit as it's easier for a 30-something to listen to me than to a 20-something for several hours a night.

2) With #1 out there, I'll also note that I have enjoyed doing what I can to maintain my street cred. New, cute shoes. Going through make-up a bit faster than I used to. No guilt about picking up some new threads when I see them. When you get right down to it, no one wants to listen to me (or anyone, for that matter) for 5 hours a week. It seems really wrong to have to listen to me if I'm ugly and fashionably challenged on top of it. So, I do what I can.

3) These modern students HUG a bit more than I think they used to and have more boundary issues in general. We've had to work on this as I do not particulary care for the assault on my personal space and have had to come up with repelling methods to avoid this at all costs. Hugs from my babies, immediate family members and friends= great! Hugs from Random Student I see at the park on a Saturday afternoon=weird! I also have had to discourage "text speak" messages being left on the class blog. "FML" is not an appropriate response to the newly posted study guide for the upcoming exam. Thank God for comment moderation.

4) What's up with the laptops in the classroom? I'm going to have to get a bit more savvy next semester. I can't tell when they're taking notes and when they're Facebooking someone. It also begs the question of whether or not I care...

5) I don't think I ever excused a grade on a test by saying I was hungover. This has been a new one for me. Not that this has never been true- I just wouldn't ever have said it out loud for heaven's sake!

6) They let ANYONE into community college. And I'll just leave that there for now.

You might be a redneck if...

The Fishies are really into fake tattoos. I hate them. They have no sense of positioning and invariably choose to put them in the most conspicuous places on their bodies. Or the least conspicuous but also least appropriate. Like when Two Fish put a general's insignia tattoo on his... well, suffice it to say that The Scientist and I are still joking about the Little General and probably will for a good long while. At least until he becomes a father himself. Maybe longer.

Today, I vowed for the 100th time to banish the dang things from my house. One Fish, Red Fish and I went to a b-day party at a local splash park. It wasn't until I stripped Red Fish down to his swim trunks did I notice that he had been tattooed by his older brother. At least until he wiggled away and Two Fish was evidently forced to abort the mission.

I was the mom with the gleeful two year old with

ROCK AND R

in big red letters emblazoned across his back. They won't forget us there.

Didn't See That Coming

Coming out of kindergarten open house this morning, in the pouring rain, I put my foot down on the step about 4 from the bottom and slipped. Not stumbled. Not skidded. My foot slid clear out from under me and suddenly I was on some sort of sitcom. As I hit every step on the way down I was thinking:

"Awww, crap, I can't believe I'm tripping on this step!"
"Really? Another step?"
"Why haven't I stopped yet?"
"What is this, step #3?"
Oh, geez- another one?! How many steps does this thing have, anyway?"
"OOOF! Yep, that last one'll leave a mark"
"Oh, thank God, I think I'm coming to a halt."

Red Fish, safely and securely perched on my hip, rode comfortably the whole way down. Didn't even fuss when I shlumped (heck, yes, that's a word!) him unceremoniously on the sidewalk after I confirmed that I wasn't dead yet- just surely in several pieces.

Lucky for me, my most sympathetic friend was the only one around at the moment and she raced to my rescue. Although she has an MD husband, his services were not required. We relatively quickly determined that 1) movement was a possibility and 2) that I was not going to throw up immediately.

Two Fish's comment after I finally spoke?

"He-he. Well, I didn't see THAT coming!"

The Scientist's comment when I got home?

"Were you wearing ridiculous shoes? Then I think you should see this as an opportunity for some fashion self-reflection"

He's lucky he said it with his cute smile on and that he was delivering Motrin and and and ice pack to me when he said it.

Back in the Saddle

Years ago and a million miles away from here, it seems, I was a teacher.

In college, I never imagined myself teaching. I was going to be a vet until it turned out that vets don't make nearly as much as their years of schooling would make you think. Then a doctor, I thought. But, I did know that I wanted a family at some point and realized that it would be really hard to be a doctor AND mom who was home with her children after school. After that, I decided that perhaps I just needed to "find myself" and applied to the Peace Corp and was accepted. I waited and waited and waited for them to decide where to send me. Finally, I decided that although I still probably needed to find myself, most likely I wasn't going to be found in either Africa or somewhere on a Pacific island.

So, I decided to go to nursing school (can you say "Identity Crisis?!"). I signed up to take some pre-req classes at the local community college that somehow I'd skated out of in college, but that would help me get into a nursing program for people who already had a four year degree. I loved anatomy and physiology and adored my professor (it didn't hurt that she was a fellow Clemson grad.) At the end of the semester, she asked me if I would be interested in teaching some labs at the college. Apparently, all you needed was a four year degree in biology in order to teach a lab.

I needed the money and it sounded new and interesting, so I filled out the paperwork, signed up for my next semester of pre-reqs and started prepping to teach my first lab.

A week later, I was hooked. Just like a junkie. While the classes I was taking were tolerable, I spent perhaps an unhealthy amount of time thinking about ways to teach my next labs. I stayed way too late. I invested way too much in the students. I researched ways to help them understand things like DNA replication. I was rediscovering my inner science geek and was loving every minute of it.

Three years later, I graduated with a Masters of Arts in Teaching Science from the university in town. Throughout grad school, I continued to teach at the community college, gaining experience and confidence and knowledge. After graduation, I focused on my full-time middle school science job.

I was good at it. I liked it and I loved the students and my coworkers. But, it wasn't the same at all as teaching at the community college. It's hard to stay passionate about your subject when the majority of your job consists of managing your classroom, going to meetings and filling out paperwork. All that stopped when we moved three states away and I finally got my dream of staying home with One Fish (and soon after, Two Fish).

This semester, I finally got my courage up and applied to teach at the local community college here. It's been a long time coming. I've spent the past few semesters wanting to apply, but wondering if they'd even want me. If I was even capable of writing a resume that wouldn't elicit giggles or eye rolls before a dump in the trashcan. Would they want someone who didn't have a masters in science, but a masters in teaching science instead? Would they like me? Did I still even "have it." Is 6 years too long to have been out of the classroom?

Turns out, that in an economy like this one, one of the few places where jobs are available is at community colleges. People out of work often go back to school and enrollment goes up and more teachers are needed. Turns out they needed me. Better, yet- they WANTED me.

I got the course notes the other day and apprehensively peeked at them, hoping I wouldn't find that everything has changed in six years. It hasn't. It's just the same and I got goosebumps just flipping through those pages, reading those familiar words and phrases that haven't changed in decades. In my mind, I am imagining my students faces already. I know which parts of which concepts and theories they will stumble on. Which chapters will make their eyes glaze over if I'm not careful and which labs have the ability to light a spark that was never there before.

There are lots of things I don't know how to do in this world. Too many that I don't even have the courage to attempt. But, I do know how to teach biology. That, I can do. And I'm so incredibly thankful that I've gotten the chance again.

Put Your Hands Together For...

The Mommy Show!!! (wait for wild applause to die down)

We're T-3 hours until the Mommy Show takes the stage for a two week run. The Scientist is entering his "busy season" around here and that means that this fish tank is about to get an overhaul. He'll be gone for two, home for two and then gone for four. Stop gasping- it only makes it worse.

Seriously though, I know what I'm doing by now when it comes to producing The Mommy Show. It's sort of like exam time when I was in college. There wasn't much to do other than...well, study. Survival and study. That was it. The Mommy Show is sort of like that. Just get it done while maintaining as much sanity as possible. Simple.

As usual, I am already planning what home improvements I will be doing while The Show is running. Usually, it's just a matter of rearranging furniture. This time, though, I have bigger plans. Usually, the term "bigger plans," when used by me and when used in the context of home improvement, can only end in disaster. However, I'm so optimistic this time.

My first project? Stripping the wallpaper off a bathroom wall. No clue how it's done, but I'm about to find out. Any tips? Pointers? Suggestions? Words of wisdom or caution?

God Bless 'im

The Fish Tank was hit this week. Strep throat for the third time this year. Bless his heart, The Scientist was a gem through it all (did I mention that I was the only one who got it?). Obviously, the ship sinks when Mommy goes down and someone else has to take command.

When I had to take to my bed for hours after unloading the dishwasher, he took the day off to help.

When it became obvious that I would be useless for child-activity-deliveries-and pick-up, he became the human taxi service.

When I needed my antibiotics picked up from the pharmacy, he raced out to get them.

When I moaned about the pain, he suggested and delivered Motrin.

He reminded me to drink lots of fluids and to rest more than I thought I had to.

He was rightfully proud of himself after all of this. He did seem to have a solution to everything. The man had it HANDLED. So much so, that on day 2 of antibiotics, when I lay listless on the bed, remarking that not much hurt anymore but that I just wanted to sleep for hours and wondered if I would ever have the energy to be normal again, he asked with all seriousness:

"Hmmm...do you want me to go out and get you an energy drink?"


I respectfully declined.

Mi Dojo Es Su Dojo

Conversation with The Scientist today as we drove home from the last day of Two Fish's soccer camp:

TS: You know, I'd be really happy if he never played football- just soccer.

Me: Yep.

TS: I mean...he'll probably WANT to play football to get chicks. But, he's not going have any problem getting chicks. They're going to be All Over him.

Me: Huh. Well, I sort of hope not. I hope he has to try a little bit at least.

TS: Are you kidding? He's never going to have to try at all. They're just going to come to him.

Me: You think so, huh?

TS: Oh, yeah. You know why? Because he's been raised in my dojo.... Why are you looking at me like that?

Me: [Avert eyes. Close eyes. Raise eyebrows slightly. Slowly shake head while sighing dramatically]

Please Don't Call Out The Dogs

After a splendid holiday yesterday, during which I did absolutely nothing I didn't want to do and quite a number of things I DID want to do, I dozed off for a one hour nap after church today. Imagine my surprise when I awoke to an empty house. No husband. No children.

The authorities have not been notified and no search party is looking.

Flip Out!

Very exciting day around here! After years of hard work, One Fish is finally the proud owner of a gymastics competition leotard. Although her first competition isn't until September, I think she would gladly wear this every day until then!

Running from De-Feet

It is seldom that I am forced to admit defeat. However, after six months, I am officially un-running. Six months ago, I was a beginner. Full of possibility and promise and determined to prove to myself that I could run 5K if I really, really wanted to badly enough. Now, six months later, I am confident in my ability to run 3miles if I really want to (which I still don't). And if I know I could run 3 miles, I'm darn sure I could run 5K. I can run farther than I ever have in my life. I have lost not a single pound, which doesn't really bother me because it wasn't the point to begin with, but it does seem as though loss of at least a little poundage should be a delicious by-product of all that sweat and tears, doesn't it? But, no matter.

I am somewhat horrified to admit this, but I have actually grown to enjoy running the tinsiest little bit. I can honestly say that I have never experienced a runner's high. Runner's exhaustion? Yes. Runner's pain? Yes. Runners irritation? Yes. No runner's high, though. What I have gotten out of it, is an enjoyment of being by myself with my music turned up, knowing that when I am finished, I will have done my duty to myself for the day. No little voices in my ear (not that I don't love those little voices). No dishes to wash. No phones ringing.

I even developed a purpose to running. I ran for One Fish. I even challenged her to a race one day (after I put up with a sufficient amount of trash talk and laughter from her about Mommy "running.") We determined to see who could run farther- not faster. I KILLED her little muscular gymnasts body. I was like the Energizer bunny. The tortoise to the hare. The little engine that could. It wasn't pretty and it involved lots of huffing and puffing and sweat, but I was determined to win and win big because I wanted her to remember losing an endurance race to her 36 year old mother. When she is 36 (or 26, or 16), I want her to remember that she is from a line of tough-as-nails women and that she's one too. It's not that no other mommies run. Lots and lots of the mommies I know are beating the pavements. Faster and harder and longer than I am. But, running is not something she'd seen me do before. I wanted her to know that I could. WE could. Whenever and however we wanted. I wanted her to know that I kick ARSE and I finish the job when I put my mind to something. And, I'm not about the business of raising a wimpy chick.

I have read the magazines and taken the advice of pros and seasoned runners. I run for a bit and walk for a minute to give my joints a break. I bought the really good shoes. I stopped running hills and if I happen across one, I run up it and walk down it. I run slowly and never more than 2-3 miles. I am stronger for this and am looking forward to my next physical challenge.

I have also done terrible things to my hips. For months, I have been unable to turn over in bed or rise to a standing position without hip pain. At first I thought it was just protesting muscles. But, after this much time, a consult with a doctor and a massage therapist, I am convinced it is my body's way of telling me to cut it out already. Those poor hips didn't start out with the benefit of good joint genes in the first place and have now carried babies for 27 months in utero and countless months after birth. And they're over it already.

So, while I have not yet run the 5K race I set a goal for, I am checking the box. I now know I could if I wanted to and am moving on. I will miss being able to cover as much ground in as little time. I will miss the feeling of complete exhaustion at the end of a "good" run. I will miss being able to say with confidence that I can run 2 miles. However, I will not miss the running itself. Running still sucks and it still hurts.

What's next? I'm considering a half-marathon. Would you laugh if I walked it?

Rules To Live By

Note to Governor Sanford of the great state of South Carolina:

Dear Mark,
It seems that you must have missed a class that the rest of us all managed to fit into our Course Schedule For Life. So, I thought I'd give you my abridged notes from the class. They may be helpful in the future.

* Don't be a cheater. This seems to be pretty cut and dry with no detail needed.

* If you do cheat, immediate groveling is required. To avoid further humiliation, said cheating must be ceased immediately after telling one's spouse about the infraction.

* Referring to one's mistress as one's SOULMATE should never be done on television. It's creepy. And weird. And smarmy. And probably grounds for your spouse pulling a Bobbit on your stupid self.

* If a worldwide icon should happen to die while you are embroiled in a scandal, for goodness sake, take advantage of it and go underground. Way, way underground. Do not hold anymore press conferences.

* There is no TRY. Either love your spouse or don't. If you disregarded all previous life rules, then you obviously DON'T. Cut your losses, move on and spare everyone around you further pain and humiliation. You should have thought about her family money you'd be leaving behind before you found another "soulmate."

* Don't cry in public. Especially if you should happen to be an elected official. No one will think you're sensitive. They'll only think you're more of a scumbag than the topic of your press conference has already shown you to be.

* Leave your cell phone on. Pay for an international plan if you have to. But, leave the phone on.

* No matter how much your mistress seems to love you, she will undoubtedly be less enamored with you after you are no longer governor, are poor and have child support to pay for all those boys.

I'm sure my readers can think of more?

It's Nice To Have A Good Tag When You Need It

Monograms & Mayhem tagged me for an Awe-Summm award and I am so honored! It is nothing short of therapy to read the blogs of others who are in my "season of life" and realize that our lives are all parallel in some way. On the other hand, it is like going on vacation to read the blogs of people who have lives so different from mine. Besides, I do love having a ready-made blog entry.

As the newly crowned Queen, I am obligated to do the following:
1. List 7 things that make me Awesome.
2. Pass this on to some other Queens of Awesome bloggers.
3. Let those bloggers know that they have been tagged.
4. Link to Her Majesty who tagged me.
5. Copy the picture onto my sidebar to let the world know I am the Queen!

Seven things that make me a Queen of Awesome:

1. The Scientist picked ME. All those other girls out there and he picked ME.

2. I actually have a functional family. This is not due to any action on my part, but growing up with the people I did does add to my overall awesomeness.

3. I think that I am hilarious and because of this, never run out of things to laugh at.

4. I am taking my children to the splash park this afternoon. I hate the splash park. Thus, I am AWESOME.

5. My BFFs picked ME. All those other girls out there and they picked ME.

6. I cook.

7. I read to my children every. single. day.

Now that I've reminded myself of my virtuousness, I am directed to tag some other Queens of Awesome. Later, we will discuss my strong dislike of purposeful misspellings. In the meantime, I tag:

1. Clemsongirl- See #5. She picked me. I tag her. I know she'll appreciate the ready-made post. And, she is the original AWESOME.

2. Just What I Always Wanted- Because she reminds me daily to treasure my fishies, inspires me, and makes me laugh.

3. Shanny- Because she's making me laugh again after a 20-something year hiatus. For whatever reason, I cannot get a linky to attach to Shanny, but her address is: http://shanny.wordpress.com

The End of Holiday Road

We've returned from an 11 day trip to Orlando. Six adults, six children, three bedrooms, three bathrooms. The stuff memories (and therapy sessions) are made of.

The best line of the week? From Two Fish as we were getting on the Magic Kingdom shuttle. The 20-something couple sitting behind us were dressed as Peter Pan and Tinkerbell (what the heck would inspire a man to spend a 100 degree day in green tights and a mini-dress?). Another family walking toward us was clearly Middle Eastern and happy as anything to be heading to Disney World. The woman was wearing black from head to foot and only had her eyes showing. My thought? "Wow, that must be freakin' HOT."

Two Fish's thought (which he expressed loudly and exuberantly while pointing his finger)?

"HEY LOOK!! THAT GUY'S DRESSED UP LIKE A NINJA!"

Summertime So Far

Summer is here and we have been struggling to find a routine. The fishies are showing some wear and tear because of it.

We have been traveling, which doesn't help. Not the happy travel either. My grandmother passed away last week, which extended our weekend lake visit to a weeklong lake visit (complete with the requisite memorial service and family gathering) . It also required my children to process and endure loads of crying and a mild bit of hysteria on my part which I think was taxing on them. The sleeping arrangements also left a little to be desired as the "routine" involved 10PM bedtimes and camp-out style sleeping. This threw my sweet little 7:30-to-bed fishies for a loop that is not easily recovered from.

We are truly sideways around here and are T-minus 5 days until we depart for a 10 day Orlando vaca. My survival plan is forming. So far it involves:

1) Multiple, prioritized to-do lists. Color coded when appropriate.

2) Liberal use of the label maker. Not for anything in particular, but using a label maker does make anything seem more manageable.

3) Margaritas. Nightly.

4) Lots of outside activity and exercise. Not for me, obviously, but the fishies. These are preferably activites that take place in our backyard so that they can be relatively unsupervised while I get my to-do lists color coded.

5) Chores. Lots of them. Far from being so virtous that my children do these regularly and willingly, let me also say that I am paying for them. It also keeps them busy. Basically I am paying them to babysit themselves while they fold laundry and take out the trash. Again, so I can color code the to-do lists or perhaps label something.

So far, that's all I've got. My survival plan for the 10 days in Orlando isn't even in the development stage yet. Luckily, I adore every last one of my in-laws so much that I am even looking forward to 10 days of a cranky toddler if it means I can spend it with them.

Time's a tickin' and these fishies are up, at 'em and demanding to be fed and watered. Here are some pictures of our recent trip.

Life is Short. Eat the Lasagna.

Back in the day, way back when I met The Scientist, he was a vegan. For those who aren't sure, vegan is a diet that restricts any animal products of any kind. None of the no-brainers, like chicken, beef, fish, pork or seafood of any kind. No dairy at all, including milk, eggs and caseine, which, as I discovered, is found in dang near everything. No honey. The list continues.

Since my mother prefers to eat mostly vegetarian, I had some tricks up my sleeve and quickly fixed the problem that was his 130 lb. frame. I combed recipe books and health food stores for vegan recipes and products that would allow me to adapt recipes to be vegan. He quickly stopped looking like a refugee, was introduced to tofu, and stopped considering french fries and Biggie Cokes two of the basic food groups. I cooked "normal" meals but adapted some of the dish for him. Leave out the cheese, do a mushroom burger instead of a hamburger, etc. I got very used to it.

To jump ahead about 6 years, it turns out that if you eat this way for enough years and pay absolutely no attention to taking a daily vitamin, you can (will?) develop some vitamin deficiencies. Like B-12. Apparently, not having enough of it makes you feel like crap. Enter weekly B-12 injections and hello scrambled eggs. I didn't know what to do with myself once I didn't have to cook one meal and then modify it for him. I would have done it forever because I respected his reasons for eating this way, but boy howdy was I happy when he stopped.

During the time that he WAS vegan, my sister and I had many discussions about how...unique (for lack of a better term) most vegan recipes were. We started compiling recipes we'd created ourselves that resembled "real" food. We dreamed of publishing a cookbook of vegan comfort foods that were different from the other books out there. In other words, a book filled with recipes that didn't mostly taste like crap. We would sometimes pour over vegan cookbooks with the express purpose of howling with laughter at some of the recipe titles. Who the heck would possibly eat that?! Certainly not my vegan (who is actually a meat-and-potatoes sort of boy at heart).

Recently, and in an effort to introduce some new and healthier dishes into our now completely non-vegan diet (although he still doesn't eat the Big Three - pork, chicken and beef), I checked out a vegan cookbook from the library. It was sort of for old-times sake. It ended up being comic relief.

Here are some of the recipe titles:

Ginger-Lime Tofu "Cream" (really? I think any recipe that has to put the word "cream" in quotation marks is something I want no part of)

Tofu Tamale Pie (I couldn't make that up, could I?)

Curried Chickpea Tart with Fennel-Cauliflower Sauce

Shepherd's Pie (Just like the classic, except with zucchini substituted for the usual yummo seasoned meat. So, it's just like the original, except... not.)

Tofu-Leek Tart with Pine Nut Crust (what is it with messing up the tarts?)

Hijiki "Caviar" (you're confused. I can tell. Turns out that hijiki is a "thin, black twiglike sea vegetable." You are supposed to mix it with sake, shoyu (who knows what the heck that is), sesame oil and garlic and presto-chango, you've got a great substitute for Beluga on your hands. Riiiiiiggghhhht...)

Summer Lasagna with Tofu, Capers and Walnuts (Clemsongirl's Coach would consider this heresy)

Hominy, Tomatillo and Squash Stew



I'm returning the book and checking out the Paula Dean cookbook instead. Life is too short to eat fake lasagna.