The Fog

Sickness has attacked our family. Mark got the worst of it, followed closely by Claire. Cora came through with just a snotty nose, but was otherwise unscathed. I felt a bit like I had been run over by a truck, and then hit between the eyes with a baseball bat. Once that passed, the free flowing river began (as gross as this sounds, I stood over the sink for a minute to see how many times my nose would drip if not attended to. The answer:27). Truth be told, all the physical aliments are manageable (certainly not enjoyable, but manageable none the less), it is the brain fog I can't deal with.

Like right now for instance, I want to write this amazing blog about how no one seems to care when a mother is sick. The dishes still pile up, the kids still require food and baths and the laundry will just not wash itself, but the phone would ring unanswered if we ever tried to call in sick. But everything in my head is being translated into ridiculous gibberish when my fingers click the keys. I can barely make a coherent sentence. So what possessed me to keep teaching my classes at the gym while sick? Still not sure. But it went something like this:

"Okay class 5 more seconds marching in place and then we will start doing the thing where you lift that one muscle, you know the big one at the back of your leg, oh ya, your quad, wait no, your hamstring. Ah screw it, just do something for 5 more counts and then we will do something else that works some other muscle (all said while holding a snotty rag-I would never think of doing anything unprofessional like dripping snot on any of the equipment)."

It was really that bad. I somehow managed to still make them sweat, but it was a train wreck to watch (kinda like this blog is to read!). So I promise once I have kicked this thing I will produce the Pulitzer quality blogs that you have been waiting for (hey you've been waiting for that since I started this blog, what's a few more days!).

Here's hoping you live far away from our gym, Mark's work and our neighborhood so you can avoid this yucky illness that seems to be spreading like wildfire around these parts!

What do you celebrate?

That is the question posed each year by the St. Luke's Women's Fitness Celebration. Standard answers from participants in the nation's largest 5K for women range from things as simple as "family" and "freedom," to the more touching "survival" and "a roof overhead." My answers this year differ a bit from those above. Composed long after the shot from the starting line gun rang out, here are the things I celebrate:

1. Dollar store bunny ears (thus amusing our nearly sopping wet children for approximately 1 hour while waiting in line, in a torrential downpour, for the race to begin).

2. High fructose corn syrup (for when the bunny ears became as important as a front page story on Dustin Diamond).

3. Warm urine on frozen toes (I suppose that is what we get for allowing a 3-year-old to urinate in dog-like fashion on the lawn, covered only by our makeshift Peepee Tepee).

4. Bus brakes (helpful when grown women fling themselves in front of moving buses demanding immediate transportation of nearly frostbitten children-don't mess with a mother on a mission).

5. Strong legs (important if a quick escape is necessary when other irate mothers give chase because they would rather spend hours in a monsoon than take matters into their own hands-seriously, jump in front of your own bus next time and quit yer cryin').

6. Amazing women (not only the inspiring women I attended the race with, sisters and friends included, but the thousands of other women who too braved the storm to come together for a cause when they could have stayed home, dry and warm).

7. Perseverance (when your 4-year-old tells you her hands are so cold and asks for something to keep them warm and you have nothing dry to offer her-having already checked your sopping wet underwear-yet you still plow through the puddles to the finish line, now that's something to be proud of-or perhaps reason to call CPS, depends on your take on the situation).

So yep, those are the things I celebrate. And now for a few pictures to add a little more clarity to the above listed items (or further cement your opinion that we were borderline insane for even attempting this blasted race!).

Our lovely bunnies (note the deviation from bunny-like tendencies with chipmunk cheeks full of candy corn).

The calm before the storm (oh how I wish I was metaphorically speaking).

Bring on the rain.

There we are huddling for warmth.

The Peepee Tepee. I am fully aware that it looks like Rachel is the one peeing on my shoe. Although she did not utilize our state-of-the-art facilities, she had to pee as bad as Presely so I will let you judge for yourself.

On a more serious note (although I am sure you are wondering what is more serious than blatant child endangerment issues right about now), I loved every soggy minute of the race. And I was blessed to be with some glass-half-full kind of gals, who made the gloomy day a whole lot brighter!

** Because inquiring minds want to know: the Women's Fitness Celebration is a 5K walk/race/stroll for women and children only. 100% of all proceeds go to charities that benefit women and children. It becomes a celebration of women, their strength and their greatness too. There is a huge party after the race (which goes through beautiful downtown Boise, up to the train depot where our family shots were taken and back down into a city park). This year we did not stay to party for obvious weather related reasons (although in years past the after party has been my favorite part). Also, we park at a mall and get shuttled to the starting line by buses. then when the race is over, you are supposed to get shuttled back in some sort of timely fashion. Long story short, the buses kept by passing our line to keep with some ridiculous filing system and our cold children just kept getting colder. After about 30 minutes of waiting patiently for a bus, just to watch them pick up lines farther down from us over and over, my friend Rachel and I took matters into our own hands by literally stepping in front of a moving bus to make it stop. It was a do-not-try-this-at-home type moment, but sometimes you do what you gotta do!**

Little Boy Blue

My two non-Idahoan sisters flew in this weekend for my sister Desi's birthday, and to do the Women's Fitness Celebration 5K walk/run/stroll (which I will blog about as soon as I compile pictures. Simply telling you about a 3-yr-old squatting and peeing on my shoe will not come close to a picture backing up the hilarity of that day!). My brother-in-law and my little nephew, Soren, accompanied my older sister, Cho, on the trip.

Soren is my only nephew, and at the rate our family produces children, it will be some time before I am an aunt again. I have yet to blog about Soren, his beautiful blue eyes or his very intelligent sense of humor, but since Pam gave me a few great pictures as fuel, I decided it was about time to introduce you to him. Meet 20-month-old Soren. Pretty dang cute isn't he!

The biblical translation of "cat" is "Mary"

No, although it seems otherwise, this post is not about the new bath crayons that my daughters have. Nor is it about the fact that they have taken over our tub. And in order for Mark or I to enjoy a relaxing bubble bath (which happens in my mind a lot more frequently than it does in real life) we have to put up with the waxy crayon bits coating our bodies and the frequent visits from Dora and Diego figurines, a few rubber ducks and some random spongy alphabet letters.

Nope, not what this post is about at all. It is however about the letter written with said bath crayons on the surface of said stolen tub. This is how the bath-side conversation went:

Me: Nice job on writing your words Cora.

Cora: Those aren't words. That's a letter from Joseph to Mary.

Me: Joseph to Mary, huh.

Cora: It says "Dear Mary, I'm glad you could come to the party because you brought that donkey. Love, Joseph."

Me: How do you know Mary and Joseph?

Cora: From the manger. Don't you know them?

Me: I don't really frequent the manger, but I do know of Mary and Joseph.

Cora: Well they didn't invite you to the party. Oh well. Maybe next time.

Seriously, I know my daughter is odd, but even with that knowledge her thought process often floors me. Never a dull moment.

The way we were

So I think I need to clarify something brought up by my previous post. Mark has owned a motorcycle of some sort for most of his life. He is a very experienced rider. When we were first married, had dual incomes and no kids, he bought a pretty sweet bike. We both loved it. There are days when I still miss it terribly. That bike represented a lot of things to us, but mostly freedom. We could hop on it and ride for hours. No destination, no babysitter to get home to, no worries.

All of that changed when my father was killed (see The Progenitor). I hated that bike for the constant reminder that it was. Mark rode it once after my father's death and I nearly lost my mind. From the second he drove out of the driveway and for the full 15 minutes he was gone, I could barely breathe. Every worst case scenario played out in my mind. He sold the motorcycle shortly after that.

It has taken over 4 years before talk of buying another motorcycle has even been allowed. After looking at the pictures below of his last motorcycle, do you understand why I cringe at that hideous piece of junk he wants to purchase now?

The polls are now open

I have been meaning to blog. Just as soon as something exciting happens, just as soon as I have some wonderful new photos to share, just as soon as my mundane life morphs into a life well, less mundane, I will post earth shattering blogs filled with nail biting stories and witty verse. Ah, who am I kidding. Until Tim McGraw finally agrees to leave Faith Hill so we can ride off into the sunset together (which for future reference won't be on the back of some hoopty motorcycle) you are stuck with meaningless blogs such as the following. So buckle up, it's gonna be a doozy! (Did I really just use the word doozy?)

My husband won't let me buy the New Kids on the Block's new album. Because I would like to maintain my blogs PG rating, I will not use the exact verbiage my husband used when telling me why I was prohibited from spending his hard earned money on some wussy white boys' album (Jordan, please forgive me for marrying a hater!). So can anyone explain to me why this is a better way to spend said money:

He wants to buy this and start riding it to work. He says it will save gas. I say it will take years of riding it to ever come close to recouping the $2000 spent to purchase it. He says it will keep him from racking up miles on my car (he drives my car to work at night because it gets a lot better gas mileage than his truck). I say it is a glorified mountain bike and it is, simply put, ugly. He says it is a dual-purpose-something-or-other that he will be able to ride almost year round. I say he will ride it once before some inattentive driver smashes him to smithereens (it's a real word, I promise).

So before I go research the amount of life insurance my husband currently carries, I say we put this to a vote. And because your vote is binding (my husband's ability to continue wearing his hideous donkey shirt should be proof enough), please take this opportunity to voice your opinion. Dumpy waste of clams? Economical beauty? Out of the mouth of Al Capone, " Vote early and vote often." (which isn't really a good quote to end with because if you do vote often only the first vote will count.)

A few more...

Have I mentioned how awesome Pam is (I seriously can't get enough of these pictures!)? Oh and how cute my hubby and kids are? If not, here is proof!