If you chance to meet a frown...

It was a rocky start to an incredible day.

Last night's anniversary dinner was delicious, but 5,000+ calories later and I was paying for it. In order to enjoy that dinner sans children, they were whisked away by a loving aunt/uncle combo, and spent an entire evening running wild through Chuck E. Cheese. Pumped full of pizza and sugar, we tucked them in hours after their bed time.

We all woke up grumpy, with food hangovers that could rival that of a 19 year old frat boy. It was a rough morning.

No one would get dressed or clean up their breakfast dishes or stop beating their sister.

Obviously, Mother Nature was in a foul mood as well because she decided the perfect time for a downpour was right in the middle of a highly anticipated preschool end-of-the-year picnic. Which we were late to and I forgot to pack lunches for. Things were not looking up, and soggy 3 year olds just made matters worse.

We returned home and mandatory naps were ordered for all. We silenced all phones and taped a note on the doorbell threatening the lives of any who chose to wake sleeping children. And then we all slept. All four of us. FOR THREE HOURS. It had never happened before and will probably never happen again. But.
It.
Was.
Awesome.

We got up. Made dinner. I biked/ran/swam. And then this:

Tooth fairy get your wings revved up, cause baby tooth #1 bit the dust tonight. After the blood cleared, we made a big deal about it and dragged Claire back out of bed and called Grandma and read a Tooth Tale. And while the whole house was hyper with excitement, I have never seen Cora so eager to get to bed.

So if you'll excuse me, I'm off to spot the Tooth Fairy a $5 (or a quarter? A $10? What IS the going rate for teeth these days?).

My Choice

Our lives are defined by the choices we make. Choices riddle our days, fill our agendas. Sometimes those choices are simple: paper or plastic? Black shirt or purple shirt? Sometimes those choices are heavy: Where to go to school? What career to choose? One child or two?

As choices have been placed before me, I have often made the wrong one. I have made choices that fill me with regret. And I have lived with them and learned from them and resolved to make better ones.

Yes, I have made some ridiculous choices. But I have also made good choices. Solid choices. Perfect choices. Like I did when I chose him:

Twelve years ago today I chose him.

I chose him because he chased me around our tent with a flip flop screaming, "Flopper, flopper!" until I collapsed into a heap of giggles. And because when he spoke, people listened, and because he never stopped planning and creating and dreaming. I chose him because he still kissed his mama and wasn't afraid to publicly tell his Dad he loved him. And because watching him rock climb shirtless while his tanned muscles glistened with sweat made my heart pause. I chose him because a life without him in it stopped making sense.

I made my choice.  And as I see him with our children, I realize now how important that choice was. I was not only choosing a husband, I was choosing their father. It was not only the right choice, but the best choice I have ever made. And one I would remake without hesitation.

Man how I love that choice. I always will.

I Can't Feel My Legs

No blogging lately because...

I get up.
I throw on some workout clothes.
I get the kiddos dressed & delivered to their respective schools.
I head to the gym to teach my cardio class.
I drive from gym #1 to gym #2 where I swim 20 laps.
I stuff my face with whatever food is closest to me.
I pick up Claire & head back home to put her down for a nap.
While she is napping I run 2+ miles.
At this point I want to collapse. I don't.
I straighten up the house.
I greet Cora at the bus stop.
I prepare dinner.
I clean up dinner.
Then I bike 10+ miles.
Then I collapse.

Wash. Rinse. Repeat. Until May 30th. When I will officially be a triathlete. And I will be happy.

But for now I will curse all those who got me into this predicament (My friend Ev, my mean brother & my bloggy friend Nancy), and all those who encouraged me to continue the madness (the whole mess of you).

I hurt. And it's your fault. And I would try to kick you, but I can't lift my leg.

This Day

I was in 7th grade when my friend Meghan Messer told me my mom was beautiful. Up to that point, the thought never crossed my mind. I had never paid attention to the bright blue eyes that Meghan pointed out. Those were just the eyes that met mine each morning as I stumbled out of bed. I had never noticed anything pretty about them; I just knew that they were always there to greet me.

My mom is beautiful. I know that now. But growing up she was my mom first, pretty second. And the first kind of trumped the second. Which might not seem right, but I believe is exactly as it should be.

As a mother now myself, I appreciate so much more who my mom is, how she raised me. I also just really enjoy her. She's quirky without being quirky at all. It's a perfect way to be.

My mom is not funny. At all. But we probably laugh more because of her than anyone else in our family. Once every few years she will say something funny. Like really funny. And while we will laugh at what was said, our laughter is mainly directed at how proud she is to have made a joke. She even tries to hide her laughter when she thinks it might be getting out of control. Just soundless shoulder shakes and body heaves. My siblings and I do everything we can to coax that kind of laugh out of her. To witness it is a kind of funny I can't make you understand.

My mother can't take pictures. At all.  But we love it when she does. Memories are best captured in our family with headless/armless photos. Or with 2 second video clips when she was "taking" a picture, "Say cheese. Wait. It's not working. Why isn't it working?"

My mother can't cook. At all. But she has managed to perfect the art of adding. Make Mac 'n Cheese. Stir in additional ingredient. Provide family with well balanced meal. Mac 'n Cheese + greens beans = well balanced meal. Mac 'n Cheese + hot dogs = well balanced meal. In her defense, we always had a vegetable on our plate. And she used to bake the most delicious homemade bagels/pretzels/bread. Who needs to know how to cook when you can serve up carb heaven like that?

My mother can't be mean. At all. She won't gossip, even though we try hard to make her. She befriends those who are friendless for a reason. She invites strangers to her dinner table. She serves endlessly, even when she is exhausted and has little time to serve herself.

And she has a secret crush on Tom Select.

Now do you get why I love her so much?