Day 273

We are a peanut-butter-loving family. We put in on everything, from carrots to pancakes. The 11-year old ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches every day for lunch up until this year. My husband takes his own jar to work with him.

I just looked in our kitchen- we currently have 6 different jars of peanut butter. There is the traditional JIF jar, of course (although we do get the natural JIF. You should try it. Tons less sodium and no taste difference). But there is also chocolate peanut butter, honey-flavored peanut butter, two different kinds of natural organic peanut butter, and almond butter...

Did I mention that we like peanut butter?

One of the girls at work let me in on a secret though, and I'm gong to share it with you.

Powdered peanut butter!

I know, I know. Your first thought is, "What?! That doesn't sound right". And I agree, it sounds odd. But someone has figured out how to take the taste of the silky brown paste and put it into something that is devoid of the one thing that all actual butters have- oil. Some are better than others, but all nut butters have some fat.

But not with powder, baby.

I mixed two tablespoons of powder today with a tablespoon of water. That's only 45 calories, compared to 190 in my JIF. One gram of total fat compared to 16 grams. And it tastes good.

I may be in love.

I spread it onto my Wheat Thin crackers at work today, and can honestly say I was satisfied. I don't think it could be used for a sandwich, but it's definitely going in my arsenal for mixing in with oatmeal, shakes, and for dipping crackers and vegetables.

So tonight's picture celebrates peanut butter, in all of it's forms. Whether you pair it with jelly, celery, pancakes, or a spoon- it's hard not to love it. And now, I can love it even more with less guilt. Win win!

Day 272

Tonight was my last game of sand volleyball until Spring rears it's head next year. My Monday night league is comprised of several people who have played together for quite a while, and the other half of us were new to the team. Through the spring, summer, and fall sessions we have progressively finished a little bit higher in the rankings, ending tonight with a solid second place.

Now, some people would say that second place means you were the first loser. And I'm not saying that I like to lose. Rather, I think taking second place sometimes should be celebrated more than it is.

We played the first place team tonight, and hung solid with them for the vast majority of three rounds. There is a reason that team is in first place, and I know that we had them sweating several times. Our team has made so many great strides and gotten better not only at actual ball skills, but at working together as a team. We give each other encouragement, and we give each other hell when it is deserved...but we all come off the court giving high fives and butt slaps (ok I admit it. The real reason I play volleyball is for the butt slaps...).

So tonight's pic represents being happy with not being first. You don't have to be the best at something to be good, have a good time, or have a good team. Some of the best teams win on courage, hard work, and spirit. I mean, where do you think the term "underdog" came from? And who hasn't loved watching those movies where a Bad News Bear team of some sort winds up being champions? Second place is not always the first loser. Sometimes second place is actually the next winner.

Day 271

There are two things that I never discuss with my patients:

Politics and Religion.

It's just too risky. You could give your opinion innocently on something and lose their trust instantly. Or induce chest pain when they vehemently proclaim why the current President is or is not an idiot...As a nurse, we are trained to respect all religions and cultures, even taking entire college courses on both subjects so that we can understand, advocate, and better care for the melting pot of people that we see every day.

But personally, I have never been one to practice a formal religion. Instead, I have chosen to live a life of what I consider ethical and moral standards. My brain tends to lean towards the scientific end when it comes to creation and life as we know it, but I also respect the fact that others have different beliefs that are just as valid to them.

So instead of going to church when the alarm went of at 6 AM this morning, I pulled on my running shoes. And as I stood at the window eating my protein bar and drinking my coffee, I was amazed by the absolutely gorgeous sunrise that greeted me. Pinks and purples, oranges and blues, with clouds that shimmered like autumn rainbows with the colors reflected off of them.

I faced an 11-mile run this morning, my longest ever. I had decided to run in my neighborhood, so that I could lap back to my house for water as I needed it. Having finished my breakfast of champions and mapped my 11 miles out in my head, I took off into the sunrise.

During my first mile, I continued to glance at the sky, and couldn't help but have a moment of peace and wonderment. I had two hours on the road in front of me, and I decided that I would use that time to really look around me at the beauty which is nature and life.

My first hour was very quiet, as most people were still snug in their beds. But there were plenty of squirrels out and about, scurrying around with nuts in their mouths on their way back to their hidey holes or nests. I literally saw one squirrel dragging an entire cob of corn (a dried cob that someone probably used for outdoor decoration...) by the end across the street. What determination for such a small animal!

I admired the contrast of summer flowers still blooming and fall's foliage starting to emerge. Mums mixed with petunias in gardens and flower beds, the combination of warm days and cool nights being suitable for both species. There were pumpkins on porches, and plenty of scarecrows. Autumn wreaths adorned doors and spooky yard decorations gave no mistake that although the weather is warm, Halloween and Thanksgiving are just around the corner.

Then, suddenly, at about mile five, I realized that eating a protein bar and drinking coffee immediately before being away from a bathroom for 2 hours was not my best move....so I continued to look for things to distract me.

My second hour on the pavement revealed more human activity. Dog walkers abounded, as well as some gardeners. More cars were on the road, most likely on their way to a more formal kind of worship than my own. I continued to focus on my surroundings, and notice the little things- beautiful acorns and leaves on the ground, a man outside in his bare feet doing yoga, and a trio of giggling teenage girls coming out of a house after what was most likely a sleepover.

After I got home, showered, and....well yes, pooped, I went to pick up the 11-year old from his own sleepover. On the way back we passed a soybean field that has started to turn golden yellow. I was surprised to hear my son exclaim, "Mom look at that field! It's beautiful!". I smiled, told him to snap a picture of it, and knew that although I may not teach my son a formal way to worship, he was finding his own way just like I have.

So today's picture represents making your own path when it comes to moral and ethics. Whether created by science or a celestial presence, our planet and the creatures that inhabit it are a miracle, plain and simple. So take some time to look around you, admire the miracle of life, and be thankful to whoever or whatever gave you the opportunity to do so.

Day 270

Every year, The American Heart Association (AHA) puts on a heart walk and 5K race in downtown Dayton, Ohio. As you can imagine, the AHA is near and dear to my (yes, I'm going to say it) heart. Not only do I work with people who are afflicted with heart disease every day, but it also runs in my family.

Genetics. You can't run or hide from them. Which is why those of us with predispositions must do everything we can to ensure that genetics is the only thing working against us.

We've all heard it before- "eat right, exercise, and don't smoke". Yeah, yeah, yeah...

A heart attack occurs about every 20 seconds.

Someone dies from a heart attack about every minute.

Over the years, I've seen my share of heart attacks. And I've seen more than my share of deaths. Some are old and you can rationalize that "it was their time", but some aren't. Many of my most memorable patients were the younger ones whose hearts failed them too soon.

 I've watched a single mother call her 5-year old daughter at home and tell her she loved her more than peach pie- minutes before we put her on life support and flew her to Ohio State with prayers for getting on a transplant list. She never got to talk with her daughter again.

I watched a wife the same age as me smile bravely and kiss her husband as she left for the day, after finding out his heart was only functioning at 5-10% capacity. As soon as she was out of eyesight from his room, she leaned against the wall and covered her face with her hands, sobbing.

I listened to another wife admit through guilty tears that the only reason she watched college and NFL football was in hopes that one of them would get hurt. Her husband needed a heart transplant, and was such a large man (he was a football player in college...)that his only true chance at survival was a brain injured athlete who was also an organ donor.

Two years ago, I ran my first 5K ever at The Heart Walk. I had never actually ran 3.1 miles before, but had been training and was up to at least 2.5. There had been a patient at work that previous week who had been on my mind for many reasons. She had been so very sick, yet had refused to give up fighting. She smiled and did everything she could on her own for days, where many others half her age would have given up. She was another one that we eventually put on life support and a helicopter, having run out of treatment options at our facility.

There were many times I wanted to stop and walk that fall day on the heart walk. But every time that happened, I thought about what my patient had endured so gracefully. The least I could do was stick out 3 measly miles at a jog...

I finished without walking somewhere between 37 and 39 minutes. It was nothing to write home about, but I remember being ecstatic. I then got the race itch and transitioned to triathlon training, where my focus has been up until recently.

Today, two years later, I once again ran in the AHA Heart Walk. It's a great event, full of health-conscious vendors and people everywhere with great survivor stories. And of course, there were those who were there to walk in memory of someone who had lost the battle. Some wore t shirts and signs which shouted out who they were running for.

Who did I run for?

I ran for all of the patients who have touched my life as a cardiac nurse over the last 15 years. I ran for my grandparents, who both lost their lives to heart disease. I ran to be a role model for my peers and my son- you should practice what you preach, after all. And I ran for me, to hopefully help counter-balance the side of the scale where my family genetics lie.

Today's pic represents participating in an event that matters to you. It's empowering to see all those people coming together who have a common thread somehow between them. Today I finished out at 27 minutes and 51 seconds, a personal best and at least 10 full minutes faster than my first attempt at this race. I placed 5th out of 33 women in my age group, which I consider pretty good since the group is set at 30-39.....and I'm 39...So although I know a lot of cardiologists, I don't plan on needing one any time soon- this girl has her scale balanced!

Day 269

Tonight is sweet and simple.

We went to get ice cream after our volleyball game tonight. As we walked up to stand in line, I noticed two dogs that were getting ready to leave with their owners.

Basset Hounds.

My heart immediately melted. My first dog was a basset hound. His name was Flash. He was a great dog, and I was blessed to have 14 years with him.

Tonight's pic represents reminders of our past, and how family dogs can hold a place in your heart as dear, if not dearer, than your actual human family. I mean, I literally am tearing up writing this minuscule post. If you've never lost a dog, it's hard to understand. But I can still smile immediately upon seeing a basset hound dope-tee-doeing along with their sad eyes and floppy ears. So no more tears- just happy memories of stubby legs and lots (and lots...) of slobber and dog hair :).

Day 268

Homecoming.

Football and fancy dresses. Kings, queens, rallies, corsages, and a sophomore's first formal dance. Putting on face paint and screaming at the top of your lungs along with the cheerleaders at the football game.

oh, and the parade of course.

I don't even know if a Homecoming parade is a regular occurrence in other towns. But my town faithfully marches all of it's sports groups down our main street and in front of the high school the Thursday night before the Homecoming game, and it has for at least the last 25 years.

It starts with the Homecoming Court, which I must say was quite eclectic this year. I only caught glimpses of them as I arrived a few minutes late, but what I did see was refreshingly different than the "typical" court of my younger days. There were boys in football jerseys of course, but also one in a band uniform and others in dress clothes. The girls were a colorful array of skin color, hair color, and dress clothes. It was refreshing to see that such a large student body had nominated such a diverse court. I look forward to seeing who gets to wear the crown.

The vast majority of the parade was filled with sports teams of all ages wearing their orange and black:

- The tennis team, in their cute and stylish skirts threw tennis balls instead of candy at the crowd
- The cheerleaders were in full force, from Kindergarten to Seniors. That's a lot of sparkly hair bows in one place.
- The cross country team needed two trucks and trailers to carry all of them. They were all skinny with long legs, and upon seeing me standing to the side with my running gear on, ear buds, and phone strapped to my arm- whooped out a, 'Hey runner!" and threw me a handful of candy.
- The girl's soccer teams were in full force, taking three trailers- soccer is King in my town. Lean yet muscular, these are the girls that you don't want to mess with. Girls soccer is no joke- they are many times rougher than boys on the field. They are still girls though, and had all done their hair to match each other- yes I did notice.
- The girl's volleyball teams, who are dear to my heart, passed by. That was my favorite sport. I almost waved, then caught myself before the girls had to wonder who the creepy lady waving and cheering  at them was...
- The dance teams and show choirs had their moment, dressed in their beautiful, shiny outfits and smiling their best stage smiles.
- And of course, the football teams. Again, kindergarten through high school was represented, and you could almost smell the testosterone in the air.

There were other great floats and groups, including the German club and individual floats for the sophomores, juniors, and seniors. I remember riding on the senior float my last year in high school, screaming and being silly with my friends as we celebrated our last hoorah as teenagers.

So tonight's picture represents High School memories and Homecomings. Hopefully the seniors will have a win to celebrate tomorrow night, and hopefully all of them will have a safe evening full of memories on Saturday.

Day 267

I took my weekly trip to the library last weekend, and found a movie that I have been wanting to show the 11-year old.

The Matrix.

Boy oh boy was that a movie of it's time. I remember watching it and thinking the special effects were absolutely phenomenal. I also remember being slightly confused the first time I watched it about the story line.

But hey, who cares about a story line when there is Keanu Reeves and a hot lady who wears black leather to look at, right?

As I suspected, the 11-year old loved the first movie of the trilogy. He even made a comment about it "not being bad for a movie made in the 1990's".

Hey. It was 1999, thank you very much.

Of course, the library did not have the second or third movie, so we set out on a mission to the used video store. And, I have to admit, the fact that I bought all three movies for a total of $6.99 made me realize they really must be old movies....

Tonight, we finished off the second section of the Matrix trilogy. I think I enjoyed it as much as he did, but I have always had an affection for action movies- especially ones where there is a strong female character that kicks ass. I grew up in the generation of Speed and Point Break with Keanu Reeves, and remember waiting in eager anticipation for the next movie trailer to come out and announce when I could see him again.

I love movies that are trilogies, or quadrogies,...or whatever. They are different than movies that are named "2", as they leave you on the edge of your seat at the end of the movie. With a trilogy, you know the story isn't over, and you leave wondering what will happen next. Movies that wind up with a sequel have ended with an actual conclusion, and don't have the same lingering effects.

So tonight's pic celebrates Trilogies and sharing movies of your generation with another generation. And I agree with the 11-year old- it's a pretty good movie for being made in the 1990's.

Day 266

This past Saturday, the 11-year old got hurt during his football game. Nothing too serious, but he did wind up missing a day of practice- something he has never had happen before.

When I was about his age, I briefly had a four-wheeler. I remember clearly one afternoon how I lost control coming over a hill one, panicked, and wound up hitting the gas instead of the brake. This caused me to zip up an entirely too steep embankment, promptly throwing me off backwards and having the four-wheeler land on top of me.

Same as my 11-year old, there were no serious injuries. I had a helmet on, and the bike had landed more between my legs than on top of them. But that didn't mean I wasn't shaken up. My uncle walked me back to the car and I took a break, but eventually I had to make a decision...

Did I get back on the bike before we left, or throw in the towel for the day.

I remember my family asking if I was sure when I started putting my helmet back on, and I remember saying something about, "If I don't get back on now, I'm afraid I'll never get on one again". I admittedly took it very slow and easy the second-time around, but at least I could end the day knowing that I hadn't let fear of injury get the best of me.

While I was at work today, I fleetingly thought about the 11-year old, and whether he would be eager to get back in the saddle or nervous about getting hurt. He's never been the overly aggressive type anyway, and I was a bit worried that his injury might not have only hurt him physically.

When I got home from work, his afternoon rituals were already in full swing. He does homework until 5 PM, then he eats dinner, gets dressed at 5:15, then packs his gear and water bottle in order to be ready to go at 5:25 (hmmm...who does that sound like...). There was no dilly-dallying or talk about his leg still bothering him, although I could tell by his limp he still wasn't 100%.

Then, on the way to practice, he asked me a question. I though his voice sounded odd, so I turned around to look at him. That's when I realized he already had his helmet on. Guess I don't have to worry about this horse getting away from him...

Tonight's pic represents getting back on the horse, wagon, or even four-wheeler. How many times have we all used an excuse for why we don't exercise , or didn't finish a project , or didn't try something you really wanted to just because you failed the first time? Failure is actually a vital part of success- it can be inspiring, motivating, educational, and life-changing. So don't be afraid of failing, or of tripping on the ladder as you climb back on the wagon- you will be a better person if you fail multiple times rather than just give up.

Day 265

"Never kick a fresh turd on a hot day".---Harry Truman

Quotes, sayings, advice....whatever you call them, we all know someone who is always spouting one off. That someone in my life is a surgeon I have worked with for over 10 years now. Most of his are work related, and have gained him recognition both in front of his face and behind his back...

"Drop 250 in the tank" is actually an order to infuse 250 milliliters of Albumin into a patient intravenously. I don't know one nurse that works with him who doesn't know how to transcribe that sentence. It's always funny to see the new nurses' faces when he says that though...

He also has more intuitive sayings:

"Sometimes, when you are building something, you have to stop layering each individual brick and take a moment to step back and actually look at the wall. Otherwise, you may be building it in the wrong direction, or be mixing in the wrong types of decorative bricks at the wrong places".

He is also one of those people like my husband that just knows random crap. My husband may not have a formal college degree, but I'd put him up against the best at Trivial Pursuit or Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader.

This particular doctor is the same way. He asked me one day, "Who's the bell cow around here?".

I paused and gave him a tenuous look. "Do you realize you just asked who the cow was in a unit full of women?"

"You know." he replied with some exasperation at my obvious dimwitted response. "A bell cow."

I continued to look at him blankly.

He went on to explain that cows have a natural sense of following a leader. Once the farmer figures out who the other cows are following, they put an actual cow bell on her. Then, all he has to do is go out and lead one cow into the barn for milking, and as the cow walks and the bell jangles, all the other cows follow right along for their milking or evening meal.

"Why do you know this crap?!" I asked. He had the nerve to look at me like I was the odd one of the two of us. His partner happened to be walking by just then and I asked him if he knew what a bell cow was.

Nothing like getting a blank stare from a cardiothoracic surgeon.

"See?! I swear you talk in a different language sometimes!"

He just laughed and shook his head.

His birthday is this week, and it's a big one. We had food and a cake that looked like an Ohio State football field. I got him a card with the Harry Truman quote on it so that he could add it to his arsenal of "Millerisms".

And we got him a cow bell. With a bow. I was going to put a collar on it, but decided that would be a little creepy. Instead, I wrote a little note on it so that he could hopefully sit it on his desk and be reminded that others are looking up to him as a leader and to be ever-conscious of where he walks and what he says, as others look up to him and will follow his lead.

That's a lot of pressure for a cow.

Tonight's picture celebrates all of the bell cows out there- both with actual udders and without. Do you have a quote or saying that people will remember you for?

Day 264

Boy oh boy. My food processor got a better workout than I did today.

I made enough salsa to make a Mexican grandmother proud. My garden produced mostly Roma tomatoes this year, smaller than a tomato you would slice for a sandwich, yet larger than a cherry tomato you would plop in your salad. 

One of the great things about the Internet is the plethora of free recipes. Poor Betty Crocker. She used to be the ruling Queen of basic cooking and baking. If I didn't know what temperature to cook my pork chops at, I just pulled out my trusty BC cookbook and she would tell me. Now I open my IPad to AllRecipes or The Pioneer Woman websites- I even have a special tablet holder in the kitchen so I don't get tomatoes on my Apple.

Let me tell you, there are some crazy salsa recipes out there- I even saw one that had sauerkraut in it...I myself took the more traditional route, with a few creative changes and/or additions.

Now I said "creative". Which means I veered away from the recipe. Which is like breaking the law in my World of Order and Rule Following. It was almost silly how hard it was for me to do at first, almost feeling like I needed to apologize to the recipe for straying from it's orderly directions....

I started each batch with tomatoes and onion. Forty tomatoes per batch, to keep my Monkly sense of order in semblance. Fresh cilantro made it into each batch as well, but that's where consistency stopped.

I used apple cider vinegar, lime juice, and honey alternately in different batches. There is salsa with and without garlic, and with different levels of jalapeño heat, compliments of my own jalapeño plant. I even have a couple batches with fresh pineapple mixed in, a refreshing change I hope others enjoy as much as I do. I even played with different consistencies, making some thin salsa and some chunky, depending on my mood at the moment and if I got distracted while the food processor was on...

Tonight's picture represents making something familiar that has your own personal mark on it. I got a glimpse at what some chefs must go through when they create something new, hoping that others will like and appreciate their creativity and skill. It's very rare that I cook or bake anything without a recipe, so I always have the excuse that "it was the recipe's fault". Tomorrow we are having a birthday lunch for one of our doctors. Guess what I am bringing...

Day 263

Ugh. It was definitely one of "those" days...

Woke up with a pinched nerve or pulled muscle in my shoulder blade. Never a good thing when you are eating Advil before breakfast...

Had to work 2 hours at the concession stand this morning for football. Got stung by a bee while I was pouring hot cocoa. I promptly spilled the hot cocoa all over the place.

Came home knowing I needed to wash the 11-year old's football gear. Walked into the laundry room to find my husband's dirty socks from his workout this morning. On the floor. Six inches away from the laundry basket in the laundry room.

Went for my 10-mile run to prep for the 1/2 marathon I am running in a few weeks. I admittedly did not eat that well yesterday, and hadn't worked out in the last three days. I also realized, about 1/2 mile in, that the reason I felt like I was running with a constant wedgie was that I had put my shorts on backwards. Strong work. I felt ok for the first 5 miles, but then it was a struggle. My knees were killing me, it was hot out, and I had a wedgie...

A cold shower and more Advil later, it was time to head to the 11-year old's football game. Today was the Air Force marathon, and many of our parents participated. For the most part, you could tell who had run by looking to see who was limping...we traded stories about sore muscles, knee pain, and feeling old during halftime, laughing at ourselves yet congratulating each other on pushing through the pain.

I almost fell in the Port-o-Potty trying to squat with sore legs. I'm sure whoever was in the one next to me got quite the scare when I screamed and wobbled enough to shake the green hut.

We lost the football game, and had a total of 3 players get injured enough to have to leave the game. My son was one of them. A leg injury that will be ok, but I once again had to get out my trusty Advil, handing him two to take with his post-game snack of Rice Krispies and Cheetos provided by one of the moms.

By the time we made it home it was dark out, and all I really wanted to do was get something to eat and go to bed. Then the 11-year old put his arm around me, put his best puppy-dog face on, and asked, "Mom, will you bake some cookies?"

Seriously? A day like today and you want cookies? But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that cookies was just what we all needed.

Now let's be clear- I didn't make cookies. I took cookie dough out of a package and plopped them on a baking sheet. But they still tasted great with a glass of milk. The 11-year old and I grinned at each other with our mouths full of milk-soaked chocolate chip goodness, and suddenly I realized my day was going to end much better than it started.

Tonight's pic represents sweet endings, and the power of warm cookies and milk. Chances are, you can link a positive memory to a glass of white liquid and some kind of homemade goodie. Or, as in this case, at least a home baked goodie :). Hope your day was better than mine. Tomorrow is a new one though, without football or 10 miles to run!

Day 262

When you live in the hometown you grew up in, there are some places loaded with memories. Marion's Pizza is one of those places for me.

The funny thing is, I don't even like their pizza. I got a turkey sub tonight. But walking in to that place instantly transports me back 20 years.

It really hasn't changed at all. Still has laminated wood tables and linoleum chairs that I sat on through many dates in high school. Still has the game room with some of the same video games that I played as a child. Still has the same party room that I sat in through many after-sports-season get-togethers.

Did I mention that the pizza isn't that great?

But that just must be my personal opinion, because the place is just as packed now as it was twenty years ago. There are elderly people having what looks to be a ritualistic dinner there. Teenagers on dates take up other tables. And the game room still has kids spending their parents money in it while they wait for their pizza to get done.

Tonight's picture represents neighborhood hangouts and community businesses that have lasted throughout the years, allowing those of us who have been around for awhile to have somewhere to reminisce. My 11-year old has declared it as his own favorite pizza place, so a new generation of regulars has been born.

Day 261

There is something about pigtails that automatically makes almost any little girl look just adorable.

I remember those pigtails. I remember every Sunday getting up before church so my grandma could pull and tug my hair into two perfect fountains of hair. She always had ribbons to match my dress- something I didn't appreciate as a toddler like I would today. I'm pretty sure the dress I'm wearing was handmade by her or my mom, which is why the ribbons in my hair match the ribbons on my dress so precisely. Sometimes she would go one step farther and braid the pigtails, interspersing the ribbon through the braid. It makes my scalp hurt just thinking about that...

I have no idea what I am holding in my hand. Could be a cookie. Could be a potato chip. Could be just about anything according to my facial expression. I can still recreate that exact same look when I'm holding a piece of laundry between my fingers that I just picked up off the floor and am looking at my husband or son...

Tonight's pic celebrates Throwback Thursday and childhood pigtail memories.This picture was recently hung on the wall at my mom's house- I guess us parents never stop thinking of our kids as just that. Kids. It made me stop right there in the hallway, remembering snatches of that photo shoot. Go take a peek at an old picture and photo album once in awhile. It will do your heart good. 

Day 260

31 down, 9 to go.

Caden is coming. And Gigi is getting so excited! I have to admit, it's so much more fun when I am not the one with swollen feet and hot flashes- I could get used to this Grandma thing. It seems like I see babies everywhere I look lately. Big ones, small ones, boys and girls- I wanna hold and kiss them all.

I got a text from my step-daughter-in-law (SDIL) today, with a picture of the quilt that arrived at their house. The quilt was made by my mother, who never ceases to amaze me with her sewing talent.

Caden's room is forest animals, and my mom found the perfect fabric that matches perfectly (and yes, I get the matchy-matchy issues from her). It will be perfect for nap time, tummy time, and hopefully cuddle-with-Gigi-time.

As I get older, I have started to appreciate more the weight of family history and traditions. Photgraphs, cookbooks with handwritten notes in the margins, quilts, and crocheted blankets are treasures and links to our past- a past that has helped to shape who we each are today.

Today's pic celebrates family history and tradition. My mom made me a blanket too- it still resides on my bed after all these years. And from what I hear, Caden is well on his way to having pieces of family tradition and history with him from not one but three sides of his family. And yes, I said three sides- that is one of the benefits of being the child/grandchild of a family with divorces and remarriages! I need to think about what I want to pass on to my own children- my medals from my triathlons? My nursing pin and hospital badge? Maybe. What will you pass on?

Day 259

Well, the 11-year old is only four weeks into school, and we have already done two projects.

Ahh....projects.

Posterboards, book reports, erupting volcanoes. Remember those?

I do. My favorite project ever was a science project I did on the human heart. I built a human heart from clay- put it in the oven and painted it red and blue and everything! I wound up doing very well that year in the Science Fair. I wish I would have saved it- wouldn't that look cool on my desk now...

What I don't remember as well is how much time my momo\ probably put into all those projects as well. I do remember her helping me with the heart model, but I am sure there were scores of other posterboards and reports that she helped me with that I didn't appreciate at the time.

Well Mom, today I am saying thank you. Thank you for helping me with my homework and school projects. Not every kid is lucky enough to have that. I have spent the last two weeks pushing off my own responsibilities (ok, putting off folding laundry wasn't a huge deal but still...) in order to help the 11-year old with his.

Trying to find the balance not only between my "to do" list and his, but also how much I actually should help him has been a challenge too. Is it ok if I cut out the images he printed off since he can't cut neatly at all? Can I give him an idea for one of his fifteen sentences he has to write? This parenting stuff is sticky sometimes...

Tonight's picture represents those infamous school projects that are a right of passage through childhood, as well as the behind-the-scenes work that happens between parent and child.

Day 258

I love little kids.

I love that they have no biases, no cultural or race issues. They don't even care if you wear a Michigan football jersey.

I love that they can make a friend in less than 5 minutes with 3 simple words- "You wanna play?".

I watched these boys play behind the bleachers at the 11-year old's last football game. Some were from "our side" and some were from "theirs". But sides didn't matter, as long as there was a common goal. They ran back and forth, throwing the football to each other with as much enthusiasm as the quarterback of an NFL team. Maybe more.

Eventually, one of the dads joined in and played quarterback, seeing as how the average kid could only wing it about 10 yards....they ran and caught for what seemed like forever, oblivious to the "real" game being played by their older brothers.

Afterwards, they all went their separate ways. They will probably never see each other again, but that's okay. You don't have to be best friends to work together.

Tonight's pic celebrates a child's innocence and ability to befriend a stranger. In a good way- not the take-candy-from-a-stranger way... Maybe we should be more like them at times. We may find that the person with a Michigan jersey, or that works in the "other" ICU, or wears different clothes than you is someone you could easily work with, hang out with, or just have the pleasure of knowing for a short period of time before going on your way.

Day 257

I have always been amazed at the inherent differences between boys and girls. As a young woman, I spent about five years teaching preschool. I loved it, and specialized in the 18-36 month old toddlers. I eventually had my own classroom, and was very emotional when I transitioned from teacher to working at the firehouse full-time. Nursing school was nearing the end, and the clinical hours just did not allow me to continue watching my little ones during the day.

But while I was there, I got to glimpse interesting and wonderous things, as well as come to some of my own conclusions about the differences between boys and girls. Of course there are exceptions to every rule, but in general I can say this:

Girls tend to train their brain before boys. Boys tend to train their body before girls.

It's just the way it is. Things tend to even out as they get older, but time after time I would watch them naturally just- well... what comes natural.

If you put a bunch of toddlers in a room full of different types of toys, books, and art supplies you may be suprised at what happens if you watch closely. Girls gravitate toward things that they can use their brain with- books of course, but also things they can use their imagination with. Playing house, placing blocks that are different shapes in the correct spaces, and drawing shapes that have some sort of meaning.

Boys look for things to do. Kick a ball, push a truck, build a tower from legos or blocks. Action and reaction is what it is all about. They are infatuated with anything that moves and has wheels, pushing toy cars and trucks back and forth all afternoon. I insisted on doing some kind of art every day, and the boys always loved finger paint or when I would just spray a whole can of shaving cream on the table and let them go to town.

It was so fun to watch them push the paint or shaving cream around, making mountains and watching the waves of color and cream move and change. Usually the girls enjoyed collage or drawing over this type of "art", preferring to create something from nothing and then proudly declaring, "Look! I made a house!"

My boy is no different than many of the ones I watched over as a young teacher. He loved shaving cream, but wheels are his true love. Matchbox cars, Tonka trucks, firetrucks, Transformers....you name it, he had it. He would line all of his cars up one by one in a line and drive them around. For hours.

As a pre-teen, he no longer plays with his Matchbox cars or Transformers. But his favorite movies involve fast cars, and he can name just about every single car that is out there. By make and year.

Every year, our town puts on a festival that involves a car show. You'll find every kind of vehicle there, from old to new, two-seaters to souped-up SUVs. All in all I would say there are at least 100 cars there, with their owners all hovering close by to make sure no one actually touches their pride and joy.

And every year, the 11-year old looks forward to perusing each vehicle that is displayed.

Every. Vehicle.

He literally walks around every single car, keeping his hands in his pockets to stave off the urge to reach out and fondle these masterpieces of machinery. No section is left unnoticed, from the wheel rims to the trunk to the all-important engine. He even pokes his head into each one to see how high the manometer reads...

It's cute for about the first half hour. After that I just find a shady tree and sit down until he's finished. Every once in a while I can see him get really excited over a certain car, and he'll turn to me from across the field and point at something. I just nod my head and smile, wishing I had a book to read or paper and a glue stick to make a collage...

Tonight's picture represents a boy's love of anything with wheels. I wish I understood it, but I don't think I'm meant to. Some people love horses, some are sports fanatics. Others are infatuated with art or books. I myself had more Transformers than Barbie Dolls as a child, and can still remember my wooden block set. So nothing in general is set in stone from the beginning just because you are a boy or a girl. But I do believe that you show tendencies towards what your personality and likes/dislikes are going to be from a very early age. And I have a feeling my son will never be one of those people who doesn't really care what kind of car he drives...

Day 256

According to my Nike running app, I burned over 1200 calories this morning.

According to my other app, MyFitnessPal, I am allotted 1880 calories per day if I don't excercise and still want to lose weight.You know what that means...

Saturday just became Eat-whatever-the-heck-I-want-to day.

I tried not to abuse it. Soy sausage on a whole wheat English muffin for breakfast. Two powergels during my run at 100 calories each. Baked Tilapia, baby carrots, and a small scoop of mashed potatoes for lunch.

And that's where things got ugly...

Did you know they now make Birthday Cake flavored M&Ms? Those candy coated gems are right behind Oreos and donuts on my favorite junk food list, and they are torturing me with new flavors that I feel I must try and give an opinion to. They have pumpkin and candy corn flavored ones as well....

If you look closely at the top of the bag, you will see the words "Resealable Zipper!"

Yeah right. Like I'm gonna close the bag...

I did eat a salad for dinner, but that was just to counteract the 3 Cow Tales I ate during the football game. And I might have stopped at Graeter's tonight for ice cream. Hey-I had a gift card....

Tonight's pic represents putting a new spin on a classic. For the record, I highly recommend the Birthday Cake flavored M&M's. Oh and the Cookie Classic sundae from Graeter's isn't bad either...

Day 255

There is something to be said about ending the week with a good meal and a glass of wine.

Ok it might have been  more than one glass of wine.

I've never been one to lean towards one type of alcohol. I will drink a beer with my pizza, a cosmo or margarita when out with girlfriends, or even do jello shots at graduation parties. I don't tend to drink a lot of wine at home, mainly becuase I can never finish a bottle before it goes bad. Unlike a bag of Oreos, which I can easily polish off in one sitting...

But tonight just felt like a wine night. Plus a girlfriend came over, so I had someone to share my bottle with (I'm such a pusher). I grilled chicken, and we ate green beans and tomatoes from the garden while we poured each other glasses of wine and talked about our week.

So tonight's post is simple, but true. The pic represents TGIF and relaxing with a friend and a bottle of wine. I am so thankful to have both.

Day 254

I debated  all day on whether or not to write about what is in the back of everyone's mind today.

9/11.

I mean, how do you write something positive about one of the most horrible days of our generation? It's one of those days that everyone remembers where they were, like the assassination of Kennedy and when the space shuttle blew up.

I was at work, charting at the nurses station when one of the other nurses came out of a patient room and said, "One of the twin towers just got hit by an airplane". The cardiologist in front of me turned around and started watching the television in a patient's room. When he turned back around, his face was ashen.

"My dad's office is in that building".

When the second building fell, I was literally doing CPR. I will forever remember the name of that patient, and remember how silent the room was in a usually chaotic situation. The TV was on in the room, and we watched the skyscraper evaporate as we attempted to save someone's life thousands of miles away. I will always feel sad for the family of that patient, as they will always have to endure remembering a double tragedy on September 11, as we were not successful in his resuscitation.

My mom worked for the government, and she traveled to the Pentagon regularly. A panic phone call to her revealed she was not in Washington, but did not know when she would be able to leave the air force base, as it was locked down.

I have mentioned in the past that my husband is a firefighter. My stepdad was also a firefighter. I also worked on the fire department for a little over five years. And so although I absolutely know that there were all sorts of heroes on that day, the men and women of fire hold a special place in my heart.

Unless you have lived the life of a firefighter, it is very difficult to explain the intimate bond that passes between them. For 24 out of every 72 hours, they are thrown together to eat (hopefully), sleep (hopefully), and work(definitely) in conditions that most of us have never thought of.

Do you remember your college roommate, or the first person you lived with? They knew everything about you, from your snoring to what time of day you take a crap. Same in the firehouse. They are a family and work group all in one, washing dishes and toilets as well as fighting fire or intubating someone who has stopped breathing. They eat like a family, at a table that is many times scarred and has mismatched chairs. They have chores like a family- from kitchen duty to mopping and vacuuming each day to checking off each piece of equipment to ensure it is ready to help someone in need. They support each other like a family, loaning money for dinner when needed or helping landscape a yard on their day off. And of course they tease each other like a family- to put it lightly...

My husband doesn't like to talk about 9/11. In truth, neither do I. It's hard enough knowing that your husband leaves for work every third day and has a job that requires him to run into a burning building when everyone else is running out. Every loved one of a firefighter has had nightmares about opening the front door to the Fire Chief and Chaplain.

These guys see a lot of crazy shit. They also get to witness beautiful miracles at times. And they know all too well that their job has risks. But no one goes to work thinking they will lose their whole crew. Their whole firehouse. Their family.

After 9/11, I cannot imagine what it was like to be a New York City firefighter. Some of them had to actually choose which funeral to go to, as there were so many and some services were overlapping. Can you imagine? How do you make a decision like that? How to you go to more than one funeral of a family member in the same day?

I am sure there were haunts every where they looked. The coffee mug that one of them constantly had in their hand. The bunk beds that still had their fallen hero's blanket and pillow on it. The locker that still had their nickname in permanent marker on the outside. The empty chair at the table where they sat for dinner.

We have a book at our house title, "Brotherhood". It is an entire book of pictures taken of firehouses after 9/11. There are plenty of exterior shots of firehouses, with hundreds of flowers and cards outside each one. Plenty of pictures of firefighters attempting to return to their daily routine, because this is a job that can't shut down for mourning. Along the bottom of each page is a running line of names and firehouse numbers, signifying each of 343 New York firefighters that lost their lives that day.

So where is the positive? Tonight's pic both represents and celebrates the Brotherhood. It is a picture of what I remember the bunk room to be - almost like camp, with beds next to each other and no escape from the one guy who inevitably snores like a freight train. These particular beds never saw their owners again. I am thankful to have had a glimpse at this life, and am forever grateful to those who have chosen to walk into the fire.

Day 253

When I got home from work today, the 11-year old informed me that he needed two book covers. 

By tomorrow.

Did I mention that I didn't get home until after 8 PM???

I looked at my husband and he shrugged- "He didn't say anything to me." Huh. Of course he didn't.

Luckily, I had some plain brown Kraft paper, so I pulled it, some scissors and tape out onto the kitchen table.

The 11-year old looked confused. I explained that we were going to make book covers. He looked even more confused, and asked why we didn't just go buy some.

Because you need them by tomorrow. And it's after 8 o'clock at night. That's why. I handed him the scissors.

Obviously, kids must not cover their own books anymore. I guess you can actually buy book covers- something I never had available as a young student. But who needed them? Brown-paper-bag book covers were a way for each kid to show their individuality and style by how they decorated the covers! Big block letters that said "MATH" or bubble letters stating "English" were the norm for me, with hearts and flowers and "Steph loves ____" (the blank being filled by my most recent "future husband") filling in the blank edges around both sides.

I admit I just stared at the Kraft paper for a few minutes, as I had definitely forgotten how to go about actually making a book cover. But something else that I didn't have as a child helped me finish the job- You Tube. There were plenty of helpful videos out there which enabled us to neatly cover his textbook. I probably went a little overboard with measuring and using my paper cutter to ensure straight, even lines, but hey- I am who I am...

When we were done, the 11-year old actually admitted that it was pretty cool. I told him he could decorate it however he liked, but he had obviously reached his crafty limit for the evening and decided to leave them blank for now.

Tonight's picture represents showing your kids that buying something isn't always the only or best answer. It should be interesting to see by Christmas break what actually makes it onto that book cover. Probably not hearts and flowers, but I bet there are some Green Bay Packer symbols. Maybe even a "Sam loves___".

Day 252

The Harvest Moon.

A beautiful sight the last couple of evenings provided by Mother Nature, the Harvest Moon is actually just a regular full moon, but due to the fact that it rises just before sunset, many times it has an almost pumpkin-like glow.

It got it's nickname because it's brightness allows farmers to reap their crops well into the night during this all-important harvesting time of year. Not so big a deal now that we have John Deere tractors with headlights, but I'm sure our forefathers appreciated the extra light.

But a full moon means more than being able to see your soybean and corn rows.  Every cop, firefighter, and nurse will tell you that people just get crazy during a full moon.

I mean "cray-cray" crazy.

Night shift nurses get anxious when they are faced with a full moon on their drive into work. Firefighters may take an afternoon nap, anticipating being up all night. Psychiatric wards beef up their staffing.  And police officers probably make sure they have an extra pair of handcuffs...

There is no scientific reason for this phenomenon. Some say the brightness of the moon disturbs people's sleep cycles, which at times induces delirium. Others say the brightness of the moon allows not only farmers to stay out late at night, but other "darker" characters are able to be more mobile as well.

I got a text during football practice around 7:30 PM from our charge nurse- "Can't wait to fill you in on the absolute craziness that erupted after 6 PM today. You just can't make this shit up". I looked up and saw the Harvest Moon, smiled, and snapped a picture. I sent the picture back to the dayshift charge nurse and told her I would say a little prayer for the night shift.

Today's picture represents myths, legends, and superstitions. Not that a full moon is any of those. That shit is real. I know- I've lived it!

Day 251

There has never been a woman who hasn't fleetingly wished she were a man as she was laboriously shaving her legs, or plucking her eyebrows, or lying in bed with a stinky face mask on.

In general, our culture signifies the term "dressing up" to require a very different workload between the sexes. To "dress up" for a man may mean uncomfortable attire such as a tie and dress shoes, but little overall maintenance. A splash of cologne and underwear without holes would be how my own husband might describe getting "fancy"...

But if there is one thing a man can do to show he has made more of the occasion and put in effort, jn my opinion it is to have a clean neckline.

I don't mean washing the dirt off from the day. I mean a fresh haircut or at least a neck trim. There is just something about a fresh haircut and a distinctive line between neck and hair that makes most women weak at the knees.

Of course, I am married to a bald man, so maybe for me it's just wishful thinking...

The 11-year old got a haircut. He likes it short, which I agree is how it looks best, but there's a part of me that hates to see his strawberry-blonde hair disappear onto the barber's floor. 

But once it's all cut off, I always admit that it looks much better than when it's long. I made him turn around so I could take a pic of his nice clean neck. The scar on the back of his noggin is from the infamous incident falling backwards out of his blocked dump truck as a toddler...

Tonight's pic represents the man version of dressing up, and the power of a clean neckline. 

Day 250

If there's one thing Ohio does well, it's fairs. From spring through late fall, you can find some kind of celebration almost every weekend.

This weekend was my hometown's turn to show off their "fare" (sorry, couldn't resist). The theme is popcorn, but the truth is there are probably less than half a dozen stands that actually sell anything popcorn related...

But what we don't have in popcorn, we make up for in crafts, community service representation, and food. There was jewelry, sports themed paraphanelia, home decor and more to peruse. The fire and police departments had their vehicles and equipment out for kids to climb on, and there was representation from almost every local church, club, and business available to talk to or get information from.

Having been a long time visitor of the Popcorn Festival, I relativey knew what to expect. That being said, I made sure to get my run in this morning, knowing that not only would that allow me to feel less guilty about eating fair food, bu that my stomach would revolt against any type of excercise later on.

Sure enough, we barely made it inside the fair when we were greeted by a stand that boasted it's ability to deep fry just about ever major dessert- Oreos, buckeyes, cheesecake, Snickers, etc. My son got the Oreos while the husband decided on buckeyes. We had arrived early and so the oil was still relatively fresh, and the fried desserts were heavenly. In my opionion, the buckeye far out-tasted the Oreo, but I only had a small bite of each and would need to eat at least two more of both creations in order to make an educated decision...

We bought cinnamon roasted almonds and fresh kettle korn for snacking later tonight, and two jars of salsa- one that is bacon flavored....that's a new one. I mean, how do resist that?!

But for me, it was all about the fried dough. That's right- the traditional funnel cake, with powdered sugar on top. I honestly have no clue what it is actually made of, and that is probably for the best. But that melt-in-your-mouth fried heaven was well worth the 4 miles I had run that morning!

Today's pic celebrates local fairs, and the fare at the fair. There's just something about walking around with food on a stick or fried dough that makes the whole experience official.

Day 249

It's coming, and I can't stop it.

Fall.

I know some of you love pumpkins and hoodies, and I totally get all that. But I would be happy to forgo Halloween if summer could stick around until November...

Tonight's pic represents a beautiful scene of what may be one of the last few nights of warmer weather. Of course, I say that as I sit here with sweat pants and yes, a hoodie, on. Pretty soon it will be time to do what all women dread this time of year- try on my jeans and see if they still fit or not...

Day 248

At the beginning of the summer, it was zucchini, zucchini, and.....zucchini from my garden.

The middle of summer brought green beans- more than I knew what to do with. I did pole beans for the first time, and learned a lesson about not planting them in the middle of the garden. I struggled reaching many of the green drops of gold as I had planted tomatoes and peas on either side- both of which also grow tall...it was like playing Twister in the backyard- luckily my neighbors can't see that part of the yard...

But the end of summer brings tomatoes. The weather made me worry this year- it's just recently gotten hot enough to turn the orbs ruby red. And lots of rain has had me fighting fungus much more than I remember doing last year.

But The Tomato Goddess prevailed. 

Dozens of scarlet dots wink at me every day when I pull in the driveway, beckoning me out to the backyard with my scissors and harvesting basket. I love how they almost fall off the branch when you grab them, like they were just waiting for you to come and release them from their web of green vines.

But what to do with 100 tomatoes? Can them of course. The thought of making beef stew with barley and tomatoes, or homeade spaghetti sauce during the winter with my own tomatoes just makes happy for some reason.

About half way through the process I remembered why most people just buy their canned tomatoes. First you have to wash them, and sterilize the jars and lids. Then you must slide them into boiling water for just a minute to soften the skins. An ice bath is next to halt the cooking process. Of course, this has to all be done in batches...

Each individual tomato (did I mention I had at least 100??) needs it's skin peeled off, then sliced and all of the seeds removed. The more seeds and extra water you get out of the tomato, the meatier and more flavorful your sauce will eventually be. Clip some fresh basil from the garden and place in the bottom of the jar, then fill with the dissected parts.

Now for the actual canning part. 

I bought an antique water bath canner a few months ago, so I was super- excited to use it. 45 minutes in boiling water, and my tomatoes were done. Finally. But they were beautiful.

Today's pic celebrates making food from food, and gaining respect for the amount of work that goes into something you complain about costing $1.50 at the grocery store!

Day 247

Tonight I made a quick run to the grocery store for a few things I needed in order to finally can my tomatoes. Oh and beer. We needed that too.

As I was perusing the different choices of tomato juice, two men- one older and one younger- were having a heated yet quiet discussion nearby (around the pineapple juice section to be exact). The older of the two turned to me and smiled- "Hello", he politely said.

I returned his greeting, and he asked, "Do you have any children?" At this, the younger man rolled his eyes and put his head in his hands. 

I immediately sensed fun. "Yes,three" , I replied, waiting for the rest of the story. "Are any of them girls?"

I explained that I had a 21-year old step-daughter.

He went on to tell me that his son- the younger man who was now turning several shades of red- was going to ask a girl that he likes to the Homecoming dance tomorrow at school, and wanted to buy her flowers. Incidentally, the heated discussion I had overheard was a disagreement on what type of bouquet to woo her with.

I smiled and felt the romantic part of my heart skip a little beat. How absolutely adorable. What an honor to be part of such a sweet gesture, one that would take a lot of courage for a young man. And let's be honest- I never had a boy give me flowers when he asked me to a dance, did you?

I turned to the completely horrified teen and tried to be as matter-of-fact as possible, hoping to decrease his discomfort in the fact that his father just asked a complete stranger for love advice. 

"Definately not all roses- those are generic and honestly a bit over-the-top for this. Save those for a day or so after the dance if all goes really well. Don't do too many carnations either- they just aren't romantic enough. Look for a nice mixed bouquet that has some lilies and maybe a rose or two mixed in. That will be romantic but not overboard."

He blinked. "What do lilies look like?" I glanced at his father. 

He blinked.

"Come on, honey", I said as I lead him away from the pineapple juice.

I showed him a couple of options, and must say that I approved of his final choice. The young man shyly thanked me for helping, and as I looked at his dad he was smiling- not at me, but at his son. Rightfully so.

As I was standing in line to check out with my tomato juice and beer, the father-son duo were a few aisles over from me. As they walked away he looked over at me, smiled shyly again, and held up the bouquet. I gave him two thumbs up, and felt my heart skip a little beat again.

Tonight's picture celebrates good old-fashioned romance, and that it still lives on in young people today. Somewhere out there tomorrow, a very lucky girl is gonna get a lovely suprise. 

Day 246

One more fitness goal for the year...

Run a 1/2 marathon before December 31.

"Why on earth would you want to do that?" my husband keeps asking.

I don't know really. I think the biggest reason is that I want one of those damn "13.1" stickers on my car...I'll be honest- for the longest time I had no idea what that number meant. At one point I was convinced it signified a verse from The Bible...Yeah, it doesn't.

Tonight was my first round of training for this new adventure. Of course, there are lists and spreadsheets involved (of course!), as I plan out how long and far I need to run each week to prepare. Traditionally, it takes 14-18 weeks to train for a half-marathon (at least that's what Google told me...).

I have about 9 weeks.

The good news is, my body is already used to endurance activity for two hours at a time, so I am hopeful I can slide into the training plan without too much grief. This weekend will be the true test. That's when I am supposed to do a 9 mile run...

Ugh.

Anyway, if I don't die or throw up doing that, then I will most likely officially sign up for a race. In the mean time, I am following the plan and have reverted back to my no-ice-cream-white-bread-or-potato diet. Which is truly a shame because there really is some excellent ice cream out there...

I received a gift today that was perfect timing for my transition to pavement pounding. One of the nurses on my unit gave me new running socks as a thank-you for writing her a letter of recommendation. She is a runner as well, and we have always enjoyed bouncing ideas and progress off of each other. It was almost a little silly how excited I was about socks. I guess now I know where my 11-year old gets it from...

But these are no ordinary socks. They are "hash-tag"socks. Each pair has a cute saying on the side, precluded by the ever-popular hash-tag sign. I picked out the pair that matched my outfit (duh) and hit the track with a spring in my step.

Tonight's pic represents starting towards a new goal, and thankfulness for friends that know you well enough to buy you socks as a present!

Day 245

There has been a lot of rain around here the last few days. Weird rain too- bright and sunny out one minute, pouring buckets the next. Today was no exception, and I set off for work this morning with my windshield wipers getting a workout.

By the time I got home, the sky had once again transformed and the sun was shining around patches of angry-looking dark clouds. So off we went to football practice, with me doing a silent thanks that at least I wouldn't be stuck in the rain for two hours...

But although it wasn't raining during practice, the day's earlier onslaught had left it's mark. Thankfully, our practice area is mostly on high ground, but there was still plenty of mud for all.

It was everywhere, and unavoidable. And let's be honest- even if it was avoidable, those boys still would have found it. Soon enough, their white practice pants turned darker and darker. Several of us parents made comments on the sidelines about how we usually wait until the end of the week to wash practice clothes, but would probably have to make an exception tonight...

At the end of practice, the boys came off the field wearing their mud stains and splotches like badges of honor. I have one girlfriend whose son got very upset when she washed his pants after a particularly muddy practice- "Mom! You just washed all my work off!". I can remember guys at the firehouse being like that as well- they would delay washing their gear and their helmets after a fire so that everyone could tell they had actually been fighting fire...

Boys will be boys I guess.

Tonight's picture represents how getting dirty is not always a bad thing. It can sometimes signify hard work- lord knows I am dirty after working in the garden, and I literally have sand in my eyebrows when I come home from volleyball. There were at least 100 pee-wee football players out there tonight, which means there are at least 100 washing machines running right now...Thank Goodness for my stain stick!!

Day 244

If there was a wagon around, I definitely would have fallen off of it over the last 24 hours....

I have allowed myself yesterday and today to eat whatever I wanted, without guilt or remorse. It began at the 11-year old's football game yesterday, where I purchased a frozen Snicker's bar from the concession stand I had so dutifully avoided the last few weeks.

Then I went to dinner at Friendly's. Fried chicken strips with bacon, cheese, and chipotle sauce on grilled white bread- with french fries of course. And don't forget dessert! A Cracker Jack sundae with salted caramel ice cream, caramel sauce, cracker jack popcorn, and whipped cream ended the meal. And let's just say there was no "To Go" box in my arms as we walked out....

Breakfast this morning came entirely from my market trip- farm fresh eggs, real bacon, honey-wheat bread (2 slices!!) with strawberry jam, and tomatoes from my own garden out back.

At this point I was in GI overload, and I skipped lunch without coming close to being hungry. I nibbled on a cucumber mid-afternoon, and decided to make dinner a bit early since I had a volleyball game this evening.

I opted for a compromise for dinner- low fat bison burgers were the main course, but I totally ate it on a white bun. With mayonaise....Sweet potato fries substituted for traditional white potato ones, and I drank crystal light instead of the beer that was calling my name from the fridge.

Tonight was a double-header game at volleyball. It was quite hot out, and one of my teammates offered to buy me a drink to celebrate my triathlon success... and well, I hated to offend him. Have you ever looked at how many calories are in one of those Bud Light margaritas though?! "Light" my arse....

Driving home, I knew this was my last hoorah, so I swerved into the Wendy's drive-thru and ordered a medium Frosty. I savored each bite on the way home, glad it was dark out so no one could see my facial expressions of ecstasy as each creamy, chocolate spoonful went down. I had one pit stop at Walgreen's before I got home, so I destroyed my Wendy's evidence in the trash can provided in their parking lot.

 By the time I got home, my poor stomach had finally said, "Enough is enough". I couldn't blame it really- I mean, I had been feeding it relatively nothing but clean and healthy food for weeks now, and had shoved enough sugar, grease, and processed junk at it in the last 24 hours to make even Honey-boo-boo have a belly ache.

So tonight I am thankful for Tums. They have seen me through some rough patches, including pregnancy and ulcer-inducing periods of my professional career. Tomorrow I will climb back on the wagon, and can only hope that my clothes still fit!