Day 304

I feel so guilty. And yet, so satisfied...

Our youngest has decided he is officially too old for trick or treat. So he went to a friend's house to help pass out candy and spend the night. Therefore, my husband and I had Halloween off together for the first time in well over 15 years.

Instead of staying home and handing out candy, we ditched our neighborhood responsibilities in favor of pizza and beer. We spent an hour talking and laughing, and now I am sitting on the couch eating the candy I was supposed to give to the cute little children....

Tonight's picture represents guilty pleasures, and a little bit of mixed emotions that your own children have now outgrown almost every holiday.

Day 303

Over the years, I have had the opportunity to have several massages. They have all been at spas, usually as gifts from my husband or my staff. They were lovely and relaxing, but after this summer I felt like I really needed something a little more intense. All the pounding pavement had taken it's toll on my feet and my back, making it feel at times that I needed to hang by my toes just to stretch everything out.

Enter Elizabeth Stout.

I was referred to Beth by a friend of mine, after complaining about the above aches and threatening to go see a chiropractor (a serious statement, as I have feared chiropractors all of my life. All the twisting and cracking just freaks me out). She assured me that Beth was legit, as well as someone who held many of my own philosophies regarding a healthy lifestyle.

Beth spent a few minutes with me before the session discussing my lifestyle, exercise routines, and pain issues. We discussed how I hoped for something deeper than a traditional massage, and she explained that she used a lot of trigger point therapy, focusing on a therapeutic session with my specific needs in mind.

Let's do it.

An hour and a half later, I was amazed at the difference in this woman's style than any other I had been to. Her ability to put pressure in just the right spot was amazing. There was plenty of relaxing parts, but my favorites were honestly the ones where she would just press on what seemed a nondescript area and I would feel a sudden pressure that almost hurt- in a delicious, good way. That "Oh! Oh. Ohhhh......"kind of feeling. She focused on the areas I had abused all summer- shoulders, feet, hips, and upper back. I had to focus on not drooling at one point, and I am pretty sure a moan escaped a couple of times...

Afterward, she told me it was my traps that had needed the most work, which was probably why I had been having upper back discomfort and not sleeping well. We talked again about the difference between therapeutic massage and the traditional. She said that most people look at massage as something to do after a sports season is over, when in reality it's best to do throughout. Massage can help to prevent injury, and studies have shown it to help boost your immune system. Plus- the best part? Only $45 per hour, which is way cheaper than any place I have been before.

I'm in.

Today's picture represents taking care of your body, sometimes in a more non-traditional way. I plan on making therapeutic massage a regular part of my lifestyle. Somebody asking you want you want for Christmas? Drop them a hint about Elizabeth, or a masseuse near you. I guarantee you won't regret it.

Day 302

Although the sun was out this afternoon, the chilly wind chased me indoors for my bike ride today. I was admittedly a little bummed about being inside, as the lack of scenery can at times make the minutes seem to drag by.

But then I met Bob.

Who is Bob, you ask? Bob is the 80-year old cutie patootie that was already working up a sweat when I entered the bike room at the YMCA. 

"Hi there!" He proclaimed as I sauntered over to a bike and began adjusting the seat. "Got a big ride planned today?"

I was immediately charmed. Much to my husband's dismay, I have a soft spot for little old men. 

"Just 45 minutes today," I replied. "And you?"

"I'm finishing up my 30 minutes. It's my short day. Do you ride outdoors as well?"

And so ensued a conversation which had me smiling from ear to ear. We talked about how fortunate we were to live in an area that supports biking with miles and miles of bike paths that are both scenic and much safer than the road-" riding off into a ditch isn't as easy for me these days"he said.

I told him I just started biking a couple of years ago, as I began my triathlon journey. His face lit up, and he told me about his years of triathlon racing in the 80's. Before that he had always been a runner. He held several age group medals in triathlon, and had traveled to many different states to race. Once he got "too old" to do the whole race, he and his buddies continued on for awhile doing relay.

I had quickly done the math in my head- he was at least in his 50's when he started doing triathlons.

He went on to tell me about his love for biking, and how he had done probably a dozen cross-country bike trips. As in across the country. His face was dreamy as he described now beautiful the world is from a bicycle seat- beating car trips hands down. He had a t-shirt on that said ""Bike Across America 1995".

1995. Some more quick math- he was 61 years old for that trip.

Before I knew it, he was off his bike, wiping down his equipment, and standing by the fan with his eyes closed. He cursed his thyroid, which he was sure was the cause for his recent decreased energy...

We chatted for a few more minutes, then he excused himself to go walk for 15 minutes on the treadmill. He thanked me for making the end of his workout so enjoyable and told me he looked forward to seeing me again. As he walked out into the weight room, I heard a young man's voice say, "Well hey there Bob! Wanna work in a set with me?"

Looks like I wasn't the only person Bob had charmed at The Y.

Looking down at my bike, I only had 20 minutes left to ride, and hadn't even needed to turn my music on. And I was grinning, something that rarely happens on the bike.

Today's picture celebrates Bob, and everyone out there like him who has continued to do amazing things throughout their older years. I can only hope that I can still actually sit on a bike when I am 80 years old. And as I walked out of the gym, there he was, now having moved on to the free weight section. I smiled and waved, and realized that I was actually looking forward to coming back to the gym to see him. 

Day 301

I'm tired. I'm sore from lifting weights yesterday. And I have a headache.

Boo-hoo, right?

After taking a hot shower to try and clear my head and ease my muscles, I started getting my clothes out for tomorrow. Because you must have realized by now that I am not the girl who can get up in the morning and just pick out an outfit willy-nilly...

And that's when I realized I have absolutely no clean underwear in my drawer. Well, except for that one pair of thongs I had high hopes for at one point but are so uncomfortable I can't imagine wearing them all day...

Glumly, I headed towards the laundry room, resigned to the notion of having to stay up late in order to be able to both wash and dry my undies for tomorrow. That's when I noticed a basket of laundry on the counter  that wasn't there when I left for work this morning.

Lo and behold, mixed in with my husband and son's boxers, jeans, and socks, was a pair of purple, full-cheek coverage underwear. I was saved.

Tonight's picture celebrates clean underwear and getting to go to bed earlier than you thought. I know it's not a night full of wisdom or witty humor, but it was definitely the highlight of my day. But come on- you have to admit you have had a moment of thanks when you discover the shirt you wanted to wear was actually clean, or that you have enough tampons, Children's Tylenol,  or toilet paper to get you through the night without having to go to the grocery in your pajamas. Nighty night friends!

Day 300

For the last three months or so, I have focused my workouts on endurance instead of weight training. Today, I nervously pulled on yoga pants and waded into the weight area of my gym.

I've never really enjoyed lifting weights in a gym environment. I'm not a wussy, but I will never be the girl next to me who was doing arm curls with 20 pound weights. I feel self-conscious with all the mirrors around, and am certain that EVERYONE is looking at my ass when I bend over to do squats- and not because it's cute to look at....

Plus, there are so many fashion emergencies that distract me. There was a lady wearing black tights- like the kind you get out of a box at Walgreen's- and a tank top (and the tank top did NOT go below her waist). Why is that ok? Especially if you are over the age of 50 and...round? And I swear there was a guy dressed up like Hulk Hogan- except it wasn't his Halloween costume...

I started with leg presses, and felt relatively secure and happy with how I did. But then I got to the chest press. It was quite obvious very quickly that my upper body had not been seeing much action lately (ha ha). I wobbled through three sets of only the weight bar, a bit embarrassed by my grunting and sweating over such a light weight.

And since when did my crotch start being an area that sweats before any other area? I didn't even know you COULD sweat there. Well, I guess it could be something other than sweat- I did grunt quite a bit...

By the time I got to push-ups, I was feeling pretty wimpy. My arms were shaking, and I was pretty sure my ass was still over in the squat area somewhere. Oh well, it would eventually catch up to me. I took a look at myself in the mirror, and then looked around the gym and realized- I am the "older" lady at the gym. Crap. When did that happen? Must've been the same time my crotch started "sweating".

Suddenly, I gave myself a mental kick. Why was I being such a downer? I had done amazing things this year in the area of fitness. I bet that Hulk Hogan guy couldn't do a triathlon, and I was pretty sure tights-lady couldn't do 13.1 miles. I needed to stop worrying about everyone else and focus on just myself and my own goals and abilities. I found a quiet corner, closed my eyes, and took a few deep breaths. Then I powered out my plank and calf raises, with Pink and Christina Auguilera inspiring me with their girl-power awesomeness.

So today's picture is about learning to be ok with your limits, and taking a moment to reset yourself when you are getting too negative or distracted. Maybe it's homework, or housework, or being a new parent. Whatever it is- give yourself a break. Ask for help if you need it. Put a pantyliner in your yoga pants.  But whatever you do- don't give up!

Day 299

I opened a new package of lip gloss this morning. I love lip gloss, and opening a new package always puts a smile on my face.

But suddenly, my eye caught the warning label on the side of the tube.

Warning label?! Since when did lip gloss need a warning label?!

Warning #1: For external use only.

Really? I mean, I guess it is flavored lip gloss, but I would hope that the average consumer would understand it was for the lips on your face...

Warning #2: Do not ingest. 

Um...ok. Aside from possibly a curious toddler ( I distinctly remember eating my mother's Clinique lipstick once. It did not taste as good as it looked) I have a hard time thinking someone would think about eating lip gloss.

Warning #3: Do not apply around eyes.

Would the label "LIP" gloss not indicate that the contents were destined for lips, not eyes? Now, I do admit there was a time in the early 1990's when frosted lipstick was really in style, and there were times I put powdered eye shadow on my lipstick to get an even more shimmery effect...

Geesh. I fully realize I only spent $1 on the tube of shiny liquid, but you would think the manufacturer's had very little faith in their consumer base to be able to use and apply their product appropriately. I was now actually a little nervous about using it, what with all the rules to follow and remember...

Today's picture represents silly warnings that have now become a mainstream in a world of lawsuits. From "Careful: coffee is hot" to "do not iron while wearing shirt" ( I swear that one's real. I looked it up), our society is now so over cautious that it's a wonder we know how to function at all. I heard the other day that a school system somewhere was banning swings from their playgrounds, due to injury concerns. They had already removed teeter-totters and monkey bars...so throw caution to the wind- go swing on a swing, put on lip gloss, or iron your shirt without reading the warning label first!

Day 298

I have always been the screamer.

Now get your mind out of the gutter. What I mean is I have always been the one who screams every time someone or something jumps out at them- even if you are right in front of me. The guys at the firehouse used to get a kick out of hiding underneath the engine when I came in to work, then grabbing my ankles and hollering as I walked by. I screamed like a maniac every damn time.

With the weather being unusually warm this evening, and only one week until Halloween, my husband and I made a last-minute decision to induct our son into the world of haunted houses. He has been bugging us about going for weeks, insisting he is now old enough to "tough it out". My husband found one that opened "at dusk", which we figured gave us plenty of time afterward to watch the evening football games with friends.

The Riverside Jaycees have been putting on a Haunted House every year since 1987. It was the first Haunted House I went to as a young teen, holding on for dear life to my stepdad and yes...screaming. The Jaycees are a 100% volunteer program that provides community service year round to those in need. From food drives to building wheelchair ramps, this group of young adults (you must be 18-40 years old to be a member) uses the money they make at the Haunted House to help fund their other projects.

As we pulled up, the sun was setting, and the strobe lights were already in high gear. Following the signs, we made our way to the familiar chained off line markers reminiscent of amusement parks. Surprisingly, we were the first ones in line, raising my hopes even more for an early in and early out.

A large sign was displayed at the entrance, and the 11-year old started to read through the rules. He stopped on Rule Number 4: The actors will touch you. You will not touch the actors.

He read it again, just to make sure he hadn't made a mistake.

No mistake. They were going to touch him. This was something he hadn't bargained for...when the gentleman who stood at the door finally came over, he asked him, "Do you have any clowns in there?"

He smiled. "No...of course not...first time here?" The 11-year old nodded, reiterating that he hates clowns. "I totally understand," said the man. "What's your name, son?"

Now, the 11-year old just thought the guy was just being nice. But my husband and I both knew the truth- that guy was radioing ahead to all the damn clowns in the place and telling them the first kid through was scared of clowns and to call him by his name...

Well, dusk turned into full-blooded night. They FINALLY let us in, only to make us stand in a pitch black room by ourselves with scary music playing. We put the 11-year old between us, and plunged into the blackness, hoping against hope that there really weren't any clowns.

We were greeted by Freddy, as well as a whole host of demons and bloody young girls holding baby dolls. People grabbed our ankles as we walked, and reached out to us from cages. They whispered my son's name at times, while they screamed it at others. He actually did relatively well until the zombie section. I knew letting him watch The Walking Dead would come back to haunt me. The zombies took great advantage of the rule where they can touch you, and I think the poor kid almost literally crawled up his dad's back.

And of course, there were clowns. Clowns that knew his name and that he didn't like clowns. Poor kid. He will never go to the circus again, that's for darn sure...

After exiting the house, we were lead into the woods, where more demons chased us down paths and obstacles prevented us from finding our way out. They had a great maze at the end, with smoke and strobe lights and never-ending dead-ends. The 11-year old was actually the one who found the door to get out, allowing us to emerge once again into the field-turned-parking lot where we began our journey.

Tonight's picture celebrates getting the crap scared out of you at haunted houses, trails, and hayrides. It brought back memories of my own teenage years, clutching on to my boyfriend or girlfriends and screaming my guts out. But if you do go to one, just don't be stupid enough to tell them your name...

Day 297

With the ever-growing popularity of electronic communication, getting actual mail in the mailbox is a rarity. Aside from bills and advertisements, there just isn't a whole lot that is on paper these days.

But today that was different.

I spent some time last weekend perusing Amazon for just the right car stickers that would tout my summer accomplishments. And today, those stickers came in the mail. Like a teenage girl who just received a love letter from the boy she met at summer camp, I ripped open the envelope and pulled out my purchases.

I had been surprised to find a huge assortment of both half-marathon and triathlon car stickers available on line. But as you can see, I decided upon one in pink with a picture of a girl (complete with pony tail). That way, no one will mistake my husband for the one in the car that actually completed the 13.1 miles!!

Today's picture represents the simple joy of receiving something aside from bills in the mail, and joining the club of suburbanites who display their life on the back window of their vehicle. Maybe now I won't try to get into the other person's car at work who has the exact same car as I do...

Day 296

This evening was one in which I seriously contemplated if someone or something had invaded the body of my 11-year old. I do not get frustrated easily, but tonight I was ready to lose a gasket.

It started when I got home from a longer-than-usual day at work to discover that my 11-year old had volunteered to bring tacos to the end-of-quarter party they are having in Spanish class tomorrow.

Tacos. Seriously? You couldn't have volunteered chips and salsa? And his Spanish class is first period. Gross- tacos for breakfast are only ok when you are still drunk at breakfast time...

I was told not to worry, that he and Dad had gone to the store and bought everything. Great. When I asked him how he planned on getting the taco meat to school and to keep it warm...cricket....cricket.

So...as I was frying up four pounds of ground beef, he tells me that he couldn't finish his Social Studies homework. He stated that neither him nor his father could figure out how to gain access to the online textbook that would allow him to complete his assignment. I made him pull up the teacher's website on the IPAD while I stirred his Spanish project. Sure enough, there were the words "Social studies text". I asked him how he and his dad could have missed it....cricket....cricket.

I continued to peruse the teacher's website, and discovered that he has a  project due on Monday. When I asked him about it, he told me it was a group project. "Are you done with it?" ...cricket...cricket.

Turns out, he has to have two "annotated bibliographies" done by Monday. I asked him if he knew what an annotated bibliography was (mostly because I had no freaking clue)...cricket...cricket.

Forty-five minutes later, after digging through his backpack and talking with another mom in his class, I think I figured out what is actually going on. I still have no idea what an annotated bibliography actually is, but figure I can Google it and we can get it done by Monday...

I got the meat cooked up and placed in the refrigerator, ready to go in the crock pot tomorrow morning. The 11-year old got his homework done without having to withstand bodily harm from his mother. A plan was formed on how to get 4 pounds of ground beef, taco shells, and cheese to the school in the morning- luckily I have a great boss who totally understands situations such as these...

Just as I was thinking I had everything under control again, my husband asked (from the couch where he had been watching football through this entire ordeal) how I was going to get the Crock Pot back home.

...Cricket...cricket....

A quick text later, another generation of Mom saved the day. I now have my mother coming to the school after the Spanish taco breakfast to pick up the Crock-Pot. Whew. Thanks Mom- I seriously have to get you a cape.

So tonight's picture represents making it through an evening without strangling your pre-teen procrastinating child, and celebrates Moms everywhere who have somehow managed to get last minute projects done with their kids and saved the day. I can still remember finding out on a Sunday that my oldest had a science project due on Monday. Like, the exploding-volcano-kind-of-science-project. That was fun. But as I tucked my 11-year old into bed tonight, I told him that I understand middle school is very different than elementary, and that it has to be very hard to keep everything straight. "But", I told him, "you aren't eating any breakfast when you wake up tomorrow. You are eating those darn tacos in Spanish class!"...cricket...cricket...

Day 295

As I may have mentioned before, it absolutely drives me crazy when my husband leaves his clothes on the floor. Especially when they are within an arm's reach of the dirty laundry basket...

But, in every marriage or long-term relationship, there are quirks and habits on both sides of the fence. Yes, I admit it- I have faults. I forget to take the trash out on trash day. I forget everyone's birthday. I leave the garage door open all night.

And although I do pick my laundry up off the floor, I do have a habit that I know drives my husband crazy. In fact, if we were on that game show where couples have to answer questions about each other, I know we would get this one right...

I always, always run my gas tank to the last possible drop before filling up.

I know. You? The planner and spreadsheet follower? Yes, me. Especially in the winter- it's cold standing outside! I cringe when we walk out the door as a family and my husband says, "Let's take the car"- because I just know there will be comments about how my gas needle is below the 1/4 full mark.

I just don't notice it. At least not until the little light comes on...I mean, that's why the light is there right?

On my way to work this morning, my trusty gas light came on. I didn't want to stop and therefore be late to work, so I vowed I would refuel on my way home. As I pulled out of the parking lot this evening, I again noted the illuminated gas pump in my dashboard. Opting to pass several exits with gas stations, I decided to drive the 40 minutes home in order to use my Kroger fuel points in my hometown.

By the time I hit my city limits, I have to admit I was starting to sweat a little- not so much at the thought of running out of gas on the highway, but of having to call my husband to come pick me up... Any kind of delay at this point and I knew I was probably screwed. I started to wonder just how many miles my car could actually go once the light came on....but I coasted in to the Kroger parking lot without my trusty Honda sputtering to a stop beforehand.

As I scanned my rewards card at the pump, I discovered that my procrastination had paid off. Literally. I had enough points to bring my gas down to the point I actually paid about 13 dollars less than usual to fill up- score! If anyone was looking at me as I pumped petrol, they would have seen a smirk on my face. I couldn't wait to get home and tell my husband how I had just saved us $13.

Tonight's picture represents owning up to our personal flaws, and the unexpected small kinds of occasional perks that seem to just make your day. Unfortunately, it turns out my husband was not as excited as I was concerning my financial prowess, and I fully expect to find dirty socks and underwear on the bedroom floor tonight..

Day 294

Is it wrong that today I am thankful that I don't have to take my kid to football practice?

I hope not. Because I am.

Not because I don't want my son to play sports or be in activities. Quite the opposite. But sometimes we get so caught up in a life of running to and from practices that we forget how satisfying an evening at home can be.

I left work and headed for the pool, something I haven't done since my triathlon. I switched to running only after my race because it was too hard to get a swim or bike ride in between work and football practice. I swam for 40 min, taking my time with my pace, stretching my body out and allowing myself just to enjoy being in the water again.

I drove home and realized that I was going to be able to cook a dinner on a weeknight that did not involve chicken strips or macaroni and cheese. When we sat down at the table, I insisted the TV be off and all phones out of reach. We leisurely ate our dinner and actually talked about how our day was, instead of just shoving our food down as fast as we could because we had to leave in five minutes, or because it was so late we were starving. The 11-year old made several comments about how much he liked dinner ( although it involved Alfredo sauce and hey- who doesn't like that?), which made me feel happy and guilty all at the same time.

For once, it wasn't time to get ready for bed right after dinner, so I decided to run a couple of errands while the 11-year old went outside to shoot hoops. He was already red-faced with effort when I went out to my car, opting out of going with me in favor of practicing his dribbling skills.

When I returned, I texted one of my friends that is also a football mom. " No more football means I can run important errands during the week- like the library. And the liquor store." She responded with a text that mirrored my own happiness about actually cooking a meal for her family, as well as being able to go bra less at home before 9 PM...

I sat at the kitchen table this evening, checking the 11-year old's math homework while sipping on some Apple Pie Moonshine (don't judge), and took a moment to be thankful for a quiet, successful evening at home without strict workout requirements, appointments, or practices. 

Or bras.

So tonight's pic represents the quiet life. For now, at least. I put his registration form for basketball in the mail today. And just so you know, there is a whole different breed of people at the liquor store on a Tuesday early evening compared to the weekend...

Day 293

Happiness is...

Waking up on Saturday morning with a start, thinking you missed your alarm clock, and realizing you don't have to work that day.

Having a good hair day.

Your child walking by you in the house and randomly saying, "I love you Mom".

An entire package of double-stuffed Oreos that no one but you knows is stashed in the craft room.

Coming home after a long day of work, to find your spouse cooked dinner and has a plate waiting for you.

Finding a pair of Cole Haan boots that fit your ginormous feet AND are on clearance.

Reaching a hard earned goal.

These are just a few examples of happiness in my own personal world. You'd be surprised at how easy they are to find if you take a moment to think about them. Happiness comes in all shapes and sizes, from big ones like a child's birth- to little ones like a child (FINALLY) falling asleep after being up all night sick or crying.

If there's one other thing that makes me happy, it's plans, lists, and spreadsheets. I just love to see things all laid out neatly in an organized way so that I have a clear cut understanding of what is involved and how long it may take to accomplish things. That's not bad, right?

Right?

Anyway, tonight I re-opened my triathlon training book after having put it aside for several weeks. I have spent a lot of time thinking through what kind of goals to set for next year, and am ready to re-commit to...wait for it....a plan.

Starting tomorrow, I will start training with an Olympic triathalon and full marathon in the horizon for 2015. The Olympic is most likely going to turn into an Intermediate or another Sprint like this year, because the time commitment needed to train for an Olympic distance is just not one I can probably attain. But, I feel like I would be back sliding in my fitness if I started with the Sprint distance training at this point.

Wow. Who'd of ever thought I'd be saying that.

So tonight's picture represents personal happiness, and the utter amazement at what you can accomplish if you have a goal, a plan, and a spreadsheet. Do yourself a favor and take a few moments to allow yourself to think though what makes you happy, and use that to then build a personal goal. It doesn't have to be exercise related. Maybe cooking makes you happy- then you could have a goal to learn how to make chicken stock from scratch. Maybe reading makes you happy- how about a goal of reading 12 books in one year by your favorite author? But whatever your goals are, I am positive that a spreadsheet will help get you there...

Day 292

I know I talk a lot about our Mastiff, but he is just so adorable and the best dog ever.

Our mutt, however...notice I don't talk about him much?

He's cute to look at, but full of more energy than Richard Simmons after an espresso. And more stubborn than a teenage girl trying to get out of the house with Daisy Dukes on...

I think the most infuriating part of it is that he listens to my husband. What is that about?! Why does he look at me with a smirk on his face, then pin his ears back and comply when my husband opens his mouth?! I'm convinced it's an anti-female thing. I told him today that most days I am happy that I had a son instead of a daughter. But other days, I feel really outnumbered in this house (this decree came moments after the 11-year old announced he was going to "drop a load off" and my husband ripped a huge fart off in reply).

As I got out of the shower that evening, I was met by the scene captured in the picture below. My tough, bald, 6'4" husband was laying in bed with the Mutt, who he had actually tucked in under the covers. The dog looked up at me as I entered the room and I swear I could hear him say, "Yeah that's right lady. When's the last time he covered you up with a blanket?"

I gave my husband the stink-eye, something rivaled in my home only by The Rock. "What?', he asked. "He was cold."

I sighed, climbed into bed, and pulled my own damn covers up over me. But I smiled a little in the dark, imagining my big tough husband tucking in the Mutt, making sure he doesn't get cold. He's gonna be a good Grandpa (any day now!!!).

Tonight' picture celebrates the big softies of the world, both famous and not. Chewbacca ,Shrek, Hagrid, and Wreck-it-Ralph have all helped show us that the bigger they are, the more room they usually have in their hearts.

Day 291

Ahhh Middle School.

I remember those days. And not because they were wonderful. Mostly, I remember them as being awkward and difficult.

Getting braces. Wearing a bra for the first time and hoping no one would notice or try to flick my bra strap. Fighting with my parents about wearing make up. Figuring out how to actually "do" my hair. And the worst of all- fearing every day that I would start my period for the first time and it would leak through to my pants.

On the positive side, I remember that suddenly boys were not so disgusting. In fact, one or two of them were even cute- we discussed this in detail within small groups of girls, huddled in hallways and outside of the school. Boy's names were doodled in notebooks, and written on hands with pen or magic marker.

Middle school also allowed me to find more friendships, and solidify old ones even more. No longer was I stuck in one class all day with the same group- I got to move around every hour and see all sorts of people. well, except for George. George was a constant throughout my entire school career. We literally had the same teacher from third grade (when I moved here) to the end of elementary, and always had at least one or two classes together throughout junior and high school. It was a bit of a joke between the two of us, and to make things even funnier, we wound up working at the same movie theater for years, and even went to the same college...

Last night we went to the high school football game. The 11-year old took a friend with him, and it was amazing how non-existent my husband and I became the closer we got to the ticket stand. Until they needed money of course...

We gave them a time to check in with us, then allowed them to wander off towards the area where kids their age were hanging out. As my husband and I walked behind the bleachers towards our usual sitting area, we smiled knowingly at each other as we watched teenagers huddle in packs and the occasional couple make out. Some had their Halloween costumes on, while others had painted their school colors all over their faces, bodies, and clothes.  "Did we look and act this silly and stupid?", he asked me.

"We grew up in the 80's honey. So I'm sure we looked even more silly and stupid...".

We sat in the bleachers where I could still have a visual on the 11-year old, without him feeling like I was "watching". By the third quarter, we were unfortunately getting beat pretty bad, so we decided to go ahead and leave early. My husband and I waded through the crowd of teenagers to get to our boys, and I swear you could cut the hormones with a knife! It was probably a full 10 degrees warmer over there!

On the walk home, the two boys now walked behind us, and I could catch snippets of their conversation- mostly about who kissed who. The 11-year old declared that he now had a girlfriend, puffing his chest out and walking with a little strut and head bob. God help me.

Tonight's pic represents the pre-teen  years, when parents are no longer cool to be seen with, and "going out" starts to mean more than just going out in the yard to throw a football. Good luck to us all- may we all come out on the other end without our children hating us or having a venereal disease...

Day 290

It's Friday!

That means I get to sleep in tomorrow, watch TV, and do what ever I want for the next two days!

Oh who am I kidding?

What it really means is laundry, housecleaning, errand running, and transporting children to activities for the next two days. Oh well, I like the illusion that the word "Friday" portrays...

There is one Friday out of the year when I get to do what ever I want though. Black Friday. I look forward to it every year. It's like my own personal holiday- 36 hours of nothing but shopping!!

I got in the Friday mood today by downloading my Black Friday app. That's right ladies and gentlemen- there are apps for this event. It allows you to scan ads on your phone instead of having to carry all those paper ones around. It also sends out updates on sales and when stores run out of items. It allows you to shop by store or by category, and keeps a running list of what you are interested in buying.

Are you starting to see why I might love it? :)

Today's pic represents planning ahead and Friday nights doing what ever the heck you want to do. In case you were wondering, Harbor Freight already has their ad out- and there's a smoking deal on a generator and tool bench...

Day 289

There's been a lot of talk these last few days about nurses...

The only thing I will ask of people is that unless you are a nurse- please don't judge us. And please don't judge all nurses by what is going on with one or two. There are almost 3 million of us in the United States, and that's not counting our LPN brothers and sisters- there's another 690,000 of them.

Three million nurses. There are 317 million people in The United States. That's a pretty big nurse-to patient ratio (my nurse friends will get that joke...).

That's also a lot of responsibility. 61% of those 3 million nurses work in the hospital setting. A little over 500,000 work in critical and progressive care settings. These include the traditional ICUs, but also emergency departments, recovery rooms, and progressive (better known as "step-down") care units.

So....500,000 divided by 317 million...well what it equals out to is that you better be nice to us, because there aren't a lot of us to take care of everyone out there.

Today I attended the first of a 2-day course built for critical care nurses. It is a review course that is geared toward helping prepare me to take a certification test.

A test, you ask? Why would you take a test? Aren't you already a nurse?

Yep. But crazy me, I am interested in taking my knowledge and experience to the next level. This is a different sort of education from the more traditional form of education that comes in the matter of "Degrees". I am working towards becoming certified as a critical care educator, while the majority of the nurses with me today are hoping to certify as a critical care bedside nurse. .Becoming certified in critical care is kind of like getting a Chef designation. You can be a hell of a cook, but taking courses to upgrade your overall knowledge and skills allows you enhance a gift that is already above baseline.

Unless you are a nurse, there is just no way to understand what we really do and are responsible for. Our spouses don't know (unless your spouse is a nurse...), the physicians don't know (holy cow they don't have any idea...), and even more astonishingly- our patients don't know. But that truly doesn't bother us.

They don't know that I paid $100 plus used two days of vacation time to attend this class. They don't know that I will spend another $100 in study material, as well as another $100 just to actually take the certification exam. They don't know that I study things like Albumin, bilirubin, electrolytes, endocrinology, cardiology, neurology, nephrology, pharmacology and hematology at night before I go to bed.

Because in most hospitals, it's not just the doctor who gets you better. It's the nurse.

It's the nurse who realizes there is a change in your cardiac rhythm and knows how to treat it, then alerts the physician.

It's the nurse who watches your sodium, glucose, and potassium levels to make sure the correct IV fluid gets hung or stopped appropriately so that you don't blow up like a balloon or shrivel up like a raisin.

It's the nurse who watches for any little sign of infection, neurological changes, kidney shut down, or bleeding.

It's the nurse who makes sure your blood transfusion is compatible with your own blood, and that the medication you are getting is the right med at the right time for the right patient and the right condition.

It's the nurse who knows how to run and trouble shoot every piece of medical equipment known to man. I mean, good God I dare you to ask a doctor to manage a ventilator, IV pumps, dialysis machine, balloon pump, and swan-ganz catheter--all at the same time, on the same patient.

It's the nurse that puts their own safety at risk when you are sick with the swine flu, HIV, pneumonia, or a disease that people don't yet really understand.

And yes, it's the nurse who holds your hand, wipes your butt when you can't, and wipes your tears because you just got told you had cancer. Or a heart attack. Or a miscarriage.

Will I get paid more for getting certified in critical care? No. Across the country, the most a nurse would get is probably $1 more an hour. And that nurse has to gain twice as many continuing education hours as a non-certified nurse, as well as work a minimum amount of hours every year in a critical care environment- you know, one of those low-stress areas....

Our presenter for this class is hilarious, and is a strong advocate for the nursing profession. She is also scary smart. At the end of the day she put up this slide, and asked if this job description was posted in the newspaper, did we think any of us would have signed up. Funny thing is, I think most of us would. Because each of us knows we don't do this for the glory- remember, most people have no idea what we actually do and put up with. And we certainly don't do it for the amazing pay.

Tonight's picture represents the nurse and their amazing commitment to the human race despite conditions that at times are not...ideal. Thank you to the 50,000 certified nurses in critical care who have dedicated their own time and money to learn how to care for about the human body than most. Thank you to the 200 nurses who came today to start or continue their journey towards certification. Your dedication to caring for the 317 million people out there never ceases to amaze me. So do me a favor and tell a nurse "thank you" over the next few days, even if you don't know them- because I will tell you a secret.

That is why we do it.

Day 288

I had a picture and story all planned out for my blog tonight. But as I got out of the shower and hollered at the 11-year old to brush his teeth for bed, I didn't get the usual response that somehow actually sounds like an eye roll (how do kids do that?!)...

Curious, I wandered into his room, only to find him fast asleep with his arm draped over our trusty family Mastiff. He still had his clothes on, and they had their heads where their feet were supposed to be, but no matter. They were in hog heaven. Ok, ok they were in dog heaven...

The Mastiff was able to look up at me without moving his head, somehow intuitively knowing the 11-year old was sleeping. That and a slight thump of his tail on the pillow was all that gave away the fact that he was still alert beneath his best friends embrace.

I decided that he could go one night without brushing his teeth. I pulled out a couple spare blankets from the closet and draped them over my son, marveling at how he could look so old and so young all at the same time.

Tonight's picture represents a boy and his dog, and the unwavering love that animals can show toward humans. I have friends that have lost their pets lately, and my heart aches for them. I don't know what we will do when our Mastiff leaves. I tear up just thinking about it, even though I know it will be years before that moment comes. But I know that having experienced the bond that forms with a family pet has been beneficial in multiple ways for the 11-year old, and I am thankful that he has someone he feels he can cuddle with- these preteen years are so awkward for boys. And let's face it- we all need to cuddle once in a while. It's good for the soul.

Day 287

It's in our pockets, the ash trays of our vehicle, counter and dresser tops.

Change.

It's become almost obsolete these days, with debit and credit card availability everywhere from gas stations to McDonald's. But somehow, it still piles up in all those places it always has.

Therefore, most households have an area where change gets hoarded every once in a while. Some have actual piggy banks, while others use Ziplock baggies or mason jars to collect their coins. Ours is a gigantic plastic beer bottle that sits behind the bar. Each evening, I sweep off counters and empty pockets, then dump the jingling metal into our container that is so old it has duct tape holding it together.

But, although it's less often than it used to be, every once in a while you just need some change- For the car wash, or maybe to put air in your bicycle tires.

Tonight, however, the trusty beer bottle of coins was needed for Math homework...

The question was "How many centimeters high would a stack of 1000 pennies be?"

The 11-year old was a bit stumped at first- "How am I supposed to figure that out? They didn't tell us how tall a penny is!"

So, I pulled out the beer bottle (I know, that sounds weird). But I told him to fish out 10 pennies and place them in a stack on the table. Then we got a ruler and measured the stack- it was 1 cm high if you were wondering...

This allowed the 11-year old to then project how tall a stack of 1000 pennies would be, all without using a calculator or Google. Kids are so used to getting answers immediately on the Internet, I find that they struggle with any type of situation where they have to figure out a solution or how to do something on their own. He gets frustrated so easily when he can't immediately understand how to go about getting an answer.

That beer bottle has helped us through so many situations- a have emptied it out time and again when it starts to get full or when extra cash has been needed. It's seen us through helping to buy groceries and Christmas presents, to paying for gas on family vacations.

Tonight's picture represents that giddy feeling you get when you add up a bunch of change and realize how much extra cash you suddenly have, and using Resources other than Google to figure something out. I put the pennies back in the beer bottle though- we have a trip to see the grand baby coming up and I'm counting every penny towards helping with gas!

Day 286

Breast Cancer Awareness month. There is lots of pink everywhere, from fire engines to football uniforms. But today I simply celebrate Breast Cancer Awareness by putting on my deodorant. 

Confused, are you?

Did you know that almost every mainstream deoderant contains aluminum? And did you know that aluminum has been linked to cancer? 

Ever wonder why women get breast cancer more than men? Ever wonder why more American women get breast cancer as opposed to other countries? American women regularly shave their armpits, where most other countries go...au naturale.

What do you do after you get out of the shower where you shaved your pits with a razor? You put on deoderant, possibly giving direct contact to your insides with aluminum. We used to shave patients before surgery with with razors, knowing that hair could harbor bacteria, and we didn't want any bacteria near incisions (a great point of entry for anything that's doesn't belong inside). 

Over time, we realized that using a razor actually gave patients large amounts of micro abrasions from the razor itself, creating a bigger problem than what we were trying to prevent in the first place. Infection rates nationwide have gone down since we stopped using razors...

I asked one of the surgeons at work if he had ever heard of the deoderant/ breast cancer link. He immediately talked about how he had always suspected deoderant even back to his medical school days. He said that when he did his time in general surgery, he unfortunately took care of a lot of breast masses. He kept asking if anyone had noticed how most of the tutors tended to be in the upper, outer quadrant of the chest, close to where a bed of lymph nodes lives...

So today's pic represents and celebrates breast cancer awareness in a different way. Sure, please wear your pink. But also consider changing your deoderant. Chances are, it has aluminum in it. I checked every single brand in the aisle at my grocery and was unsuccessful finding one without it. Luckily, the organic section had a couple of choices, and I have hence converted to those. I do still keep a container of Secret available for heavy workouts, but I now shave my armpits in the evening and go deoderant free until morning. I also try not to shave every day if I can help it (one of the advantages of cooler weather), and make sure I use a razor with a sharp blade. So check your boobies ladies, but also check your deoderant! I figure every little thing counts towards saving the ta-tas!

Day 285

Today was Clean Out Your Nasty-Ass Car Day.

Yes, a summer of sand volleyball and football had wrecked havoc on my vehicle.  There was sand in every nook and cranny, and the side pockets of the back seat were stuffed with left-over Gatorade and potato chip bags from after-game snacks.

About half-way through the purge, the 11-year old came outside and asked if I would move my car so he could play basketball. I obliged, stuck the keys in my sweatshirt pocket, and continued to tackle upholstery.

It was a sunny afternoon, and I soon got hot scrubbing God-Knows-What off of the passenger seat door. I stripped off my sweatshirt and continued to clean the inside of the door until it gleamed. Then I got out and went around to the other side to start the process all over again.

Only problem was, when I went to open the car door, it was locked. In fact, all the doors were locked.

And my keys were still in my sweatshirt.

Inside the @#$%ing car.

During all the cleaning, I must have hit the "Lock" button unknowingly. And, as usual, I had pulled this stunt on a day that my husband was on duty at the firehouse until the next morning.

Luckily, my parents only live about a mile away, so I changed into my running shoes and started walking their way. As I was about to pull in the driveway I remembered they weren't home either, and a phone call confirmed my suspicions.

Crap.

Time for girlfriend power. Sure enough, my girlfriend down the street from me was home, and immediately offered up her vehicle for me to borrow. Another mile stroll to her house, and help was in sight.

After dropping her car back off and pocketing my second set of keys for the day, I started off for the final voyage home. After running a half-marathon yesterday, I wasn't planning on much exercise today. But, ever being the optimist, I tried to make the most of it. My sore muscles were getting a nice easy workout, the sun was out and I heard the rest of the week was going to be nasty, and my neighborhood is full of big, old trees which are truly spectacular this time of year.

I was just starting to get over my grumpiness of losing a couple hours of my afternoon when I came around the bend in front of my house and saw the 11-year old out shooting hoops again. Basketball season is fast approaching, and it's his favorite sport. When I asked him if he had done his homework while I was gone, he told me not only had he done his homework, but he had read his new book for 30 minutes as well.

So tonight's picture represents a mother's happiness and pride that while she is struggling some days to just clean the damn car out, somehow her 11-year old has managed to carry on without her- and was actually much more productive. Now if only I could get him to unroll his socks before throwing them in the dirty laundry....

Day 284

Race Day.

It's something I now have some familiarity with, but today was different than the others. This morning, when the alarm went off at 4:45 AM, it wasn't a 5K or even triathlon that I put gear on for. Today I had a new goal.

13.1 miles of nothing but running.

I ate my oatmeal with Chia seeds and a banana, drank my coffee, then made sure I took care of what had tripped me up on my last long run- there would be no stopping to poop during the 1/2 marathon for this girl!

My race was called The Queen Bee, a half-marathon for women that some of my wonderful friends suggested I look into. The venue was downtown Cincinnati, Ohio. This is the home of the famous Flying Pig Marathon, who drove today's inaugural all-for-women event.

Two thousand, five-hundred and nineteen women, to be exact. Holy cow. That's a lot of girl power. The start and finish line were located at Horseshoe casino, and as I walked towards the packet pick-up line, I was starting to feel a bit under dressed.

There were tutus and tiaras everywhere, as well as hundreds of bee-themed costumes. One woman who had to be at least 60 had a full-blown Wonder Woman outfit on, cape and all. Glitter and sparkles prevailed, and there was enough estrogen floating around to make any sane man run for the hills. But there they were, husbands, brothers, fathers, and friends- all lined up to support this massive wave of female power.

Now, being one who appreciates being organized, I cannot express how impressed I was with how this race was put on. I would have never guessed there were so many runners until I walked up to the starting gate. I had literally walked right up to get my race packet, and hadn't run into any trouble since then. Along with your race packet you received a goodie bag full of tons of free stuff. On the way to the starting line, they had school buses lined up with signs posted along the outside. All you had to do was walk up to the bus window which had your race (aka "bib") number on it, and a volunteer would take your bag and hold onto it in the bus while police stood by until you finished your run.

With so many runners, you can't have everyone start at once, so each person was assigned a "corral"- or "hive" for today- to start off in. These were clearly marked sections of road along the starting area, allowing everyone to cross the finish line without running each other over- literally.

By mile two, I could tell this race was different than anything I had done before. They had distractions plotted along our route every half-mile or so, helping to keep the psychological numbness and fatigue at bay. Sometimes it was a lone guitar or trumpet player, other times it was a full blown mariachi band or gospel church choir. There were water stops every mile, and they handed out all sorts of fuel at different portions of the run- Twizzlers, Jelly Beans, Swedish Fish, orange slices, and of course energy gels.

But some of the most appreciated handouts in my mind came from the Proctor & Gamble sponsors. Running in the cool morning air, my nose had started to run- an annoyance that is just...annoying when you are trying to concentrate. Then, magically, a line of volunteers pulling tissues out of boxes and holding them out for runners appeared. It was like they were reading my mind! The second P&G save came towards the end, when my Chapstick had started to wear off. All the gels had done their toll, and the sweat rolling onto my lips was starting to sting. Lo and Behold, another line of volunteers appeared with factory-sized tubs of Vaseline that they had dipped tongue depressors into and were handing out to runners- oh relief!

I thoroughly enjoyed the distractions. Thousands of spectators were along the roads, from family to people who lived and worked in the neighborhoods we ran in. They had signs to spur us on, from the traditional ones to the more..inventive. My favorites:

"Hurry up Mom. Dad doesn't change diapers and I totally just pooped."

" Smile if you aren't wearing underwear"

" Run fast...I just farted".

Kids lined up at the side of the road, holding their hands out to catch high-fives from the runners. I hit every  one of those kids that I could, happy to see children out supporting physical exercise, and hoping that they would remember this day and eventually run one themselves.

There were adults in costumes along the way too, many in bee costumes. The Firemen were all out in front of their firehouse cheering us on, and one woman went totally off course to run over, grab one of the men, and kiss him full on the mouth. Must have been all the estrogen...

The most surprising of all distractions though came in a more...seedy part of town. An older gentlemen  came out onto the sidewalk and started to dance to the music being played. He must have been enspired by all the cat calls and cheers, because he promptly decided to drop his drawers and continue dancing...that kept most of us giggling for at least half a mile.

By Mile 10, I was starting to dwindle, but suddenly I noticed a yellow sign with black and yellow balloons bobbing just ahead. This was something else I learened today- most big marathons have Pacers (today they were "Pacer Bees"). These are professional runners hired by the sponsors that run the marathon, but carry a sign which states a particular pace. They use a GPS tracker app to ensure they keep that pace, which then helps runners know how they are doing. There are two Bees for each pace, so that they can take turns holding the sign.

My goal at the start line was to come in no slower than an 11 minute mile pace, or about 2:24. I had passed the 2:20 Bees a few miles back, which meant....that must be the 2:15 Bees that were in sight. That meant I was closing in on at least a 10:30 pace. Suddenly, I had a little more motivation, and kicked into my "5K race pace". As I came up next to them, I exclaimed, "I've been chasing you ladies for 10 miles!". They laughed, and told me that they were actually about a minute ahead of their pace. These were two amazing women, who said something encouraging to every person they passed or got passed by. Suddenly one of them said, "Almost there ladies! Two miles to go! Keep those shoulders relaxed and use those butt muscles and arms to help push you through!"

Only two more miles. That meant I had officially already run farther than I have ever done in my life. But as elated as I was in my mind, my body was screaming at me. I knew I could probably use another energy gel, but my stomach had already absorbed three of them and some Swedish Fish, and I was afraid I might wind up puking at the Finish Line...

One more mile to go. The longest. Mile. Ever. But, again to the sponsor's credit, they had people all along the last half-mile cheering and pushing you on. Volunteers and spectators alike cheered not only for their family and friends, but anyone who wore a bib that day. I cannot tell you how much that helped. I have always tried to finish my races strong at a sprint, but the most I could make my legs do today was a semi-fast jog. But I crossed that damn finish line, without walking at all through the entire race, and most importantly-without puking. Whew.

I received my medal from the line of Air Force men in uniform who were handing each one out with a "Congratulations Ma'am. Great job". Then I half-walked and half-limped back to the casino, where my car and band-aids were waiting for me.

Today's pic celebrates not only achieving another personal goal, but of seeing such a mass of women come out and do something spectacular. Running 13.1 miles is no joke. If you have done it, you are awesome. Period. The winning race time was one hour and twenty-two minutes. If you were wondering, that was not me. I crossed the finish line at 2:13, which meant I had surpassed my goal and had a 10:11/mile average. I placed 772 out of all 2519 women, and 177 out of 482 in the 35-39 age group division. The only bad news? They had sold out of the "13.1" stickers, so I'm gonna have to go buy one at the mall. But no matter- I will display it proudly, and will have a new respect for those that have one on their car. Now, after pizza, two beers, and Ben&Jerry's ice cream, I am going to sleep like a log, and wake up tomorrow to start planning my next adventure. Thanks to all my friends and family who supported and encouraged me to put this notch in my belt!

Day 283

There's just something special about a high school football game.

Tonight was the first one my family has been able to go see this season, and I enjoyed it despite the cold and the rain. We huddled under umbrellas and rain gear with our friends, of whom many of us will watch our own kids on that field together one day.

There's the socialization part of the game- seeing people from the community that you know, and watching as your 11-year old goes off with his friends to "watch the game"...but when it comes right down to it, I actually do like to watch the football game.

Yes, it's my Alma Mater. But high school kids have such a spirit around the game. You can tell that some of those boys live and breathe the game, and that football is so much more than a sport to them. Also, you can almost palpate the tension of the parents that are in the stands- it's amazing how much less stressful a football game can be when it's not your kid out there!

It continued to pour through half-time, and since I have to get up at 4:45 tomorrow for my race, and the 11-year old has his own football game tomorrow, we decided to leave before the game was over. Our hometown was winning 24-14, and I couldn't justify getting pneumonia just to stay and watch the end. But I left with a smile on my face, happy to see our boys come off the field at the half-way mark with their team on the high side of the score board.

Tonight's picture celebrates High School football games and all they represent. They are a way to bring together so many different kinds of kids and adults- football players, cheerleaders, and band members of course, but also dance teams, students of all ages, parents, grandparents, business owners, community members, and the occasional previous graduate. I feel a little guilty for leaving though, so if any of you stayed till the end and know the score- let me know :).

Day 282

Today is TBT, otherwise known as Throwback Thursday. At first, I didn't really get into the social media fad that had my friends posting pictures of them in high school or as toddlers. I enjoyed looking at everyone else's pictures, but didn't feel a pressing need to throw up any of my own past.

But over the last few weeks, I have taken the opportunity on Thursday evenings, before I sit down and write my blog, to peruse through old photos. Most times it's just a pleasant fifteen minutes or so of walking through my own personal history, but sometimes I come across a photo that I feel compelled to share.

Tonight was one of those nights.

A couple of years ago, I wandered into the coffee shop where I worked in search of an afternoon pick-me-up. What I got instead was a giggle. As I glanced to my left, I saw where they had gathered all of the day's pastries that were left and pushed them together towards the front of the display case.

I know they didn't do it on purpose, but that morning's pineapple upside-down muffins were now this afternoon's breast look-a-likes. They were perfect, to the point where I had a small pang of jealousy...

Tonight's picture was chosen in honor of a month where we celebrate and honor boobies. So don't forget to feel your muffins on a regular basis. Or your loved ones muffins. Just don't offer to help a stranger with their muffins. Although I am sure you have the best intentions, they just may not understand...

Day 281

Well, I did it. What most women dread every fall season.

I put on my jeans.

Now, some of you may wonder what the big deal is. But others will know immediately what I mean.

Will they fit? Will I have to suck in my gut in order to get the button fastened? Will they leave marks on my belly after sitting down for fifteen minutes? Will I be able to eat a meal without feeling like I have to undo the button or risk it popping off and poking someone's eye out? And most dreaded of all-- will I have a camel toe?

I pulled out the first pair in line from my closet- because yes, I have all my jeans in line by when I last wore them. The ones in back of the line were worn last, meaning the ones in front have been worn the least. As I unhooked the hangar, I mentally groaned at what was in my hand- these jeans were in front for a reason.

I have never worn them, because they have never fit.

You know how it goes. We all have "fat" jeans and "skinny" jeans, depending on how we feel that day. I bought these last Black Friday, mistakenly trusting the size on the label to be true without trying them on (the line for the dressing room was ridiculous and I had bought this brand of jean before). But when I got them home, I discovered that there was no way the button was making it to the button hole without some serious camel toe and belly marks.

I put them back in the closet, with that mental hope so many of us have had before- "I'll keep them until next year, when I have lost enough weight to fit into them". Hence, they have stayed at the front of the jean line, awaiting the Fall of 2014 when they would be put to the camel toe test once more.

If anyone would have been in the bathroom with me as I tried them on, I probably would have been committed to a local Behavioral Health Unit. I closed the door and stood with the jeans in my hands in front of me, giving myself a pep talk- "It's ok if they don't fit. It's ok if they don't fit. Oh for the love of God please fit over my ass".

From ankles to knees was relatively uneventful, but everyone knows the real test comes at the thighs. A woman knows if a pair of pants is going to fit well before they ever make it to her rear end. If the thighs are snug and you have to do a little hop in order to shove your lower butt cheeks into the material- It's gonna be a no-go. But, for some reason we continue on, sure that once they are all the way up they will somehow magically loosen a bit- kind of like pantyhose.

With my eyes closed, I pulled the jeans from knee to hip, then all the way "up and over". Astonished, I looked in the mirror to watch as I got the button into the button hole. They weren't loose, but there was definitely no camel toe.

Well I'll be damned.

The happy dance ensued, including multiple turns in the mirror to look at my butt (holy crap it fit in there!).

Tonight's picture celebrates that unmistakable feeling that a great-fitting pair of jeans gives you, and reaping rewards of hard work.  I guess all of the swimming, biking, and running has had some benefits after all.  So I wish all of you the best of luck as you put away your bathing suits that you will try on again next year, and pull out your skinny jeans from the front of the line.

Day 280

The beginning of October signifies an exciting time for me:

Holiday list making officially begins.

I know, I know. We are weeks away from Halloween yet, and I am working on Thanksgiving and Christmas? Yup. The reality is there are only 7 more weekends until Thanksgiving, and only 11 more weekends until Christmas. I work Monday through Friday and have a hard enough time getting my usual routine stuff done, so if I want to have anything actually done for the holidays, I have to start now.

Once again, I believe that much of my plan-ahead strengths (like how I didn't say "issues"?) stem from my mother's genetics. We both love lists as much as we like cooking for others, so the holidays present the perfect opportunity to...show our strengths.

My husband and 11-year old were taking the truck over to my parents house to work on the brakes, and they asked if I wanted to go along. I said sure and went to grab my coat. My husband asked if I wanted to learn how to change brake pads and rotors too (he and my step-dad were going to teach the 11-year old). Then he looked at my Rachel Ray magazine clutched in my hand and said, "Oh, Never mind. You're gonna talk with your mom about Thanksgiving, aren't you?".

As Yoda would say- "Predictable, I am".

Although Thanksgiving is a traditional meal, my mom and I like to do something a little different every year. We have all the staples of course, but try to mix it up a bit. This year it will be turkey on the grill instead of the oven- we usually do two whole turkeys and that winds up being a lot of mess. There will be an array of stuffing (is it "stuffing" or "dressing"?!?), as well as both mashed and sweet potatoes. Other than that, we try to throw in something different here and there. Because the truth is, my mom and I need a reason to actually use the recipes in the magazines we buy...

So tonight's picture celebrates holidays and the lists they create. Wait until you see my Christmas spreadsheets (yes that is plural on purpose)- I have those down to a science. And yes, that is moonshine on our list in between the brussel sprouts and sweet potatoes...

Day 279

Around this time of year most cities and towns have empty stores that are suddenly filled with Halloween galore (or maybe I should say "gore"). They show up at the end of September and keep their doors open until the very end of October, with clearance sales beginning on November 01.

But in Fairborn, Ohio Halloween happens all year round. It's here that you will find Foy's Halloween stores.

 That's right I said stores...plural. 

Four generations of the Foy family have kept these multiple Halloween-themed stores open for the gore-loving and witch-faithful. Settled literally on Main Street, you can make a whole afternoon out of finding just the right costume.

There is the original costume store, of course, with it's thousands (literally) of costumes and accessories lining the walls for every age, shape, and size. And some costumes of course, that just shouldn't be worn by anyone of any size...

There's also the general store, a bit nostalgic up front where you can purchase just about any kind of candy imaginable. The middle of the store plays to general themes with decorations and costumes that could be used for all sorts of gatherings throughout the year. And the back of the store is dedicated to their more expensive collection of masks. Want to be a famous president for Halloween? They have the mask for you. Feeling like being a dinosaur from Jurassic Park? Yup. They got it.

There's also a store purely for those wanting to decorate their home or start an actual haunted house- it's the first place I've seen where you can buy a "bag of rats"...

Next door is the Kids Costume Store, and finally the haunted museum and Store. The sidewalks are filled with moving ghouls and electric chairs you can take your picture in, while hot cider and pumpkin bread are sold under a tent. It's nothing fancy, but it sure beats those thrown-together warehouse stores in the nostalgia department.

I took the 11-year old and 2 of his friends to experience Foy's. My only regret was that I didn't do it at night, which is of course when you get the full effect. Still, they had a blast looking at all the "cool" stuff and getting their picture taken in the electric chair and with their arm around the zombie throwing up green liquid into a biohazard bucket. The only bad part was my anxiety because they just seemed to have to touch everything...

Tonight's picture represents a family's dedication to it's favorite holiday. Some towns have a house that is famous for it's Christmas decorations, while others may choose fireworks and flags for the Fourth of July. I can't say that Halloween is my personal favorite, but I can appreciate the time and effort others put into their spider webbed front porches and carved out jack-o-lanterns. Plus, I can't deny that Halloween is a great excuse to have candy in the house...

Day 278

I am admittedly very guilty of being the parent that does not force her kid to do chores. I always have best intentions, but for some reason, I haven't been able to stay consistent, aside from making him be in charge of feeding the dogs. I do have "issues" when it comes to my house, and the few times I have asked him to put his clothes away I wound up going behind him and straightening everything the way I liked it....

On the plus side, my son is not a very messy kid. His room honestly stays as clean as mine does. But ask him to clean a bathroom or vacuum and the sighing and eye rolling begins...

Time for a change. But where to start? After complaining about a meal that I made (a healthy one with vegetable and all sorts of nasty stuff...), I decided that cooking was as good of a place as any.

So, the 11-year old has officially been placed in charge of one meal per week for the entire family. I told him I don't care if it is PB&J, as long as he makes the sandwiches for all three of us. I also put a few stipulations out there- pizza and macaroni with cheese is not a dinner, and chocolate cake is not appropriate for breakfast, no matter what Bill Cosby says.

Other than that, the field was wide open for him. And when asked what he would like to tackle first, he chose soft tacos. I figured it was a pretty safe start, and one that had some skills he could apply for other meals.

As I helped him get started, I truly began to realize how much he doesn't know about food and cooking. I showed him the difference between ground beef and ground turkey, and explained that most ground meat comes in packages of one pound, as most recipes (tacos, spaghetti, sloppy joes...) utilize right around that much.

Next was figuring out which knob on the stove turns on which burner....something I take for granted every day. He had to learn lingo like "frying pan" and "spatula" just to get started, and then was taught how to watch the meat for the turning of pink to brown to signify it's ready (and more importantly, safe) to eat.

It was cute watching him struggle with how to hold utensils, including the can opener for the refried beans and sliced olives. But he got the hang of it soon enough, and moved on to chopping tomatoes. "Why do I have to cut up tomatoes? I don't put tomatoes on my tacos", he said. Grr..."Because cooking is not always just about you, son". I hovered and put my hands in my pockets as he used the serrated (another term learned) knife to slice the tomato, and took deep breaths as he flung refried beans all over my white cabinets when he tried to stir them....

But, in the end, we had a soft taco feast. He declared that these were the best soft tacos he had ever eaten, of course. And although my kitchen and my nerves were a mess, I had to admit they were pretty good.

Tonight's picture represents learning to cook, and teaching your children life lessons that will hopefully prevent them from surviving on microwaveable meals as an adult. When I asked him what he wanted to cook next week, he replied, "Hmm...I'm not sure yet". I'm just waiting to catch him with my Rachel Ray magazine.....Next month, he will learn to do laundry- and how frustrating it is when someone puts their socks in the wash inside out!!

Day 277

Rivalries. They are as old as time itself, and continue through modern day:

Coke vs Pepsi.

Leno vs Letterman.

Ohio State vs. Michigan.

But one that has always played a part in my household is a different variety:

Cops vs. Firefighters.

Now, one would think that these two are anything but rivalries, assisting each other and their fellow man in times of crisis. And you would be right, as long as there is not a softball field or basketball court in sight.

The city my husband works for has always held annual sports events that pit the two 9-1-1 responders against each other. Many times it's for charity, sometimes it's just for bragging rights.

These games are the real reason their unions fight for good insurance though, as most of these men are testosterone-laden by nature and cannot seem to remember that they are not 17 years old anymore. I finally benched my husband from the softball team after watching him limp and listening to him whine for a week over a strawberry that stretched from hip to ankle. Of course, he told me he HAD to slide into third base, even though they were ahead by 5 runs....

But tonight, he played in a basketball game that once again pitted shield against ax. It was a local charity event, and all proceeds went towards the high school basketball teams. Many public schools are now "pay to play", which is such a sad thing for me to see. I hate to think about a kid not being able to play a sport in a public school system, simply because his parents can't afford the fee- especially when the kid is talented. And even if they aren't, sports provide a much-needed outlet and safe place for teenagers, and a reason to stay out of trouble.

The first game was the local teachers vs. local business owners. The teachers smoked the latter, but it was all in good fun. Nary a foul was called (although it was far from a clean game...), and all men came off the field smiling. A large turnout of students were there, and in between periods they played basketball-themed games where the freshman took on the sophomores, and the seniors took on the juniors- another timeless rivalry.

But then it was time for the city's protector's to take the court, and I said a silent prayer for no one to be injured. Again. The cops started off whooping our butts, but by the end of the second period, we had come back to make it a two-point game.

And although these men were also smiling, the poor refs did have to start calling fouls, for fear they would otherwise have to actually call the police officers that were on duty to break up a fight and the paramedics to treat war wounds....It was all in good fun, but there was definitely a level of testosterone out there that could be cut with a knife.

We lost 25-22. But, the kids got to see these guys come out to support them, and the men got to get some exercise without anyone needing to go to the hospital. Win-win, I say.

Tonight's pic represents rivalries, and supporting your community. Hopefully we raised enough money to make my husband's stiff knees, jammed finger, and purple toenail worthwhile- I have a feeling that our  household tonight is going to be one of Ben Gay and liquor...

Day 276

I have never been one to have favorite singers or actresses. I only read People magazine at the hairdresser and on beach vacations. I'm not interested in who married who, divorced who, slept with who....etc, etc. 

Until The Food Network came along, that is.

Suddenly, I found myself a bit obsessed with Mario, Emeril, Wolfgang, Sandra, Bobby, Alton, Giada, Inga, Paula, and Rachel. As a family, we watched Emeril Lagasse and The Iron Chef religiously. I spent mornings, afternoons, and nights watching and learning these masters of food not only for their cooking skills- but for their way of making the watcher feel like they could do it too. They shared stories of their lives and experiences, laughed when they screwed up, and in general opened up a world for me that I didn't know existed before.

Cooking and eating could be fun! I had always thought of cooking as more of a chore, mostly because I didn't feel secure in doing much of it. Slowly but surely, though, I learned that you didn't have to be a French chef to put a decent meal on the table.

Out of all of my Food Network friends, Rachel Ray is the one I have always loved the most. Her infectious ability to smile, laugh,  befriend anyone, and just enjoy life was as entertaining to me as her actual cooking. 30-Minute Meals became a staple on our TV, and I can admit that I use many of her tricks and suggestions to this day (yes, I have a garbage bowl). I love that she wore jeans and tshirts and never needed to looked "primped" in order to be beautiful,-her glowing skin, dark hair, and bubbly personality did that for her.

Rachel now has her own talk show, as well as monthly magazine. She continues to put out cook books, but also always finds time to give back- she is a supporter of feeding homeless animals and hungry children, and supports local food-based festivals every year.

Each time I go to the grocery store, I look for her new magazine- like a kid awaiting a new video game to come out, or a wife anxiously awaiting the next Nora Roberts novel (you know who you are). Tonight was one of those nights. I could hardly wait to get home and start perusing it, sure I would find plenty of fall goodies to make for friends and family. Sure enough, I had multiple pages dog eared within minutes as I ate my dinner of leftover pizza and wine coolers (I know, not a very foodie-like dinner, but I was really overdue for a grocery visit...).

So tonight's picture celebrates foodies, the casual cook,  and my friend Rachel Ray. She and her friends at Food Network have helped me realize my potential in the kitchen, something both I and my family greatly appreciate.