momo

thirty days with a grateful heart - days twenty five to thirty

2012-01-05T14:10:00.000-07:00

days twenty five to thirty - my treasure

I started this gratitude thing at a time in my life that was scary. And although there have been a lot of scary times in my life, early December was very definitely one of the scariest. My life and everything I had relied upon and taken for granted for years was in a state of chaos.

I was afraid. And although I tried, very, very hard on the outside to act strong, to be strong, the simple fact of the matter is that, on the inside, I was anything but strong. No, on the inside, I was falling apart. Piece by piece.

And I think the worst part, at least for me and the fixer in me, was that I didn't know what to do about it. I didn't know how to change it. And, if I am honest, deep down, I wasn't sure, really, if I even wanted to change it. It seemed like the harder I tried, the worse it became, and that was, simply put, just a whole lot of work.

Then Hilary suggested the Gratitude project. And although I knew it was going to be difficult for me for a myriad of reasons, the least of which was that I wasn't sure I was all that grateful for anything at that point, I decided to try it.

I cried as I wrote the first few. Those first few were me forcing myself to be grateful, and believe me when I say that those first few were painful for me to write. Not because I was not grateful, but more because they required that I open not only my eyes to what was around me, but my heart as well.

To unlock the padlock that has been closed around my heart for longer than I can remember.

Then I wrote a few more. And a few more. And before I realized it, the gratitudes became less of a project that I'd committed to doing, and more of a journey back to my... joy, because as I wrote them, I began to remember.

I remembered just exactly what I had to be grateful for.

The big and the small. The whos and the whats. The silly and the serious.   And although it shouldn't have, it surprised me. But even more than that, it delighted me. And as my heart began to open, my world began to change. The scattered pieces of my life fluttering to find their way back home.

And what I have realized through this process is that my treasure was always right here. It had not up and left the building like I thought it had. It was here, in this space, waiting patiently for me to reflect, to recall... to remember.

All I needed was to open my heart in order to be able to see it.

I'd like to thank those of you who chose to join me on this journey.  I feel truly blessed this season by you and for that I am so very, very grateful.
Next year, I promise you the whole thirty.

xoxo,
momo

thirty days with a grateful heart - day twenty four

2011-12-30T11:07:00.000-07:00

day twenty four - to grandmother's house we go

Because my father was in the Air Force, when I was little, we moved around. A lot. Between each move and for almost every summer vacation I can remember when were were stationed in the states, my dad would pack my mom, my sisters and me up in the station wagon and we would make the two or three day drive to Indiana to visit our family. My parents were the only siblings on both sides of our family that had moved away from Indiana at the time, so the homecoming was always joyous and very, very loud.

I loved this time.

I loved seeing all our family. I loved that everyone made time to get together whenever we visited. I loved the sleep-overs with my cousins and playing dress up in my grandmothers' clothes. I loved going to church where everyone remembered my parents from when they were small. I loved the stories and especially the tall tales. I loved the pillow fights with my grandfather in the living room and learning about yiayia and papou's courtship in the old country. I loved the kibee and the spanakopita and the bread, oh, how I loved the homemade bread!

There are so many memories, but what I realize most when I look back is how incredibly special these times were. How lucky I was to have so many cousins, so many aunts and uncles, and that our families were so close even though we lived so far away.

How lucky I was that even though we lived far away, my parents valued family and made sure that we knew ours. How lucky I was that all of my grandparents lived for so very long.

But mostly, how lucky I was as a child to be surrounded by so much... love.

thirty days with a grateful heart - day twenty three

2011-12-29T09:45:00.002-07:00

day twenty three - your take

Mostly on this blog, when I write, you are going to get my viewpoint on things. Not because I don't realize that there are other viewpoints out there, because I do, honestly, I do.

But, well, this is my blog, right? So, yea, pretty much if you choose to read, you are going to be subjected to my viewpoint ninety-nine point nine percent of the time.

Sometimes, though, after I write and after I post, you will comment. And periodically your viewpoint is somewhat different than mine. And periodically your viewpoint is considerably different than mine. But always, your viewpoints give me pause. Because I do read them, sometimes more than once, and I do deliberate on them, sometimes probably more than I should.

Regardless, they allow me step back for a second and see the world from your perspective.

It is eye opening. And kind of scary sometimes how I can tend to be somewhat single minded. But refreshing at the same time, to be assured that we are not all cookie cutter versions of one another.

And that makes me pretty happy. And even more willing to continue to put myself out there like I do, because I realize I am growing. And just maybe, you are too.

So, thank you, you commenters, you. I am truly grateful for your take.

thirty days with a grateful heart - day twenty two

2011-12-28T14:47:00.001-07:00

day twenty two - you get me

For Christmas this year, Big J wrote me a letter that begins like this:

... In the spirit of working to fully understand and 'get you' ...

The letter was attached to a gift that I may choose to share when it is finished at some later point, but I'd like you to know that this gift, this particular gift, it was a bit of a stretch for Big J.

Not because Big J is a terrible gift giver, because believe me, he is quite the opposite. Big J is, in fact, an incredibly generous and creative gift giver, to both me and to the littles. Many times over the years, he has surprised me with how he just knows - just exactly what I would like, just exactly what I would want, just exactly what would mean something special to me.

No, this gift was a stretch for other reasons, more personal reasons. Prior to Christmas, no matter which words I used to explain my reasons why, they just never seemed to be the right ones. In fact, I'm loathe to admit that we even argued about this gift. It caused confusion. It caused hurt feelings. It caused tears.

And then Christmas. And then my letter. And then my gift.

And then my realization that as much as I might tell him that he doesn't... the truth is, Big J does - get me. He might not always understand me, and I guess that is to be expected because I don't always understand myself, but he does, most definitely, get me.

And really, what more could I possibly want?

I'm grateful for you today, Big J. Not for the gift. Although, believe me, I am way excited about that! And not for the gift you gave me last week. Which I am just as excited about!

No, today, I am simply grateful for you.

xo,
momo

thirty days with a grateful heart - day twenty one

2011-12-27T11:04:00.004-07:00

day twenty one - the examined life

Socrates once said that 'The unexamined life is not worth living.' So, in honor of tuesday, toeday, as well as day twenty one of my gratitude project, I would like to share with you just why I am grateful for... therapy.

10. As we all know, I am a thinker. Ok, let's be honest here, I am an overthinker. Periodically, I will use this blog to quiet some of the ideas that are swirling around in my head making all kindsa racket, but once in awhile there is something I need to talk about that even I realize might just not be all that appropriate for the blog. Incredible, I know, considering I've discussed just about everything you can possibly imagine here including some things that I probably should not have - but well, it is true.

9. Therapy is teaching me that that point in and of itself is ok. I can talk about what I need to talk about and if people judge, they judge. I used to be worried all the time about hurting people's feelings and possibly saying something that might affect their perception of me or make them think that I might actually be judging them, but the truth is - I think people should be happy, whatever that means for them - so, as long as I use gentleness and respect in my opinions, we should all be good.

8. It is sinking in. Slowly. And I am changing. Slowly.

7. One of the things we have been talking about the last few weeks is very interesting. In fact, it is so interesting that I wish I could tell you about it, but suffice it to say - its really, really interesting. And all that interestingness aside, I believe I might be actually learning something and well, that's the point, right?

6. One of the comforting things about this interesting (kinda secret) topic is that even though my therapist is a man, he is willing to see my perspective. Not that he necessarily agrees with me, mind you, but he hears what I am saying and he validates my feelings. Insert big sigh of relief here. I mean, really. Having a man look at you and not say, I think you might be just a little bit (insert whatever adjective you want) crazy, is well, like I said before - comforting.

5. My therapist is nice. He was referred by a friend I respect and he is just, well, really nice. And, surprisingly, he is the first therapist that has ever asked me to analyze my family history and dynamics. In fact, the other day, we were discussing my parent's perceptions of me as a child and I realized something that in all the therapy I've done before, I've never realized.

4. It was like... huge. Believe me on this one.

3. I meet with my therapist on Monday afternoons. The first couple of weeks, I actually took a shower and washed my hair before going because I wanted him to see that I was taking the process seriously. After a few weeks, however, I got comfortable with him (and his dog, Suzette, who likes to sit in my lap periodically) and began showing up as the real momo. You know, the one that wears workout clothes albeit lululemon all day? What a relief that was! You know, to actually be me - not the me I thought he'd want to see?

2. Back in November or whenever it was, prior to the gratitude project, when I wrote my happy, happy, happy blog post, I was not really happy, happy, happy. I was actually as far from happy as I could have been. I cannot talk about why exactly, but I was. Again, trust me. If we are being honest, I was probably more like mad, MAD, (insert even more adjectives) MAD. However, today, after a few months of therapy, I can honestly say that I am well on my way to that happy, happy, happy place and it is light years from where I was before therapy.

1. The view from here is pretty nice.

thirty days with a grateful heart - day twenty

2011-12-25T11:39:00.004-07:00

day twenty - His gift

For unto us a Child is born,

Unto us a Son is given;

And the government will be upon His shoulder.

And His name will be called

Wonderful,

Counselor,

Mighty God,

Everlasting Father,

Prince of Peace.

Isaiah 9:6

Oh, so, so, grateful.

thirty days with a grateful heart - day nineteen

2011-12-23T11:17:00.000-07:00

day nineteen - wishes do come true

I got an early Christmas present today.

A present that isn't really so much for me, and yet it is totally for me.

I would like to tell you what it is, but I do not want to jinx it. Not quite yet.

Suffice it to say it is something I have talked about for years.

Something I have thought about.

Something I have worried about.

Something I have nagged about.

Something I have gotten angry about.

Something I have cried about.

Something I have prayed about.

Something I have so refused to give up on that it has oftentimes created sadness and yet - the bottom line is - something I so believe in that I cannot let it go.

I believe.

And when you are relentless in what you believe... sometimes wishes?

Well, sometimes wishes do come true.

thirty days with a grateful heart - day eighteen

2011-12-22T10:40:00.001-07:00

day eighteen - bonus family

When Big J and I first got married, the holidays were a crazy fun time. On Thanksgiving and again on Christmas day, both sides of our families - our parents, our siblings and whoever they wanted to bring along, special friends, and oftentimes aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents - would gather together to celebrate and have dinner together. There were always people milling around everywhere and when you put Italians and Greeks at the same table for dinner, well, you can imagine - not only was it a happy time, it was also always fairly loud and periodically heated.

The first couple of years after my mom died, celebrating the holidays was, well, different. Not only were we mourning the loss of my mother, but within short succession, we also lost Big J's grandma Penny, our beloved Aunt Judy (who was only 57) and then Papa. And as the family shrunk, so it seems, did our holidays, because by Christmas 2006, we could all sit around my dining room table - no leafs required.

And then my dad met Liz. And with Liz, came Denise and her family and Mike and his family and before we had a chance to blink an eye - the holidays were, well - the holidays were boisterous again. There were kids running around and laughter and wine flowing and the kind of teasing that happens between siblings and the two extra leafs in the dining room table still wouldn't seat us all.

Last year my dad and Liz made it official and got married and believe me when I say I could not be happier. I tease Liz and call her my wicked step mother, but the truth is - there is not a wicked bone in her body. She brings happiness to our family and especially to my dad and I have no doubt whatsoever that my mother would be pleased at how Liz loves my dad, but even more so, how she loves his girls.

Today I am beyond grateful for Liz, and for all the bonus family she's brought to me with her. Our family has grown again, our holidays are happy, and that is something I am incredibly thankful for.

thirty days with a grateful heart - day seventeen

2011-12-21T16:07:00.000-07:00

day seventeen - every other wednesday

Every other Wednesday is my favoritest day of the week. Want to know why? Well, I'm almost embarrassed to admit this, but what the hey, you know just about all there is to know about me as it is. Judge if you must.

Every other Wednesday, Gloria comes to my house. Gloria is my cleaning lady and she has been coming to my house for more than twelve years, every other Wednesday. My mom originally found Gloria, I'm not even sure where, but through every move and at every home that Big J and I have lived in over the years, Gloria has come without fail. Every other Wednesday.

And believe it or not, she has never missed a day in over twelve years of working for me.

I'm so grateful for Gloria, I can't begin to even tell you. She is really, really good at what she does, whereas I am not. I am a really good picker-up-er, and an even better putter-away-er (never to be found again-er) but deep-clean-er, um, unfortunately - no. And when you're just a bit ADD and you work from home and you can't have mess or clutter around or you get distracted and go off on some tangent and nothing ever gets done, well, believe me when I say that having a Gloria is truly a Godsend.

Periodically, every other Wednesday is difficult because the littles are home. They try, really hard, I know they do, to stay out of Gloria's way - but, well, they're teenagers and the words clean and teenager are, I am here to tell you, not synonymous. I spend most of those Wednesdays following them around from room to room encouraging (yes, nagging) them to pick up that thing they just left on the counter or pick up their shoes which are in the middle of the floor... you get the picture.

Imagine my surprise, today then, when the sounds of music wafted into my office and I realized that my littles were not creating havoc in my soon to be completely clean house, they were instead - sitting in the living room, just hanging out together. Soon to be adult brother and sister, no fighting, no bickering - just singing and playing the guitar. Keeping each other busy while Gloria does her thing.

So grateful, honestly. There are just not enough words in the whole wide world for how I feel about these two.

Every other Wednesday.

My most favoritest day ever.

thirty days with a grateful heart - day sixteen

2011-12-20T17:29:00.004-07:00

day sixteen - kindred souls

Yesterday, I got an email from one of my running partners, Jeff. It was sent to me, to Steph (our third musketeer), as well as to a few other runner friends that I have made the last ten months or so since I have embraced trail running.

On Saturday, January 28, 2012 come join us for a birthdaycelebration run.
Who's turning 43? Melisa Angelone
Where? "Jody's Run" Class 5 Grade 8
Why? Because wecan, therefore we run
When? TBD 7am?
How do I get to Jody's Run, that starts at Spur CrossRanch?
http://www.maricopa.gov/parks/spur_cross/Directions.aspx

Please let me know if you are coming so I can include youin future mass mailings.

Jody's run is rugged and remote and about 25 mileslong. Expect to be on the trail for atleast 6 hours and maybe up to 8. Be selfsufficient for the full measure of this run, there will be no aid or potablewater.

We will stay together as a team. If you choose to bolt ahead I cannot beresponsible for your demise and WILL NOT return to recover your carcass, thatgrim task will fall upon those that loved you.

As I read through the email, I couldn't help but smile and be grateful for the people that I've met over the years that, simply put, get me. Because, while I am certain that there are a lot of people who would think that celebrating their birthday by running twenty five or more miles in the trails, in remote and rugged surroundings, is absolutely, certifiably crazy - JJ realizes that something like this? Well, something like this is just so right up my alley, its not even funny.

As I look back, I realize just how very blessed I have been over the years with friends and training partners who get this about me and often, who share the same trait - the desire to push ourselves, to test ourselves, to do something epic to celebrate the simple fact that we are alive, we are healthy, and that we can.

So, today, on a day when I am contemplating getting older (and kind of feeling it just a little bit too), I am beyond grateful for those people - for the wonderful, and just a wee bit crazy, kindred souls that have shared the road, the trails, the pool, the gym and the yoga mat with me. My life is immensely richer (and to be honest, probably just a bit saner, too) for the time we have spent together.

much love!

thirty days with a grateful heart - day fifteen

2011-12-19T10:27:00.000-07:00

day fifteen - never quit

Frankie loves to play volleyball. It makes her happy, which in turn, makes me happier than you can even imagine. To watch as my littles take on something and then give it their all, one hundred and ten percent - well, I think words just wouldn't do my feelings justice.

On Saturday, her new team had the opportunity to play in a tournament that has come to be known as the 'friendship tournament'. A nice and relaxed pre-season mixer that allows the girls to get some playing time together and gives them an chance to see how they stack up against some of the other local teams.

Frankie's team had a great day, they played a lot of volleyball and had a lot of fun together, which after the high school season she had, imho, is way more important right now than anything else. I believe this is going to be a good growing year for all of the girls - they have a solid team, a set of really great coaches, and a good, work hard attitude - and for that I am truly thankful.

But even after playing five games on Saturday, and after a week of non-stop team practice and three days at crossfit and all the studying for finals she put in, Frankie still wanted to keep her commitment to the private libero lesson we'd scheduled with Michelle for Sunday.

Michelle knew that Frankie had played the whole day previously, but she still worked her out hard. She's tough, she refuses to allow the girls to slack and the funny thing is, they don't want to. They work hard whenever they are scheduled with her. Frankie was tired when she was done two hours later, but she was ecstatic about how the lesson went and felt like she's really getting the hang of playing defense.

I'd like to think she gets it from me, that desire to be better, to keep improving, to do what she needs to and to never quit. But, to be honest, I'm not really sure. I think maybe she is simply the sum of all the really best parts of both Big J and me, minus any of the bad parts to drag her down. Today, I'm really grateful for that. Really, really, really grateful.

thirty days with a grateful heart - day fourteen

2011-12-18T10:38:00.000-07:00

day fourteen - rest

I was supposed to run today, long, but I didn't feel like it. I was tired and maybe its age, maybe its that I am finally getting smarter, whatever - but I listened to my body and instead, I rested. No running, no crossfit, no yoga, no strength training, no rush rush rush - no nothing. Just rest.

It was nice.

Sometimes I beat myself up about missing a workout or taking a day where all I do is just hang out. It feels lazy, almost. Slovenly. Like if I take that one day, it might turn into two, then three, then four... you get the picture. I don't like those thoughts, so I just keep going. Doing. More.

But then I think that even God had to rest on the seventh day, right?

And if it is good enough for God, it should be good enough for me, right?

And then days like today come, when I'm tired and I need the rest, both physically and mentally, and I actually listen to my body and I get to do things for which I am truly grateful, like watch my baby girl play volleyball all day, or spend time some quality time with Big J, or laugh and joke with Little J without the pressure of having to... go, go, go.

And I realize that those days are getting fewer and farther between and they will be gone before I know it as my littles head off to college and no matter how much I might fight it, that rest now and then is a good thing. A really good thing. Like it was today.

thirty days with a grateful heart - day thirteen

2011-12-15T14:00:00.003-07:00

day thirteen - how ruth saves christmas

I am a notorious procrastinator, so when Big J asked me what I was doing on tinyprints.com in early October, and heard my response, creating our Christmas cards, he was quite surprised.

I imagine he would have been even more surprised if the cards had actually shown up at our house the next week, but because I somehow got distracted trying to reach the end of internet and ultimately forgot what I was doing in the first place, he never got the opportunity.

On Monday, we were browsing the Christmas cards we've received this year and he casually asked, are we planning on sending Christmas cards this year? Yep, this past Monday. Which, as you can imagine, once I realized half of December was almost over, immediately sent me into a bit of a panic and straight back to tinyprints to finalize my order.

Which, because it was the middle of December, had to include an extra cost for two day shipping, so that I might have an opporunity to actually get them addressed and in the mail sometime before Christmas.

Fast forward to yesterday morning, and the FedEx man delivered what I thought was my cards. My plan was to take them with me to Frankie's volleyball game this weekend and address them there, so I set them by my desk and almost didn't open the box. Which, as you are about to find out, would have been a very, very, very bad idea.

You see, when I opened the box, I found a beautiful card which contained a very sweet picture of... a little boy about two years old and his pet dog. Which was very definitely not the picture I had chosen for our Christmas cards. In fact, I didn't even know the boy. Or the dog for that matter. And when I turned over the envelopes to see if there was a return address, the name Ruth appeared in silvery holiday print.

What the heck? Oh this is not good.
Immediately, I called tinyprints, and even remained patiently on hold for the full 27 minutes and 54 seconds that the automated operator told me it would take to reach the next available service representative. And although that service representative seemed very helpful and told me that he would put a rush on my new order, the fact that he couldn't get my name right and the fact that he kept calling me Ruth was a little disconcerting.

I thought about looking Ruth's family up, after all - I had their address, but then I thought that it would be too coincidental that she had gotten my cards while I had gotten hers (and maybe just a tiny bit creepy) so I decided to wait out the second delivery from tinyprints.

About half an hour later, I received a call from a woman who works in Big J's office who said that she had received a very strange call from a woman named Ruth who said she had my Christmas cards. She kept saying that she thought maybe it was a scam, but that the woman sounded so genuine, that she wanted to pass the phone number along.

I actually laughed out loud as I thanked her for taking down the number, I assured her it wasn't a scam and that I would phone Ruth back and get it all straightened out.

Apparently, Ruth had called information looking for my number and when she realized it was unlisted, she began calling any Angelone she could find in Scottsdale, Arizona. When I finally reached her on the phone, we chit chatted like old friends. I told her I'd called tinyprints to try to get the situation resolved and she said she had tried too but didn't want to wait on hold that long! Then, she said she lived in New York which, of course, had me bringing up incredible memories of our family's trip to the city last year. I told her that I'd looked at her cards and that I thought her son was too cute and that I was so thankful that she'd called me. She said she thought my cards were beautiful and wished me a Merry Christmas.

All in all, it was a really nice conversation with a complete stranger, and at a time like Christmas when people can be harried and grumpy and overly stressed by the slightest problem, both Ruth and I actually laughed about the mix up. After we chatted awhile, Ruth promised to send out my Christmas cards to me, overnight, and I promised the same to her.

So, today - day thirteen - I am filled with a happy kind of gratitude for my new found friend... Ruth. For saving my Christmas cards. And more importantly, for making me laugh yesterday. I truly needed it!

thirty days with a grateful heart - day twelve

2011-12-15T11:05:00.001-07:00

day twelve - book worm

I love to read. I've loved it since I was very small. I love being able to escape into another person's life, into another time, into another place, if only for a short little while.

When I was growing up, we weren't allowed to own books. My father was in the military and each time we moved, we were given a household weight allowance we were required to stay under. Books were more of a luxury than a necessity so owning them was out of the question. I have more than made up for that the past few years.

I remember reading Harlequin Romance after Harlequin Romance when I was about twelve. Somebody, somewhere should have probably stopped me because somehow, I really believe this tainted my view on the reality of romance. You mean every girl doesn't have some half naked man named Zeke (or Max or Rafe or Blaze) riding up on his white horse (or limousine or private jet or yacht) whisking her off on some passionate adventure every weekend?

In college, I got onto a Stephen King kick and read just about everything he'd written up until that point,  one of the most memorable being the short story called The Long Walk. I am not quite sure what it was about this story that resonated with me, but it struck a chord and I have often talked about and recommended it to anyone who would listen over the years. The last Stephen King book I read was IT. I couldn't sleep for weeks after reading that one so I decided he and I were done.

Sometimes I will go to the library or a book store and just sit for awhile. I like the smell.

Oprah started a book club way back when and I began to read all of her recommendations. I enjoyed most all of them because they really allowed me to branch out a bit. To try something new. To read an author I might not otherwise have chosen. The last Oprah selection I read was Anna Karenina. And to be entirely truthful, I only got through about half of it.

After Anna Karenina, I got into a bit of a self-help phase. What I have realized about self-help books, however, is that they are all just variations of the same message. I'm done with that now and onto biographies. I want to be able to see self-help in action.

When my littles were young, I would read to them every night before they went to bed. Their favorites were Goodnight Moon, Make Way for Ducklings and the Goodnight Gecko.   I can still recite parts of each, this many years later. And each and every time I see a baby duck, I wonder if it is Jack, Kack, Lack, Mack, Nack, Ouack, Pack or Quack.

When Frankie was small, she hated to read. In third grade, we learned that she needed glasses and then in fifth grade, she discovered the Twilight books and now, she is a voracious reader. I want to complain, but just cannot bring myself to do it each time I see an email from Amazon.com thanking me for my latest Kindle book purchase.   Secretly, it makes me really happy that she shares this love of mine and when I go into her room like yesterday and see her smiling at something she's just read, I simply cannot help but smile myself.

thirty days with a grateful heart - day eleven

2011-12-14T10:05:00.000-07:00

day eleven - daddy's girl

This week my therapist wanted to talk a little about my family life growing up, which made me realize that I have written ad infinitum about my momma on this blog, but I have not written very much at all about my dad.

I've never told you how special a man he truly is. How loyal, how faithful, how simply... good he is. The honest to God truth is that my dad is as good a man as the day is long - he really, really, really is - there is just no other way to put it.

I've never told you how he has protected our country or how for years, and through three tours to Vietnam, he has fought, without reservation, for the basic freedoms I take for granted each and every day.

I've never told you how my dad was supposed to be deployed before I was born, or how he made the doctor induced me so that he could see me and hold me, at least once, before he had to go.

I've never told you how he has supported me. How he has listened to me. Or how patient he is. How he sat through every cheerleader ready-set-ok I ever wanted to show him without rolling an eye.

I've never told you how I get my love of Indycar, of blackjack, of crosswords and of just about everything football from him. How we share the same love of church and oh, the same hate for conflict.

I've never told you how much I've learned from him, about kindness and humility. About how much his respect and love for me has influenced the woman I have become today.

I've never told you about how deeply he loved my mother. So much so I find it difficult to put into words. Or, about how incredibly he took care of her once she became ill. How he would have sold his soul to protect her, to shelter her, from what she had to endure.

I've never told you about his gentleness when he speaks to me, the sparkle in his eyes when he sees me, or the way that he hugs me that makes me certain I will forever be safe.

I've never told you how much I love him. How much I adore him. How deeply grateful I am that I am his and he is mine.

No, I had never told you any of those things. Maybe, just maybe, because I didn't need to.

I'm pretty sure my daddy knows.

thirty days with a grateful heart - day ten

2011-12-13T10:47:00.001-07:00

day 10 - rainy days and tuesdays

(the tuesday toeday (that means ten!) edition)

10. Its raining here in the valley today and believe me when I tell you - there are few things better than the smell of the desert when its raining. Its almost like God is washing the place clean.

9. Frankie has only one final today, which means that she'll be home pretty soon. What with it being rainy and a teensy bit cold outside, I think our Tuesday afternoon will consist of cozying up on the couch with my little girl and watching a falalala lifetime movie or two.

8. I did not melt during my run today. I was afraid, you know - being made almost completely of sugar and all - that I might. But, no, I didn't and now I can check that 'can't' right off my list.

7. Not only did I not melt, but I didn't even get too muddy. There are a couple of reasons for this. One, because I was running around the puddles (which apparently I will need to stop doing if I'm going to be a successful trail runner/pacer extraordinaire says my very knowledgeable ratty running instructor) and two, because (insert sing-song voice) guess who got to be leader today? ;-)

6. When I was little and it rained, my dad would round the whole fam-damily up in the station wagon and take us to Baskin Robbins. I love BR to this day. Almost as much as I love the rain. But not nearly as much as I love my dad.

5. Speaking of my dad... He was playing golf once in the rain with a friend of his, Mr. Monahan. As Mr. Monahan got out of the cart to tee off, a bolt of lightening struck him and killed him dead. My dad never plays in the rain or the lightening anymore, for which I am extremely grateful.

4. You know that part toward the end of the movie Sweet Home Alabama where Melanie and Jake are on the beach and the rain is coming down in buckets and the lightening is striking fast and furious and she's wearing her wedding dress and he asks her why she wants to be married to him in the first place and she says, so I can kiss you anytime I want? I like that part. A lot.

3. When the monsoon rains hit last summer, we discovered we had a little leak in our bedroom ceiling. The first roofer I called wanted to charge us $1500 to fix the leak. Big J thought that was a little outrageous and so he ended up calling a local handy man that fixed it for about $100. Thank you, kudzu.

2. I used to think that when it rained, God was crying because He was sad. Lately, I've been rethinking this whole idea. Namely because I am a crier of the first degree and I don't always just cry when I'm sad. In fact, I probably cry less when I'm sad than I do when I'm happy. I cry an awful lot when I'm happy.

(proof)

So, since I believe that I was created, fearfully and wonderfully, in God's image, it only stands to reason that He must cry, too, when He is happy. And that gives me a whole new perspective on rain.

1. And when it rains on your parade, look up rather than down. Without the rain, there would be no rainbow. ~G.K. Chesterton

thirty days with a grateful heart - day nine

2011-12-11T21:30:00.001-07:00

day nine - deck the halls

I never met Big Johnny's grandma Helen, she died just before we started dating. But even though I never had the chance to know her in person, each year at Christmastime, I think of her and my heart overflows with gratefulness at the incredible gift she has given us.

Take a look...

Almost every ornament on our Christmas tree was made, with love, by grandma Helen. They are incredible, truly. Sequins and pushpins and ribbon and pearls. I can't even begin to imagine the time and patience it took to make them all, and believe it or not - she made four full sets - one for herself and one for each of her children.

Over the years, we have slowly started adding our own additions to our tree, the crafty ornaments the littles have made in school, a bit of ribbon here, a few candy canes, and the ornaments my father passed along to me after my mother's death. And each year, our tree becomes more and more a blend of both the old and new, a visual metaphor, if you will, of our lives.

thirty days with a grateful heart - day eight

2011-12-10T16:27:00.001-07:00

day eight - we are team bemis

Mid-September, our Notre Dame community learned that our head football coach, Scot Bemis, had been diagnosed with cancer, and in a pretty bad way. Immediately, the school - administration, parents and students alike - rallied around Coach Bemis and created Team Bemis to support and help Coach Bemis and his family during this time in any way that we could.

Every Monday, twice a day, all are invited to pray the rosary for Coach in the school chapel. On Thanksgiving day, the first annual Bemis Bowl was held and teams comprised of students, alumni, friends and supporters of Coach Bemis competed against eachother to be the first winner of what will likely become an annual event. A pancake breakfast is in the works, meals have been scheduled, prepared and delivered now for months, and thousands of dollars in donations are being received to help Coach Bemis offset the costs of his treatment.

The outpouring of love and support for Coach Bemis and his family during this time has been awesome to witness, a true testament to the goodness and generosity of our school and its faculty - but also to the incredible compassion our children are capable of, a trait I sometimes think we do not always give them credit for.

Today, Team Bemis in conjunction with Crossfit Magna put on a little friendly competition that they called 'WODS (workout of the day) for Bemis'. The competition was open to all and promoted in the local crossfit gyms and through facebook. All in all, sixty-one people competed today in three different divisions, and you know what? Not many of them even knew Coach Bemis, they simply showed up today to dedicate their workouts to a man going through a really tough time. To support him in the only way they knew how.

A special division was even created for our high schoolers to give them an opportunity to compete and to allow them to dedicate their workout to the man that has helped coached so many of them over the years. I think I mentioned that Frankie has been doing crossfit the past month or so and when she heard about the event - without a seconds hesitation, she told me she was doing it.

Personally, crossfit has given me so much confidence and helped me develop strength I didn't even know I could possess, and now it is doing that same thing for Frankie and I couldn't be more excited for her. Well, and maybe just a teensy big proud. My girl took third place in the girls' high school division! ;)

Today, I am grateful to count myself among the crossfit community and even more so, to be able to say with certainty on behalf of Crossfit Magna, Crossfit480 and all the crossfit gyms represented today...

WE ARE TEAM BEMIS!

thirty days with a grateful heart - day seven

2011-12-09T09:25:00.001-07:00

day seven - just happy to be here

Have you ever had one of those days where you wake up and the first thing that goes through your mind, before the running tally of what has to be accomplished, before the mad dash to switch on the coffee maker, before any of that, is - wow, I am just glad to be alive today?

Honestly, I haven't recently. Not that I am not grateful, to be alive that is, because I am. Very much so. I am extremely grateful to be well and healthy and that my family is well and healthy and that my friends are well and healthy. You get the picture.

No, I guess what I am saying is that although I have been grateful, I really haven't spent much time thinking about being grateful. And with the exception of this last seven days, I haven't spent that much time expressing being grateful either. I get so caught up in getting accomplished what needs to be accomplished each day that sometimes, it seems like I forget the little things. And oftentimes, the big things too. Like saying thank you. Like saying I am grateful.

I was thinking that maybe that's just what this gratitude project is all about. Taking the time to stop and smell the roses, if you will. Taking a minute or two or twenty each day, to just be grateful and to express that gratitude aloud, in words, and not just in thought - for the big, and the small, the important and the seemingly not so important.

What a difference it has made in my life already, I'm here to tell you. I feel more, aware of what is going on around me, if that makes any sense at all. And, honestly, not only has it made a difference in my life, but it kind of seems to be rubbing off on my family and to some extent, on my friends, as well.

Which in and of itself is kind of cool, don't you think? Kind of like a pay it forward kind of thing?

Ya, exactly like that.

Today? Easy peasy. Today, I am just totally glad to be alive.

thirty days with a grateful heart - day six

2011-12-08T08:12:00.002-07:00

day six - baby it's cold outside

The past few days, when I open up facebook in the morning, I am inundated with status updates from my fellow Arizonans lamenting the cold weather. They make me laugh out loud. Don't get me wrong, it is cold outside, especially in the early mornings, compared to what the temperatures are say, mid-August. But, I have to be honest, I would take this weather any day, any way, any how, over the weather this time of year in places like Detroit or Boston or Chicago.. or, eek, Buffalo.

Because, in case you weren't aware, it is really cold there. Like, really, really cold.  So cold that the lakes freeze over and you have to use a scraper thingie to get the ice off the windshield of your car in the mornings, that is if you can get to your car past the snow piled up six feet high in your front lawn, and the power goes out and you have to sleep in your parka to keep warm, because everyone has a parka in those places because its sooo cold, and as if all that weren't enough, I learned the other day that you have to wear spikes on your running shoes so you don't fall and bust your butt while you're trying to get some exercise. Can you imagine? Nope, me neither.

So, while you'll never hear me complain about how flippin' cold it is in Arizona, because it actually is a leeetle cold and feels even more so since we have all become reptilian here in this state, I would like you all to know that I have had to wear long sleeves the past few weeks while I've been running at 5 am. Because, even though it is 60 degrees at noon, which , btw, is really lovely, it is still only 36 degrees at 5 am.

That all being said, finding the right long sleeve has had me in a bit of a tizzy of late. I bought a Nike long sleeve t-shirt, which was just fine for last week's runs when the low was about 46 degrees. But with the slight dip in temperatures we're experiencing this week, I knew the Nike wasn't going to cut it.

Enter crossfit.

No, really, crossfit. I swear there is going to be a point to this story.

I take the seven am class three days a week at Crossfit480, which I absolutely love. For awhile, I was the only girl in my class, which on one hand was pretty nice if you get my drift ;-), but on the other hand, not so nice because the boys in my class are all in shape. No, seriously, in shape. Just trust me on this one.

Just recently, however, some girls have joined our class, which is awesome!, and in listening to them talk, I realized they just happened to work at lululemon. Lululemon is a clothing store that is probably most recognizably known for yoga clothing and while I'd shopped there during my yoga phase, I had never even thought about going there for crossfit clothing. Because, unfortunately for me, and even more unfortunately for all the guys in my class, when I go to crossfit, I'm not making a fashion statement. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if there is some picture of me in Cosmo, decked out for crossfit, with a big ole DON'T slapped right smack across my face.

So, enter in these cutie patootie young girls who work at lululemon and who are not only working up a sweat, but being awesomely stylish at the same time, and well, you see where I am going with this? Yep. I had to go to lululemon.  Fast.  And luckily for me, but maybe not so much for my wallet, there just so happens to be a store about a mile from crossfit.  Seriously, what are the odds??

As I wandered around the lulu store, I really thought I'd died and gone to heaven.  Not only did the clothes feel soft and comfy, like you could put them on and wear them forever and ever and ever, but they also didn't look like work out clothes. You know what I mean? They're... dare I say it? Ok, it is me after all, you get what you get. They're... pretty!  They're fitted and flattering and, oh my God, they come in colors like paris pink and persian purple and silver spoon!

I picked up a few things that I knew would be perfect for crossfit, and had just about made it out the door, when I noticed this...

Be still my heart! First, you have to know that I am a sucker for anything pink, and second, its a running top. A long-sleeve running top. With just a little bit of some sort of really soft stuff on the inside that I knew would be oh, so perfect, for our colder mornings. Especially at 5 am.

This morning, I got a chance to try it out for about ninety minutes in the pmp and all I can say is that it is even better than I hoped. Way, way, way better. It kept me warm, but not too warm, and whatever kind of fabric its made of, it also kept me dry. Which, as you know, when its cold and you're runnin' and sweatin' up a storm, can be kind of a problem. In fact, this top is so awesome, that believe it or not, I'm still wearing it going on three hours later. And yes, I know that's kind of yucky, but honestly, its soooo soft and comfy, I don't think I'll ever take it off. Ever.

Maybe, I should have gotten two.

(and, just in case you didn't get the gratitude part of this post - 1. that there is no snow where i live in arizona and that i can run outside sans spikes all year long and 2. that sweet lulu was so thoughtful to make this top especially for little ole me and last, but certainly not least 3. for the girls in my crossfit class, who are a host of fashion sense and a hoot to work out with.)

thirty days with a grateful heart - day five

2011-12-07T12:21:00.001-07:00

day five - the differences between us

When I was five, Katie Riley became my very first best friend. We had a lot in common, Katie and me, we were both in kindergarten, we both liked Shawn Cassidy, and we both thought our younger siblings were kind of annoying. At five, I'm fairly certain that this is precisely what brings girls together in the first place. Well, that and, probably even more importantly, the fact that she just happened to live two doors down and that our parents liked to hang out together.

Later on, the same was true for some of my future best friends. We tended to participate in the same sports, we had similar interests, similar beliefs. We were in the same class, lived on the same street, rode the same bus, liked the same movies, hung out with the same crowd. The friendships were easy, perhaps a bit shallow, but much the norm for that time in our lives.

For awhile, when I was a new mom, my friendships revolved around the littles, and were with women that had children, too. We could relate to each other, we shared the same burdens. There was common ground, common needs, and a sense of always being in the same, sleep-deprived, boat.

As I have gotten older, however, as my interests have waxed and waned, as my life has evolved and my littles have grown, so too have my friendships evolved. No longer are my friendships built solely on interest or proximity. In fact, I have very few friends that live close and even fewer that enjoy the same activities that I enjoy.

No, more often than not I am finding that now it is actually our differences that bring my friends and I together. As I have gotten older, as I've become more and more comfortable in my own individuality, my willingness to learn from and share with another has been what has attracted me to these new friendships. These friendships make life interesting. They open new worlds to me. They challenge me often, requiring me to be present, to use my voice, to open my heart.

Sometimes we do like some of the same things - OneRepublic or a head-clearing long run through the trails, a good glass of Pinot or that gotta-have-it stacked black pump. But, as my mind wanders through those few, precious women that I cherish and have dared to term bff, more often than not, I realize they are (gratefully!) as different from me as, say, water and oil... black and white...

diet coke and tea.

thirty days with a grateful heart - day four

2011-12-06T08:22:00.000-07:00

day four - the views from the top

(of the jjonb)

Tuesdays are one of my favorite run days. On Tuesdays, we run the jjonb which stands for JJ (Jeff Jones, my running partner who created the route) out and back. I'll be honest though, I haven't always liked Tuesdays. Especially when I first started running with JJ and had to walk the majority of each of the five big uphills on the route while he and Steph kept getting further and further away from me. And then I hated it even worse when I came back from California this summer and it was six thousand degrees outside, even at 5 am, and not only could I not even begin to run the uphills, I was doing a pretty good job of stinking it up on the downhills, too.

But then September came. And finally, after religiously running the same route Tuesday in and Tuesday out for six months, something clicked. And it has continued to click. And now I can run, unbroken, all of the ups except the tip top of the first peak from the 32nd street trailhead. And I can run every bit of all of the downs, even the rockies, even in the dark. And, on days like today, when the weather is crisp, and the company is good, and the running comes easy, and I am at peace - on days like today - I like to look around, take in the view from the top, and be grateful that I am right where I am. Right where I am supposed to be. It's all good.

thirty days with a grateful heart - day three

2011-12-05T10:54:00.002-07:00

day three - falalala lifetime

Ah. Lifetime. I heart Lifetime. Especially at the holidays.

No, I'm not talking about Lifetime Fitness, although, actually, I did used to (kindof) heart LT last year when I was (kindof) training for Ironman and I used to (kindof) swim (which I so did NOT heart) there on volleyball practice nights. Well, that was until they wanted to charge me a single daypass fee of $30 last week when it was dark and raining and I was feeling wimpy and didn't want to get my new running shoes all wet. Or my hair for that matter. So I dropped Frankie off and headed over there and $30 for a day pass? Puhlease! I asked the receptionist what US Fitness charged, which just so happened to be right next door, she said she didn't know, but I am pretty sure she did too know (it was $15) and that she probably thought (wrong!), what with it raining and all, and what with me being all dressed to workout and all, that I'd just shell out the $30. You'll be glad to know that I most certainly did not because, well, hello? I could have my hair washed and dried by a professional for $30.

Wait, where was I?

Oh yes, Lifetime. I heart Lifetime. You know - the tv channel?

For at least a couple of hours most weekends the month of December, you can find me and oftentimes both me and Frankie, in front of the television watching the Christmas movies on Lifetime. Seriously, I've seen them all... A Diva's Christmas Carol, Home for the Holidays, The Holiday Switch, the Road to Christmas, Dear Santa. You name it, we've seen it. A few times. Ok, maybe more than a few times.

There aren't many shows that I make much of an effort to watch - and most definitely not at the time they are actually shown, thank goodness for the DVR - so the fact that I can sit, sometimes for hours (and hours) on end, watching sappy Christmas movies is rather... interesting. Especially considering that each and every one is just a slight variation of the other - a story about some sort of a crisis or catastrophe that, incredibly, miraculously, is completely resolved to the joy and happiness of all by the approaching Christmas holiday.

Homeless people find shelter. A widowed, lonely man finds a wife. An orphan is adopted. The wicked witch boss develops a giving heart. A secret wish comes true.

I heart them. Every single one. You know why?

I heart them because I know, every December, I can snuggle up with my girl in a comfy chair, and have my faith in the simple goodness of life restored. That happiness will happen for us. That Santa exists if we say he does. That love is right around the next corner. And that no one has to be alone. Especially on Christmas.

falalala lifetime!

thirty days with a grateful heart - day two

2011-12-04T10:44:00.001-07:00

day two - my littles

I'd heard stories about what it was like to have children. You know those stories, the ones about how you will love them so much, how you would do anything in your power to protect them, to care for them, to grow them. I had heard them all and I remember thinking, absolutely, I will love them. Of course, I will love them. But, I have to be honest with you, I don't think I completely understood the depth or breadth, the sheer and utter magnitude, of that kind of love until the very moment I held Little J in my arms for the first time.

I have loved people in my life. I mean, really, really loved them.  I love Big J, more than I think he will ever know. I love my parents, my family, my friends. We all have people in our lives that we say we love, truly, madly, deeply, but as I looked down at Little J, and again at Frankie on the day she was born, in those moments, the meaning of mother's love became clear. Very simply, my heart was no longer my own. It belonged to them, to my littles, wholly and completely, and it will until the day I take my very last breath.

God made me, exactly how he made me, so that I could be their mother. He made me to care for them, to cherish and hold them, to teach them and guide them and grow them up in this world. He made me specifically to love them.  He knew just exactly what they would need. He knew that they would need me and that only I would do.

And yet, for as much as they needed me and only me, He knew just exactly what I needed as well. He knew that I would need littles that would challenge me, that would make me think, that would question me, listen to me, exasperate me to no end and make me swell with pride, oftentimes in the very same instant. He knew that I needed littles who would hug me and allow me to hug them, in private, in public, no matter when or where the mood strikes.  He knew I needed littles who could tell me they were sorry, who would hold my hand, who would make me laugh out loud, who would sing with me, pray with me, listen to me, walk with me, share with me, break my heart and mend it back up again, littles who would love... me.

God knew.

He knew I needed Little J, exactly as he is.  He knew I needed Frankie, precisely as she is. Deep down, I know He knew because He knows everything, and yet, each day I cannot help but marvel at the absolute perfectness of it all.

He knew.

And today, for that, and for them, for my littles, I am so very, very grateful. Especially today.

thirty days with a grateful heart - day one

2011-12-03T12:31:00.000-07:00

A sweet friend of mine, after reading my post yesterday, led me to the blog of one of her friends who, for the last few years during the month of December, has embarked on what, imho, is a truly incredible and life changing journey.

Each year, each December, this blogger begins a series she calls 30 Days with a Grateful Heart. For the last thirty days of the year, she takes a little time each day to reflect on what she is most grateful for in her life. Some of these gratitudes are small. Some are silly and fun. Some are deeper and have incredible feeling that encompass their telling. And yet, all of them, every single one, speak directly from her heart - a heart that has learned to be... grateful.

Along her journey, she has encouraged others to participate - to take a moment or two each day the month of December, to peek into their own lives and find something each day to be grateful for. Some days this will be easy. When all is going well and life is happy, happy, happy - gratitude is abundant. But, some days it seems as if the world is conspiring against our happiness. Some days, we might wonder what in the world we could possibly be grateful for. I believe, even during these days, especially during these days, an endeavor like this can change us, bring us back to what we know to be true and ultimately, what is truly important.

William Arthur Ward once said that Feeling gratitude and not expressing it is like wrapping a present and not giving it. Go figure, I am a gift giver. My primary love language, based on the book The Five Love Languages, is gifts. I don't know if you are surprised by this, but Big J was most definitely not. So, with that being the case, I have decided, that for the month of December, this journey will be a little gift that I give to myself. A little thirty day Christmas present, if you will. You are welcome to join me, and perhaps along the way you will find that my words might also be a little gift to you, as well.

day one - my blog

Since 2006, blogging has been a savior to me. I've never been one to write in a journal, I've tried it a few times and each time, I have gotten frustrated and quit after just a few entries. Considering that I obviously do not seem to have a problem with self reflection or introspection, I think primarily for me, it was the hand-written aspect of journaling that made me unsuccessful at it, as silly as that might sound.

Most times, when I sit down to write on my blog, my thoughts are racing a million miles a minute and attempting to capture those thoughts long hand, well, you get the picture. But, when I discovered blogging, all that frustration just melted away. All of a sudden, there was a place where I could express all the feelings and emotions of my heart, in type written form. For me to reflect on, for others to share. A place where my fingers can almost keep up with the ideas swirling around in my head and clamoring to be let loose.

Besides allowing me to express myself, my blog has also brought me friendships that I treasure. Friendships that I believe without a doubt I will cherish until the day I die. Through my blog, I've met so many incredibly special people, people that enrich my life each and every day. If I never write another word, I will ever be grateful for the simple gift of those friendships.

My blog has allowed me to grow, to cry, to laugh, to wonder, to vent, to explore, to learn, and in more ways than one, blogging has allowed me to heal. Putting my most private thoughts into a public forum has at times, been awfully scary, but I have to tell you that in doing so, more than anything, blogging has allowed me to feel. To feel happiness, to feel love, to feel friendship and joy and laughter and maybe even just a teensy bit of sorrow now and then. That being able to feel proves to me, each and every day, that I am indeed, still alive, that neither my head nor my heart nor my soul, and least of all my body, are dead. And I don't know about you, but for me - that is just about all I can hope for some days.

So, yes, my blog. Today, and especially today, my heart is overflowingly grateful for my blog.

happy, happy, happy

2011-12-02T11:44:00.001-07:00

Happiness is a choice that requires effort at times. ~Aeschylus

I don't know about you, but I spend quite a lot of time thinking about happiness, both in general and how it relates to me personally - to where I am in my life, to what is in my life, to who is in or not in my life. As I have mentioned a myriad of times, I tend to be an over thinker. I analyze, well, actually, let's tell it like it is, I over-analyze just about everything in my life - every word, every action, every interaction.

For a person with tendencies such as mine, happiness can be as elusive a concept as say, the fountain of youth. I've heard tales of its existence. I've heard that it can be had. But, damn if no matter how hard I try, I just cannot seem to figure out how to get there.

Last Friday was the anniversary of my mom's death. It has been eleven years since the night I held her and told her that it was ok, that she could go, that I would take care of things, that we would be fine. I was lying of course, it wasn't ok and it wasn't really fine, but something told me it was what she needed to hear and looking back, I guess it was. Her body relaxed. She let go.

I truly thought I'd dealt with the emotions of her death, that I had parked the sadness and the madness that I felt surrounding her dying - the emptiness, the loneliness, the sense of loss, the burden of responsibility. I was certain that I had successfully analyzed it six ways from Sunday, and that I was indeed, all good. Healed. Moving on.

But in an instant, Friday morning, I realized that was actually not the case. Healed? Please. I wasn't healed, what was I thinking? I woke up from a sound sleep early, early Friday morning and what I really was, was mad.  Stomping mad with a capital M.A.D. Fuming, furious, mad as a hatter, pissed off, flipping, freaking mad. Mad at my mom for dying. Mad at God for taking her. Mad that we'll never have another moment together, that my littles seem to be forgetting her, that life seems to be moving on and that I, am not.

Mad, mad, mad, mad, mad.

The madness was thick, boiling up from deep inside,  spilling over and threatening to choke me with its strength and intensity. I couldn't speak, I couldn't see. Tears overwhelmed me and ran unchecked.

And then, just as quickly as the madness had reared its ugly head, something deep inside me whispered... enough. enough. Enough, momo. It is ok, its enough. And, inexplicably, deep down to my core, I felt peace. It was enough. I sensed, that finally, it was... enough.

Was it my mom, from that somewhere I hope is heaven, comforting me? Was it God reaching down in his incredible grace to soothe me? Or, do we just have to get to that place of utter and complete brokenness before we can even hope to begin to climb out? I don't know the answer, I'd like to believe it might be a mixture of the three, but what I do know, for certain, is this...

It was enough.

Last Friday, I made a choice. A choice to be happy, for whatever that entails. A choice to move forward, to heal and to allow myself to let go of the sadness, and yes, even the madness, that I have had bottled up inside me for the last eleven years. It is time to let it go. Truth be told, it is way past time, but then as we all know, I've always been a slow learner.

Let me tell you, though, happiness stuff? It does not come easy. As Aeschylus so profoundly said, it most definitely requires effort. I relate it to an alcoholic entering AA. For the program to be successful, you have to live it. Live the steps. Live your sobriety each and every day. I, too, must work my happiness. I must remind myself every moment of the day... happy. Be happy in this. Choose happy. And while there are things in my life that are not, exactly, happy right now, I am choosing today, and each day forward, happy.

Hi, my name is momo and I choose happy.

This weekend, I even told the littles, no more sadness. No more debbie downer. In my effort to ease them into it, and reinforce the choice within myself, I told them my new mantra was - I am going to be happy, happy, happy all the time. And while all the time might be a little much, especially for me, you get the picture.

Frankie's response?  You're scaring me, mom. But at the same time, I think she appreciates what I am trying to do for myself, what gift I am trying to give her. She's lived with me for the last eleven years, she knows where I've been. Deep down, she wants it for us all, too, and if I know nothing else, that I know for certain.

choose happy. be happy.

happy. happy. happy.

all the time.

tuesday, toeday (that means ten!)

2011-11-29T13:51:00.007-07:00

Well, whaddya know, here it is Tuesday.  I know I've kind of been slacking a bit in the tuesday, toeday department, so I thought, what with it actually being Tuesday and all, and what with me actually having something to say - how 'bout we do a little catching up?

10. Frankie and I had a really nice day together last Friday. The day started out kind of sketchy for me, since it was the eleventh anniversary of my mom's death, but I decided early on in the morning that I was done with all that sad and mad stuff, so when Frankie asked if we could get pedicures - I thought - absolutely, that sounds exactly like what I need.

We headed on over to our favorite little 'you want spa pedicure, you want gel' place and signed in. While we waited, we selected colors for our toes. Frankie picked a pretty red color and I deviated from my normal Linkin Park and selected a pinkish, purplish, glitteryish sort of color.   I handed it to Frankie and asked her - what color does this say it is? (please tell me why in heaven's name they have to make that font so small) and she replies, it says, 'Its My Year'.

How perfect is that?

9. They seated us next to each other in our little pedi-chairs and we kind of vegged out while the ladies began working on our toes. I see my lady kind of checking us out and midway through my massage, she looks up, points at Frankie and says - she your sister?

lmao. Seriously. I about kissed her.

8. In the past two weeks I've gotten no less than six calls asking me if I need to replace my windshield. The Auto Glass Shop must be hurting for business, I guess. I keep telling them to take me off their list, but for whatever reason, they can't seem to get that figured out yet and now Chad and I are on a first name basis. Hi, Melisa. Do you need your windshield replaced yet? No, sorry, Chad. I'm all good. How about you take me off your list? Ok, Melisa, we'll get right on that.

7. I guess I shouldn't complain. My friend, Toni, has it worse. She's gotten a call every single night for the past few weeks from the Penn State Alumni Association. Talk about needing to do some damage control.    I'd rather talk to Chad.

6. I'm reading a really great book right now called In the Garden of Beasts, which is about the American Ambassador to Germany during the time of Hitler.  What makes the book so exciting for me is that I've been discussing it with one of my running partners, Steph, in the mornings. Steph grew up in Germany and moved to the US about 10 years ago.  As I get further into the book, I ask her about particular events, about what she learned in her school about Hitler and what was happening in her country. It is like having a living, breathing history lesson out there in the pmp a few days a week. Its awesome.

5. I have a friend on facebook whose statuses make me physically laugh out loud. The other day, he posted that he was too sexy for his shirt. I thought to myself, omg, that is too funny, I would never post anything like that. Then, I started to wonder why exactly I wouldn't, because he is obviously just joking and joking is fun now and then, right? So, I was wondering why and I really couldn't think of a good answer except that something like that is so far from what I generally post that you probably wouldn't even believe I'd written it. In fact, you might even think that Big J or one of the littles had hacked my account. Right? Admit it. Go ahead, its ok.

4. Anyway, so then, I got to thinking about the whole sexy thing. I mean, there are a lot of adjectives that I would use to describe myself, but sexy? Hm... Ya, sexy just isn't one of them. Now, Megan Fox? She is sexy. Beyonce? Yep. Sexy. Sofia Vergara?   She's so crazy sexy that I think she may have dislodged Faith Hill from number one on Big J's Hollywood five.   Seriously, that sexy. If you are a guy and you aren't watching Modern Family, you are seriously missing out.

3. This morning I went and had my hair done. It has been awhile, so we did some highlights and we did some low lights and we did a little trimming here and there and she even blow dried it for me and before long, my hair was looking all kindsa blondishy good and stuff.

As I walked out, I heard a woman whisper... her hair is sexy.

Now, ok, she did not say, she is sexy, she very definitely said, her hair is sexy, but I have to admit, I did get just a little all full of myself and swaggered right on out of that shop, sexy hair and all.

But then, alas, reality hit, and I got to thinking just how much work sexy takes. I mean, honestly. I was in that beauty shop for upwards of two whole hours, that is like forever!  Then, there is the make up.  Well, first, I might actually have to start wearing it and then, I might actually have to learn how to apply it properly, ala Renee Graziano, because I'm thinking what I learned at Merle Norman back in 1984 is probably a bit more Cyndi Lauper than sexy Sofia.

Then, there are the clothes that help sexy look the part. You know the ones I'm talking about... the ones that are cut down to there. Or, up to there.  You know, those ones. Much to Big J's dismay, there is none of that going on in my closet. Although, that being said, I do have some awfully fun shooz. ;-)

And, as if all that weren't enough - then... then - there's the accent. I mean, really, let's not even go
there.

2. So, where am I going with this? (sometimes I have to ask myself because the other night, Big J and I had dinner with some friends of ours and I was telling a story and after what seemed like a few minutes and was probably more like fifteen, the husband looked at me and said - I have absolutely no idea what you're trying to say.)

1.  My hair is too sexy for my head. Too sexy.

you're a server...

2011-11-18T10:29:00.008-07:00

This week in the momo household has been a tough one. For those of you with daughters, and particularly, daughters who play competitive sports, you will know what I mean. This week for Frankie is the week of... club volleyball tryouts.

I am not sure how the other competitive sports organize tryouts, but for volleyball - the process is very intimidating and more than a little political.  Prior to the tryout day being announced, many parents campaign and jockey for leverage with the clubs that their daughters would like to play for, attempting to exact promises that their daughter will indeed, be picked up by the club of her choosing.  And while the club coaches are not supposed to be speaking with potential players until the close of the high school season, tales of coaches verbally recruiting key players to their clubs prior to the start of the season are very common and it can be a little disheartening for those players, like Frankie, who work hard and try to do things the right way.

Once the date has been set for the high school playoffs, the region announces a date when club tryouts may begin. This year that date is Saturday, November 19th. Almost every club in the valley then chooses that date and posts their tryout times, which, for Frankie's age group, are all on that very Saturday, at exactly the same time What this means for our girls is that if they do not make the team they want, or heaven forbid, make a team at all at the club they have chosen, there is almost no opportunity whatsoever to try out for another club. Talk about pressure, hm?

The first year that Frankie tried out for club, we knew nothing about the process. We simply showed up at AZ Sky the day of tryouts like the website told us to.  We knew nothing about National or American, nothing about Open or Championship or Club, we knew pretty much nothing at all. The parents were relegated to the bleachers while the girls were herded out onto two courts and what appeared to be a mad frenzy ensued. We watched coaches walk amongst the girls and then tap one on the shoulder - generally resulting in a squeal from the girl getting tapped and looks of envy from the rest of the girls.

Frankie was eventually picked for the fifth team formed and for her first experience, both in tryouts and in the club environment, I personally think she did exceptionally well.  She learned a lot, she began to grow tremendously as a player and her on-court personality started to develop.  If you have ever seen Frankie play, you know what I mean. I love to watch her - she is a presence on the court. Not only is she the only person you can ever hear, but she takes a true leadership role when she steps out there. To help, Frankie began to take private lessons and really focus on certain aspects of her game and when the following school season rolled around, she made her high school JV team as a freshman. She was over the moon!

Soon, we started talking about what club she might like to go to come club season.   I tried to ask other parents where their daughters were going, but mostly they were very hush hush about it. I couldn't understand why until a friend of mine told me that the parents are afraid that if they tell where they are going, that their own daughter's space on a team might be in jeopardy. Personally, I think that is ridiculous, and dishonest, but whatever.

Frankie's privates coach asked if we'd thought about Aspire, and because we really had no "in" at the previous club - we decided that it might be a good change for her - she would get to play with a whole new group of girls - and, if she made the 15-1 team, she'd get to play under the head coach for Hamilton High School, a woman that could really help take Frankie to the next level.

Tryouts were crazy! I think I was stressed more than my sweet girl was! Girls everywhere, parents everywhere! But, she went in there and gave it her best shot and I will be darned if she didn't end up being picked as the final player for the 15-1 team. Frankie's privates coach was there that day and she was just as giddy as I was about it!  Frankie knew she had her work cut out for her if she wanted to play - but she has never been one to shy away from a challenge and by the end of the season, she'd proven herself and was even starting some of the games.

The high school season this year was a little, well, just a little disappointing. The varsity coach left the school after the first month under somewhat tense circumstances so the JV coach, whom Frankie just adores, was moved to varsity, and while Frankie started and played every game this year, there was a lot of disorganization and confusion within the entire organization. My hope is that by next year, they will get that all worked out and Frankie will have a couple of good years with a new coach before going off to college. On a side note, if you know of anyone looking for a varsity volleyball coaching position, please, please, please let me know.

So, onto tryouts this year. We had such a great experience with Aspire, that as a family - we decided it was where Frankie should go this year as well. Except that the 16-1 coach is new to Aspire. And not only is she new to Aspire, she is new to Arizona, so whatever you did before - whoever you played for before, whether that be at Aspire or elsewhere - well, it just doesn't matter. Which, on one hand is a really great thing considering all that recruiting stuff I spoke about before, and on the other hand, can be quite unnerving for the girls, especially if they have a mediocre tryout.

In an effort to get Frankie in front of the coach prior to tryouts, in agreement with her privates coach, I scheduled a private lesson for her with the new coach. All I can say about that session is that it was a disaster of the greatest proportion. The coach suggested changing just about everything Frankie was doing - her approach, her hit, her serving. I watched from the bleachers, heart bleeding for my baby who was trying as hard as she could to adapt to every new thing the coach was showing her. I'd like to believe the coach was trying to get a feel for if Frankie was adaptable and coachable, and so if we look at it that, way, I feel the lesson went better than Frankie does, but suffice to say, it wasn't all that pretty.

Aspire also offers open gyms prior to tryouts. The new coach sent me an email suggesting that Frankie be at them. I discussed them with her and she agreed, so, I immediately replied that she would be.  Last Sunday and again last night, she attended open gym. For two hours, the coaches watch from the sidelines as the girls scrimmage and run drills. In Frankie's age group - 16u - there were 25 girls on the court last night and most of them new. Only one other girl from last year's team showed up. I am not sure if the other girls are so confident that they didn't feel the need to be there, but I can tell you, after watching the talent that showed up last night, I am beyond glad Frankie made the decision to go.

Tonight is the final open gym before tryouts tomorrow morning. At that point, we've talked about, whatever is going to happen will happen. She's putting in the work, and as a family, we've done what we can, so it will simply come down to if there is a place for her skill set on the team.

I can tell she is trying not to be stressed, but the truth is, she is and I understand. She has been short with me and in her own little world, which is one hundred percent completely how I get when I am stressed. I just know how much she loves the game, how much she absolutely loves to play, and that she wants to be the best that she can be. In my mind, she is a winner already - no matter what team she makes.

Last night, on the way home from practice, I finally got her to open up and talk to me a bit and I think that relieved some of the pressure she was feeling. We were able to enjoy our momo-and-frankie-driving-and-singing-at-the-top-of-our-lungs time which is something I think we both have been missing the past few months. That connection. That little bit of silly time we spend with each other back and forth to practice. It relaxed her and made her laugh. It made her remember that I'm in her corner and I always will be. But you know? I have to admit, it relaxed me a bit, too. I don't think I realized until last night just how much I have been missing her and our time together.

No matter what happens, I am beyond proud of you, Frankie girl, and I love you more than you can ever know - up to the sky around the world and back again. To in.fin.i.ty and beyond. Now, go show that coach just what you are made of!

You're a server, Frankie!!

momo rewind: a perfect day.

2011-11-16T09:55:00.000-07:00

There are times in our lives when the stars magically align and everything we hope and dream seems to come together perfectly. For me, Sunday was one of those days. It was THE perfect day - the perfect course, the perfect weather, the perfect support crew, the perfect race - all tied up in a perfect pink bow and topped with cherry 11:59:26.
I want to tell you all about it, but before I get into the nitty gritty of the race, let me first tell you that I have the best people ever. EVER. EVER. EVER. The ones that got up with me on Sunday morning to go down to the race, the ones that trained with me, swam with me, ran with me, biked with me, pushed me, encouraged me, picked me up when I needed it and brought me down when it was necessary. The people that prayed for me, emailed me, cheered for me, cried with me and loved me when I wasn't loving myself. Those people that told me to believe, those people that told me anything is possible. Those people that told me my mother would be proud, that donated to her cause and are helping to make a difference. Those people, MY PEOPLE, deserve that finisher medal way more than I do. I love you all. I hope I did you proud.

Now onto it...

Race week, I was a mess. I was nervous, I was agitated, short with everyone - especially my family - and even got into a misunderstanding with one my most favoritest girls in the whole wide world, leaving us both in tears. Thankfully, we worked that out, but its a true testament to what happens when you let your emotions run amok. IMAZ was doing that for me.

You see, for the last month, I've been worried. Not worried about finishing, because after three IM races, I figured I could probably finish - barring any crazy thing happening. No, I was nervous because of what this race meant to me. This race was about pushing myself. It was about going outside of my comfort zone, about believing in myself and about never, never giving up. These were traits my mother possessed, traits that I wanted to honor in her and ultimately, traits that I needed to prove that I possessed as well.

But what if I failed? What if I didn't live up to the expectations that I had for myself? Would that be failure? Could I live with it? How would I feel? As much as we hope it doesn't happen - reality is - not much goes according to plan these days, does it?

Mel, my coach, told me that I needed to visualize myself on the course. I had to see myself swimming easily, biking effortlessly, running lightly, and crossing the finish line at my goal time. Believe it and it can be done. So about a month ago, I created a dozen 3 x 5 cards with 12:15 on them and posted them around my house. Funny thing, no one ever asked me about them - not my family, not friends who came over. Maybe they just thought I'd finally gone nuts. Regardless, every single day I was forced to focus on 12:15. I knew it was doable. I'd done the math, I'd calculated the splits, I'd done the work to get myself there - all that was left was to show up and do it. Just do it, already.

Race day came early. I was up and out of bed at 3:30, woke up the supagirl and got the rest of my stuff together to head down to transition. Things were not progressing successfully (if you know what I mean...) so I folded a little laundry to try to speed the process.

That kind of worked, so supa and I loaded up the car and headed out to pick up the dogmom and get parked next to the motorhome down in Tempe.

Yes, I did say motorhome. Awhile back, Big J mentioned that it would be so awesome to have a "home base" for everyone who would be down at the race. It would give them a place to rest and get out of the sun (oh, and drink...) as I was making loop after loop around the city. Sherpa extraordinaire that he is, he scoped out the perfect spot immediately on the corner of Mill Avenue and Rio Salado, got permission from the property owner to park the motorhome there, and set up the most incredible momo-camp in the history of IM sherpa'ing. Seriously, I cannot do it justice. THAT is my Big J.

So we parked by the motorhome and headed down to transition. I put all my nutrition on my bike, dropped a few things in my bike and run bags, and then let the girls body-mark me up so I could put my wetsuit on.

We headed back to the motorhome so I could potty just about the time that Big J, Shane and the kids showed up. I can't tell you how happy I was to see them pre-race. Big J knew I was nervous. He hugged me and whispered that I was a rockstar and to just leave it all out there and that no matter what, he was proud of me. And at that moment, I decided to do just that. What the hell did I have to lose?

I headed down to the swim start. I watched the pros go off and got into the water. I had decided against doing a practice swim, you know - not wanting to tempt the Tempe Town Lake gods - so I wasn't sure how the water would feel. Surprisingly, it wasn't too cold - maybe 64ish or so. I walked along the edge of the water wall until I was under the northbound lane of the Mill Avenue bridge where I hung out with a few people for a few seconds as I watched all the others jump into the water. With three minutes to go - it was time to get get it done, so I waded in to tread a bit and wait for the gun. I positioned myself to the right, back just a bit and before I knew it - the canon went off and we were swimming. Well, kind of swimming. It was like the spin cycle in a washing machine - legs everywhere - arms everywhere. I got my hiney handed to me a number of times and am still surprised that I don't have a black eye. After stopping a few times to clear my goggles, I continued swimming.

The swim was an unknown for me this time around. Since my bike fall in May, I've been babying the rotator cuff tendon in my right shoulder. I'd done two longish swims, but no where near the volume I had done to prep for my other races. I knew I could swim it but at what pace? I started swimming, I sighted to the right - along the edge of the canal. I watched the buildings on Rio Salado pass by, I saw the mountain by the university, the ASU football stadium, and before I knew it - I was under the bridge at Rural. Just a few hundred meters to go and I'd be turning around. I took inventory, shoulder fine, breathing fine, all felt good, so I kept swimming. At one point I thought I should be singing to myself or something to pass the time, but then all of a sudden I was rounding the last buoy and being helped out of the water by one of the volunteers.

Wait, I'm finished? Already? Nice!

I grab my bag, see Big J and scream 1:12 baby!!! (I was dyslexic obviously, it was 1:21), hit the porta potty and head into the changing tent where I found an empty chair and started to change. I was having a hard time getting my bra-top down my wet body when I made eye contact with a volunteer I recognized in the tent. DeaAnn Bonell is a local triathlon coach. We'd met years ago, and although I'm not sure she recognized me, as she sees me struggling, she comes over to help. She is by far the best changing tent volunteer I have ever had, period. I'd spent about six minutes fumbling around by myself and in about two seconds flat she had me dressed, set and out of there headed to pick up Lupe on her rack.

Shouts and cheering followed us as I rode up the pathway and onto Rio Salado.

All of my family and friends were on the corner, and the send-off they gave me kept me going until I hit the beeline. The IMAZ bike is a three loop course. Seven miles out to the beeline highway, ten miles up then down times three. On the way up, we had a bit of a headwind, but once I hit the turn around, I was flying - easily 30 miles per hour at some points! I've been riding tentative lately, but not on Sunday - I was giving it all I had and letting my body and Lupe do their thing.

And, damn, I was passing people. LOTS of people, all over the place. Someone told me after the race that I made up over 400 places on the bike. Is that crazy or what?

As I neared the turnaround to head out to my first loop - I heard shouts - then a roar. I looked to my right and there are my people! They were standing on top of the motorhome, and next to the motorhome and all around - screaming and cheering - go momo! go momo! What a blast! I raised my hand to them, made the turn and headed back out. Loop 1 down.

The next two loops were a blur. I remember thinking - maybe I should be thinking about something in particular to pass the time - but I didn't. I just rode. I was aero about 95% of the time, head down. Efficient. Pedalling. I thought for a minute about my mom. She was with me - I could feel it. She was proud, I wasn't afraid. I just kept going.

As I neared the end of Loop 3, I couldn't believe I was almost done with the bike. I thought it was close to 6 hours, but my watch had lapped itself, so I wasn't exactly sure. I rode through the park, dropped of Lupe - almost kissed the volunteer who took her from me because I was so happy to be done - grabbed my bag and headed toward the changing tent. (bike time 5:54!)

DeeAnn was there waiting for me - ready to do this again, she said? Omg, YOU BET, let's GO! She took my stuff while I visited the portapotty, and we entered the changing tent together. Off with the shorts and shoes and helmet, on with my skirt and visor and running shoes and I was out of there, sunscreened up and ready to go in the neighborhood of 3:30 - which has to be some sort of record for me. THANK YOU, DeeAnn!!!

As I started to run, I was flying! Mel and I had talked about pace and plan for the run - and the 8:30 I was running was NOT part of the plan. I tried to slow down, but it felt awkward, so I kept running.

It was hotter than I expected and my heart rate monitor strap was bothering me, so at the first aid station, I pulled it off. I was also having a big of trouble breathing - but I'd brought my inhaler, so I took a puff. For the first time since the race started, I started to doubt myself. I crossed over the Mill Avenue bridge and heard Krista yelling for me. I stopped, tossed my HR strap to her and told her I couldn't breathe. She told me to use the inhaler. How often? I could have sworn she said, every couple of miles, so I said ok - and ran on. Apparently, though, she said every HOUR. Oh well, those seven shots of xopinex don't seen to have done me lasting harm...

Of the three run loops, the first was the hardest mentally. I think because it was so hot, and because I could see people struggling and it made me nervous. But I grabbed sponges at every aid station, squeezed one onto my body and put the other down my bra to keep my core cool. I drank coke, ate ice, drank water - anything to keep going and not get over heated. I don't remember thinking about anything in particular except KEEP GOING, just KEEP GOING.

Each and every loop, I saw my people multiple times. They had set up in a few different places, so after passing one group of them - I'd see another - then another - and they would be yelling and screaming and cheering at the top of their lungs. Did I need anything, was I ok, could I breathe? They were on me, keeping me focused and so I kept running and I kept looking at my watch, and for the first time all day - I truly believed that 12:15 was going to happen!

Shane ran along side of me at one point and said - Big J told me about your super secret goal (to beat his CDA time of 11:49:29). Go get it. Now, I'm not sure whether that was MY super secret goal, or Big J's but I took it to heart and kept on running as fast as I could.

Lap two down and out for the third and my quads were killing me. Much of IMAZ is run on cement and I just had not done enough concrete running to prepare. As I took inventory, though, they were the ONLY thing that was hurting and I thought that was a good sign, and it felt better to run than to walk, so I kept going. My pace on my garmin was always under 10 minutes per mile, but with walking the aid stations - it seemed a little longer. I crossed the Mill bridge for the final time, wound under and Shane ran up to me - 4.5 miles to go momo - if you do 10 min miles, you can beat my time - go get it!! I smiled, looked at him and said, Shane, I have 5.5 miles to go - and I'm going to do about 12:05 and I'm going to be so happy with that. We touched knuckles as he smiled at me and I was off.

The last few miles were tough. It had gotten dark and was cooling off, but I kept running. In fact, I was still passing people - they could have been loop 1 people or loop 2 people, it didn't matter. The mental boost of passing people keeps you going. I neared the Mill bridge, lights ablazing, for the final time and stopped to walk a few seconds. The guy next to me says - don't walk - you'll be sub 12 if you keep going.

Really? Sub 12?? I couldn't tell on my watch, so I just put my faith in him and RAN with all that I had. All that speedwork, all those pickups, training my body to endure the pain - it kicked in - and it was probably the best run half mile of my entire life. I headed toward the last turn and heard everyone yelling - you're going to be sub 12!!! - I made the turn and as I saw the clock - I was in an all out sprint to the finish. I can't tell you if Mike Reilly called my name. I can't tell you if there were any other people there, I can't tell you if anyone was cheering. All I can tell you is that I crossed that finish line and I threw my hands up into the air and I screamed -

Sub 12!!!! OH MY GOD - HOW COOL IS THAT??? (run time: 4:28)

And then I landed right into the open arms of more of my people - Marie and Stephen - who had volunteered as finish line catchers in hopes of catching ME! Honestly, how freaking cool is THAT?? (total time! 11:59:26)

As I sit now and look back, I learned a lot about myself out there. I've always said that Ironman is about the journey and not the finish, and even with a sub 12 finish, I'm still going to have to stand by that statement.

I learned that you need people, day in and day out - you need people. As much as I push them away, my people keep coming back, and for them and for that I am so grateful. Every corner, every turn on race day and in life - they are there - in person and in spirit. What an incredible blessing to me.

I learned that if you ask people to become involved, they will - you just have to ask. Anna's Ashes has 84 members and has raised over $3300! I just had to ask.

I also learned that making goals and holding yourself accountable are good things, hard as they are, scary as they are. Somedays we will achieve those goals, and somedays we won't - we've all been there, haven't we?

But on a few singular, special days - when we push ourselves past what we think is even possible - those are the days we surprise ourselves most and those are the days we learn the most about who we really are and what we're really made of. The are the days we blow our goals totally out of the water and those days - well, in my book, those days are just about PERFECT.

switzerland

2011-11-15T14:53:00.001-07:00

Just recently, I was reminded of a conversation I had once with a good friend of mine. As we were talking, my friend began to recount an incident that had occurred between herself and another friend of mine. I had already heard some of the details, and while I was very concerned about what had happened, in the interest of retaining both of my friendships, I told my friend, more than once, that I was not going to get involved, I told her that I intended to remain... neutral.

We chit chatted awhile longer, talking about this and that, and as we wrapped up our conversation, just before hanging up the phone, my friend blurts out - You know, Melisa, nobody likes Switzerland.

Now, I am more than certain that there are plenty of people that actually do like Switzerland, what with the skiing and the beauty of the country and even the incredible chocolate and all. In fact, I am sure I will absolutely love Switzerland if I ever get the opportunity to visit. But, as we all know, that was not what my friend was trying to say. And while not choosing a side in that particular instance was definitely the most wise thing I could have done in order to preserve both of my friendships, in hindsight as I look back at issues I have been exposed to, and those that I have chosen to speak about, I realize that I have tended to be Switzerland more often than I truly care to admit.

In my case, there are for the most part, only two reasons for this.  Initially, if we agree that the premise of most debate, in particular on controversial subjects, is to attempt to sway the other person's belief more toward our own, in other words, to get them on our side, then first, I do not always feel as if I have all the savvy to make an argument valid enough to sway the jury. I have always felt that for an argument to be sound, it should be backed up with fact and truth. However, there are things I believe just because I believe them and for me to insinuate that you should believe them just because I believe them would be, well, kind of silly, don't you think?

Secondly, and most importantly, at least for me - I so hate conflict! I don't want to fight with you, or with anyone for that matter. I do not want to make you feel as if, because I have a differing opinion, that I judge you or what you believe, because I do not.  (Oh, and just in case you were wondering... I sure don't like you doing that to me, either.) That being said, I'd like to think I value and appreciate differing opinions, because I do believe that by attempting to view another person's perspective, we continue to grow and develop our own opinions. Unfortunately, though, all too often, we see discussions on controversial subjects devolve into name calling or blame throwing. Log into facebook on any given day and you will see what could have been respectful and fruitful discussions, about religion, about politics, about recent news items, about just about anything, turning heated and oftentimes, nasty. I don't understand it. I don't think I will ever understand it. Mean is mean, so let's call it what it is. And while I respect my facebook friends' right to post what they feel is important, very rarely, if ever, will you see me participating in the action.

Lately, I have gotten to thinking about this, though, this neutrality thing that I hide behind. It is safe, very safe in fact, not to speak out or speak up or just simply speak at all.  But suddenly, and I would guess primarily in light of so much of what is going on in our world today, it just doesn't seem right, somehow, not to use my voice.  How can I stand up for what I believe in? How can I speak against injustice?   How can I hope to make any difference in this world?  And, honestly, how do I expect to teach my children to advocate for what they believe in if I am not their living, breathing role model?

Because, I do have one, you know.

A voice.

Yep. A powerful voice.

We all do.

Except that mine has been silent for too long a while now. I think it has just been waiting... mostly patiently waiting... for the time to come when I would learn to trust in it, to appreciate its worth, to believe in its strength. And while it might not be as highly educated as say, the President's or the Pope's, and while it will never be as sharp or as biting as some we might encounter on facebook, it is mine and mine alone.

My voice is tender and tinged with experiences that have made it rich.  My voice hurts with those that hurt and aches to shout against the injustice it witnesses. My voice sings praises and calms my littles, it speaks of sadness, it laughs at itself. My voice is a blend of those voices I have come to respect over the years. My voice will not insult you.  My voice will never judge you. I would like to hope that my voice might possibly evoke an emotion or two, and that it might perhaps provoke you to action, but believe me when I say, my voice will never intentionally harm you, and in that, you forever have my word.

Because my voice is not, any longer... Switzerland.

tuesday, toeday (that means ten!)

2011-08-02T16:40:00.002-07:00

And, believe it or not, right on time. Progress!

10. I have to tell you, uppermost in my mind today is the fact that my J's will be home tonight! Big J flew north on Friday, grabbed the motorhome from the farm in Iowa and picked Little J up on Saturday from camp. They've been roadtripping it, just the two of them, for the last three days headed home. I am so excited to see them, I can't hardly sit still. Seriously. Little J has been gone since June 17th. Can you count that out, mommas? One, two, three... almost seven whole weeks. If these summer camp times have taught me anything, it is that as much as I thought boarding school would be such a good opportunity for my boy, there is no way. No way, no how am I sending him anywhere for that long until it is one hundred percent necessary. You know, like college. And, depending on where he goes, maybe not even then.

9. Ok, yes, I will let him go to college. Please. Although... now that I'm in college too - maybe I could go with him. Especially if he goes to California. Hmmmm. I'm going to have to do some thinking on this one. ;-)

8. Speaking of college, I have to pay my tuition pretty quick here. I totally forgot about that little piece of information in all my excitement about being accepted. So, I've decided to sell Lupe. Seeing as she's basically brand new and even sports a pair of new wheels that have never been ridden, I don't think I will have a problem, so if you know anyone who is interested, definitely let me know. The skinny - she's an Orbea Ordu, 48 cm, all sram red with brand new Reynolds wheels. Details? Just email me.

7. The L key is possessed on my keyboard. It works. It doesn't work. It works. It doesn't work. Very frustrating.

6. I've been experimenting a bit. This is some important stuff here, so listen up. I'm attempting, very seriously, to give up my obsession with Lincoln Park after Dark. LP and I became friends about the time I started doing IM. All that running left my toes looking... well, looking pretty awful and not so pretty. I figured since a few of my toenails were already black, why not just paint them all that color.

So, this summer, in an effort to not be all in, I decided to try something new. Something way out there. Something crazy! Well, ok, they're pink so I guess for me, they're not that way out there, but I'm trying! And the best part, if you look real closely, they're sparkly! Yep, there's glitter on my toes! Woop!

5. Yes, I wear that toe ring all the time. Yes, even when I run. Yes, even when I run marathons and stuff.

4. It is 4 o'clock and Big J said they'd be home by 4, where are my boys????

3. Not this weekend, but next weekend, I am headed up to Utah to see my supagirl and do a little bit of trail running in a place where it is NOT a gazillion degrees at 5 am. I know in my last post I mentioned that I was not committing to any big races - but this little race is grandfathered since its been on the calendar for awhile now. Starting next Friday night, Linds, Emily, me and another yet to be named runner girl will be competing in an 18 hour relay called r-scape in Ogden, Utah. Fun, fun times I tell you. The course is a just over 6 mile loop through the mountains in Ogden and home base will be set up at Ogden High School. The race requires us to just keep rotating runners until the 18 hours are up and at the end - the team with the most rotations wins. Easy peasy!

Bonus for the trip is that the house that Nytro and Benny built is less than a mile away and I might finally get to meet Mille and give her a big momo squeeze!

2. In my last post, I quoted Eminem. I should have pointed that out somewhere, I promise I wasn't intending to plagiarize, it just slipped out. Kind of like the s word does now and then. I've been thinking about this and I can't very well tell the littles not to use that kind of language if I am using it, now can I? So, I've really been trying to work on it the past few ... um, the past little bit and thanks to my sweet Nana, my new favorite phrase is... Ready for this? Shut the front door!

Frankie tells me that that is not as funny as I think it is - but I think its hilariously funny so I intend to continue saying it. Just like I intend to continue to 'like' my own statuses. And 'that's what she said' myself. Because I can.

1. They are home!! Gotta go!

much love!!

a new year

2011-07-31T15:31:00.001-07:00

Every year, at the end of December, I hear my friends and family begin talking about their New Year's resolutions - their plans to improve this part of their life or that part of their life. Generally these resolutions have something to do with getting active, hitting the gym, starting a new hobby, improving some portion of their lives that they feel is lacking. The focus being the things that they think they should be doing because up until this point they believe they haven't been doing them. At least not with much regularity.

Strangely, I've never felt this way at the end of the year. Although New Year's Day holds many special memories and we engage in lovely traditions that have been handed down from my mother, personally, I have never felt that January 1st is the beginning of anything in particular. Yes, the calendar begins anew and yes, another year is added to the end of any date I write, but as for starting fresh? Starting new? Making plans? Changing habits?  Perhaps it is the student in me, but in my opinion, January 1st seems to fall not in the beginning - but smack dab in the middle of the year. Instead, my new year begins right about the time kids start returning to school, right about the time summer vacation is drawing to a close.

Ironically, in church today, Father Andrew spoke of this very thing. The Orthodox liturgical calendar begins September 1st and the first feast day we celebrate is the Nativity, the birth, of the Virgin Mary. Throughout the year, we celebrate all the milestones of the life and death of Jesus - his birth, his death, his ascension into heaven, and then at the end of the year - or in August, we celebrate the Dormition of the Theotokos - the falling asleep (death) of the Virgin Mary. If you think about it - basically - we celebrate in one year - the entire lifespan of two people - birth to death.

Father Andrew explained that the period leading up to the celebration of the death of Jesus' mother is somewhat of a last chance opportunity to get it right. The Church sets aside fifteen days from August 1st to August 15th to allow us to do some thinking on just exactly what we've been doing the past eleven months, and in bigger picture, what we've been doing the past however many years of our lives. Have we been living the life we were meant to live, the life God wants us to lead? Have we been doing what we should, what is right? What are our plans going forward?

Maybe subconsciously, I knew this, although I have to admit, I was sitting in church wondering where I'd been the past forty two years that I was just now hearing the whole explanation of the liturgical calendar. I mean, hello? But, then suddenly, I realized that over the past thirty years or so, toward the end of the summer, I have tended to do this very thing in my life.  Come the end of summer, I start to examine my life.  I reexamine, often many times. I evaluate where I've been. I plan where I want to go. I set goals.

I have to be honest and say that I am not fun to be around during this time. The soul searching makes me moody, difficult to be around - ask anyone. I believe that part of my moodiness stems from the fact that I often get disappointed that I'm not further along the path that I'd set for myself the previous year. And partially because I stubbornly realize that change doesn't happen overnight, or even in one year, and the impatient part of me gets... well, impatient.

Because, and I am sure this is nothing new to you, I am a need it right now kind of girl.

This year, the thinking part started out exactly the same. Big J, Frankie and I traveled to Coronado at the beginning of July and because I have so much time on my hands when I am there... I begin to think. I thought and I thought and I thought until I swear, I honestly thought my head might explode.

Mostly for the simple reason that that this year, I want things to be different.

Every year at this time, I go about making my plans for growth, for change, my goals. Sometimes these plans are small little tweaks, barely noticeable in the grand scheme of things to anyone at all but me. Sometimes, though, they are big, grandiose, and more often than not, it is these very plans that have had a tendency to derail me at some point or another throughout the year.

Because, not only am I hugely impatient, but because when I go in - I go all in.

For example, right about this time in 2005, I decided I wanted to take up the sport of triathlon.  Never mind that up until this point I had only been running. Never mind that I had not been in a pool to swim laps in easily twenty years. Never mind that I didn't even own a bike, any kind of bike, and that I hadn't actually ridden a bike since probably college. Never mind that not only did I say I wanted to do triathlon, I wanted to do Ironman. Just details...

And so I did. I was all in.  I became a triathlete. I bought a bike, I started swimming, I began to train day in and day out and triathlon became my life.   I slept, ate and breathed triathlon for the better part of five years. As did my family, much to their dismay.

And although it was a wonderful experience, because it truly was, and although, triathlon did much for me over the years, because it really was tremendous to me - it also caused me much grief.  The simple fact of the matter is that I entered into training at a time when there were some things happening in my life that I simply could not, did not, know how to handle, and bottom line, I needed a diversion. An out. An escape. And a big one at that.

Triathlon allowed me this. It took up so much of my time that I did not have time to deal with the feelings that were swimming around inside my head and my heart. On one hand, this was a blessing, because as sometimes things do - the hurt became less and I found myself once again able to open up about my feelings. On the other hand, however, because of my nature, because of my tendency to be all in, I shut the door on some people who meant the most to me. I felt that I could not deal with their feelings, their thoughts, at that point in time, and so I simply didn't. I closed them off and I focused on triathlon.

Unsurprisingly, the decision to end it happened just as quickly. As quickly as I decided I wanted triathlon, I decided I didn't want it any more, and I was done, right smack dab in the middle of a training cycle. Sell it all, eschew the sport, done.

This time, however, I want the new year to be different. I want to be different.  I want to deal head on with my feelings and my needs, rather than substitutionally pouring them into something that only temporarily fills the void. Believe me when I say I've spent many a day and night recently thinking about my history of going all hot and then all cold because, to tell you the truth, the all in all out thing gets a little tiring after awhile.

For a period last year, I only did yoga. Four, five days a week. Yoga, yoga, yoga.   I wore yoga clothes, I bought yoga stuff.  I was going to be a yoga instructor, remember that? And then... then, I did no yoga what so ever. I wanted to do yoga, but I was running, running, running training for a marathon where I was going to try to BQ, and the yoga made me dehydrated so I decided I couldn't do both. At that point, I chose running. And I ran and I ran and I ran and I ran. And then I stopped running for awhile because I became injured and I decided, what the hell, I should train for Ironman again. So I biked and I swam and I got up early and went to bed early instead of spending time with my family and I ignored my non-Ironman friends, and I was... all in... Until I wasn't anymore.

Tired yet, because I am exhausted.

After all my thinking and thinking, the conclusion I've come to this year is that I'm taking it slow. I'm taking everything slow this year. Easing into it, if you will.  A little of this, a little of that, but no big lots of anything.

A little bit of running but no big races. A little bit of school, just to get the feel for it. A little bit of reading, a little bit of writing, a little cross fit, a little taximom, a little lunch with the ladies, a little travel, a little shopping, a little whatever happens to catch my interest at that particular moment in time.

I know its going to be hard. I have already had to hold myself back more than once. When I registered for school, the advisor I spoke with said that I could only take nine credits prior to applying for the Master's program so, and these were her words exactly, don't go crazy. I emptied my class shopping cart at asu.edu and picked just one. When my running partner asked me when I was planning on doing my 50 this year, I caught myself from blurting out Zane Grey! and said instead, I'm not sure, I don't know if I will do one this year - I'm building my base.

More importantly than taking it slow, however, I'm going to be asking myself, why? Why is it I want to do this? Why is it that I feel I need to do this?  As is more than evident by my history, I have a tendency become involved in things, especially things that take up an incredible amount of my time, as a escape from dealing with situations I don't want to or feel equipped to deal with.  Subconsciously, I have been convinced that if I ignore a situation long enough, it will mysteriously go away. Poof. Just like that.

But we all know the truth about that one, don't we?

So, yes, I'll be asking why. And thinking long and hard about the answers and making my decisions and choices the informed big girl kind of way. And maybe I'll even go back to therapy because even though I left there every day madder than all get out, spitting venom in every direction, I think it might actually have been helping.

Regardless, I am determined to try it and let things fall where they may. At the very least, the attempt at tempering my natural instincts should provide for some amusing blog fodder over the next few months.

love!

tuesday, toeday (that means ten!)

2011-06-15T10:27:00.006-07:00

and, again, as usual, one day late. ;)

10. Ironically, considering these tuesday things are always delayed, I am actually never late to where I need to be. Never. If anything, I'm mostly way early. I like to scope things out - get the lay of the land (momospeak for: locate the bathrooms and the exits) - and I hate to have anyone have to wait for me.

My family, on the other hand, is always late. Always. It makes me crazy.   Without fail, every time Big J and I have plans, I will start getting ready hours in advance. Generally around the time I've finished drying my hair and am about to get dressed, and after two or three you know this thing starts at 6:30 right? reminders, he'll wander in and begin getting ready. Then I stand around, all dressed, waiting. And waiting. And yes, that shirt looks good with those shorts and yes, flip flops are fine.

And then, just about the time he's finally ready to go? After I've waited and waited and waited? Yep, right then, as he is heading to the car, I always say I have to use the bathroom. :) But, just between you and me? I don't always have to.   I'm just passive aggressive like that.

9.   Little J leaves for camp this week.  On one hand, I am beyond excited for him because I know how much he loves it there and I know how wonderful the experience is for him. On the other hand, though - damn, if I am not gonna miss the kid. As sixteen as he is right now (moms, you know what I'm saying), he's also a love and he makes me laugh every day.  Recently, he's taken to calling me ma dawg. It goes something along these lines:

Little J: MA DAWG!!!
momo:   MA SON!!!!
Little J: MA DAWG!!!
momo: MA SON!!!!

At which point, he wraps his arms around me, picks me up and kisses me on the forehead.  Whatever Big J and I did with him, we did it right, because he is a good kid and I'm really, really going to miss him.

8. Two of my new running friends are doing a 50 mile race this weekend in Colorado called San Juan Solstice. Its supposed to be hard.  Like, really hard.   As if the simple fact that they are running 50 miles isn't hard, in and of itself. Then, one of them is doing a 100 mile race in July. And the other is doing a 100 mile race in November.

Think about that for a second. 100 miles. IN A ROW. On foot. Does anyone beside me think that this is crazy?   I mean, for some reason it does not seem crazy when we're talking about it, you know? Out there while we're running and talking the talk. No, when we're talking about it out there, it seems pretty normal and that fact actually kind of scares me just a teensy little bit.

But then I drive 100 miles and I think - omg, this is far.  Eventually, I do think I want to run 100 miles, and when we talk about it - I am certain that with the proper training, I could totally do it. Did I just say that??  But on the flip side, I've also been thinking how I am getting my hiney kicked each and every wednesday at wmrc doing only six miles, so 100?

Oh, my hell, why not? What else do I have to do now that I'm retired (for the second time) from IM?

7. That being said, Tracy won't let me sell Lupe just quite yet. She is all cleaned up, new wheels, new tape and I was this close to putting her on ebay when Tracy intervened. I just know she has something up her sleeve and she is way worse than me when it comes to roping people into her crazy ideas. Add that to the fact that I have cmo disease and well, she and I are a match made in endurance heaven.

6. 100 miles. That's as far as it is from Tempe to Tucson. omg, omg, omg.

5. Last Thursday was Big J's fiftieth birthday. I have to tell you, I feel really sad for people who do not celebrate themselves when they have a milestone birthday like 40 or 50 or 60. It really is so much fun! And although Big J decided that he didn't want to have a big bash, he still did it up right, aka Angelone style.

He invited his motorcycle buddies, a few close friends and our family to dinner at a local restaurant, El Charro. Funny story - El Charro is where, on our third date, I told Big J that I was going to marry him and we about lost him forever as he about choked on his deep fried lobster. ;)

Dinner was lovely, the celebrations were crazy fun and when the motorcycle guys showed up at our house Friday morning to take the birthday boy on a weekend boys trip, let me just say that Big J was feeling all the love (you so know I mean whiskey) from the night before.  ;-)

Here are a few pictures... Bliss Boutique Photography.

4. Those pictures were taken by a friend of mine, Vanessa. She is the one and only, Miss Bliss herself, and believe me when I say, she is more than incredible. I mentioned back in December that I have been trying to have family pictures taken for over a year. I've made and broken three appointments because not one of my family has wanted to cooperate.  So, when the birthday dinner became a reality and I knew I had them held captive, I invited her to join us for a bit. Take a look at those pics and you will understand when I say I am so happy I did! They are, well, they are simply perfect. They have captured Big J in all his big love glory to the proverbial t.

3. You know when they say take lots and lots of pictures of your children because the time goes so quickly? Well, we did. All the way up until they got old enough to take their own pictures and then suddenly, I had a photo here and there, generally taken at some gathering, but nothing like the six thousand I have of the littles between the ages of newborn to eight.

This makes me really sad.

I have a wonderful friend, Rachel, also an incredible photographer, whose oldest daughter just graduated from high school. At the celebration party, Rachel showed a slide show that she had put together for her daughter of the previous eighteen years. Photos upon photos upon photos. I was awestruck. Each and every pivotal moment in her life, and just as many common, silly, day to day ones, became loving mementos handed down from mom to daughter, to take with her into as she enters into the next phase of her life. What a loving and priceless gift, don't you think?

I thought about the moments in my own life that I wished were captured on film, days that I'd like to remember, events that I'd like to revisit. Its mind boggling what potent memories and intense emotions a simple image on a piece of paper can bring back to us, isn't it?

All I can say is that it has definitely given me a renewed interest in making sure I am doing my best to document my littles' lives a little better. And knowing people like Vanessa and Rachel doesn't hurt either.

2. I heard a song on the radio today called Homesick by MercyMe.   It made me cry. I think that's all I'm going to say about that right now, because as I think about it for a minute, that could lead to an entire post all its own.

1. I am trying to give up texting as a way to keep in touch. I used to think that texting was an easy and quick way to say hi and I'm thinking 'bout you, but what I'm realizing is that it allows me to go days upon days upon days without any verbal communication with the people I love. And imho, there is something so not right about that.

So, in the immortal words of Skyy - call me, if you need some one to talk to.  Although... satisfaction (is not necessarily) guaranteed.

much love!

fears

2011-06-13T10:36:00.004-07:00

A year or so after my mother died, I began mentoring under the wife of the pastor at the church that I attended. The pastor's wife had a ministry that she called Prickly Perspectives and the mission of her ministry was to work with women who were going through something prickly - a divorce, a life change, or, as in my case, a death.

She and I met every other week for almost a year during which time, we spoke quite a bit about me, about my mother, and about the relationship that we shared. Periodically she would give me exercises to complete on my own during the two weeks we were apart, and then during our next appointment - we would discuss the assignment and what I had learned about myself while working through it.

One such exercise came on the heels of a realization I made during one of our meetings. At that particular session, we began talking about our inner circles. By inner circle, I mean the people we trust to share our most deep, most dark, most personal selves with. Some women have a rich and robust inner circle - friends or family that they have known for years and years and relationships that have withstood the test of time.

My mentor asked me about my inner circle. She asked me, if you were at the lowest point in your life, or, conversely, if you were at the highest point in your life, who would you call to share that news with?

My answer was immediate. My mother.

But she is not here, she replied. Who now?

I thought about it and suddenly I realized that, while I have a few women in my inner circle, women that I have shared little bits and pieces of my heart with periodically, there is no one who really knows all of me.

Fast forward to last Friday and during a very heated telephone call with my sister, she tells me that I am unavailable, selfish. She wants to be there for me, but I am not open, I do not share, I do not trust. Who do you call when you are angry, momo? Who do you lean on? I call you, she said, but who do you call?

This time my answer was just as immediate. No one.

I thought about what she said and sadly, I realized she was exactly right. I am selfish that way. I am selfish with my feelings, I am selfish with my emotions, I am selfish with me.

I wondered why this was. On one hand, I know that we can all say that at some point in our lives we have opened ourselves up and that it has come back to hurt us in one way or another. I am no exception. But on the other hand, I also know that at this particular time in my life, I have an inner circle that is incredible. I have women in my life that are wonderful, beautiful human beings. Women that would listen. Women that would not judge. Women that would support and encourage and cheer with me every step of my journey, matter where that journey led.

And, ironically, women who feel safe and comfortable enough to share their innermost thoughts with me.

All weekend, I thought about what my sister said. I thought about my relationship with my mother. I thought about my willingness to open up, to trust, and the only thing I can come up with is this...

I told my mother everything. She was my rock, my voice of reason. She was the one person, above all, who was always in my corner. She laughed with me. She cried with me. I could call her at six am or midnight and I knew she would be there.

And then... well, you know the rest... And then she went and died.

And I had no one. I was alone with my misery. Just me.

And it hurt so incredibly that I think deep down, a little part of me, a little part of my heart, died too. And the rest of it just closed itself off... From hurt. From loss. From ever letting that happen to me again.

I know my sister was right. It is selfish. I am selfish. With my feelings, with my emotions, with me. I know that she loves me and she wants to be there for me. I know that my inner circle feels the same.

But deep down, truth is, I am afraid. I am afraid that if I open myself up, if I allow myself to care, if I love deeply, if I share all, if I do those things? If I do those things, well, simply put, I am afraid that I will lose... you, too.

regrets?

2011-05-18T15:58:00.004-07:00

I wondered if I would have any.

I wondered just how I would feel as I started to see the status updates on facebook begin to reflect the excitement in the air, the anticipation of the big day. Would I wish I were there? Would I wish I'd chosen differently? Would I? Even the teensiest little bit?

As I sit here, I suddenly realize that I don't - have any. Not at all. I'm happy right where I am, right here, right now. And all I guess I can surmise from that realization is that the decision I made for me was, indeed, the right one.

Not that it was easy, you know? I mean, yes, the writing was on the wall. If you spent any time at all with me the past few months, you would have known. You could have guessed. Many, during those long hours together when all you can do is think aloud, probably did. And yet I plugged on. Kept on keeping on. Did everything and all that I was supposed to do, directed to do, needed to do.

Until the day when I suddenly realized that the square peg I was pounding just was not going to fit into the proverbial round hole, no matter how hard I tried.

I talked my decision over with a few friends. Initially, it was exploratory. I might not... I'm thinking about not... Their reactions were mixed and so I vacillated. One day, I called it quits. The next, I said, well maybe yes. For a few weeks, though, I couldn't help feeling as if somehow, someway, the decision was less about my desire and more about the fear of disappointing those that believed in me.

Would they call me a quitter? Would they understand? Would they think less of me? Those thoughts and others similar kept me occupied day after day. I look back now on those few months, and I wonder why I would ever let the fear of being called a quitter push me ever forward into participating in something I just wasn't loving anymore.

But I did. For quite a long time. And then, I stopped. Just like that.

Because I realized that only I can know what is right for me. And while it might not be what another would choose, and while it might not be the most popular decision, and while it might not really even make any sense at all, it is, incredibly, right for me.

Therefore, I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that for me, for today, for the big day that is looming on the horizon for a few of my near and dear, that this decision? It was right for me.

So, no. No regrets. Not a single one.

this me

2011-05-13T14:14:00.000-07:00

For the last two years, I have volunteered on one, and only one, committee at the little's high school. Those who know me best know that even being on one committee is a big deal for me - since I tend to avoid those situations like the plague. This is not because I feel as if I don't have something to offer, truth is, I'm quite sure that my experiences in life and in my work would make me a valuable committee member. No, I avoid participating simply because I do not like large groups of ... women.

When my mother was in college at Ball State, she was instrumental in bringing the sorority Alpha Phi to her campus. When it was my turn to go to college at the University of Arizona, I was considered a legacy and for the most part, Alpha Phi would have had to accept me. Except that I didn't rush, because something about putting twenty or thirty or forty or, heaven forbid, a hundred women in the same room, and all I want to do is run screaming the other way.

I used to tell myself that this was because I am most comfortable, most authentically me, when I am one on one with someone.   You know, a one-best-friend kinda gal? But, what I've discovered over the past few years, is that all I've really been doing is lying to myself.

When I get together with my close friends, I'm engaged, active.   I'm open and I share what I think, what I feel, who I am. But, put me in a group of women and I instantly become that little mouse I was likened to by a friend of Big J's when we first were married. I am afraid that I'm being judged, afraid that I won't measure up, not funny enough, not pretty enough, don't have this or that, insecure, anxious, exposed.

And so, I avoid. I avoid situations that would place me out of my comfort zone. And, to be completely honest, I tend to be a bit rebellious at the same time, making the fitting in that much more difficult. So, that all being said, last year, when a sweet friend of mine asked me to be part of her committee at school, trust me, yes was not my first response.

But I did say yes and sitting on my desk is a lovely photograph of me and a gaggle of beautiful, talented NDP moms which reminds me daily that sometimes stepping out of the box can be a good thing.

Fast forward to this year and my friend and I have agreed to once again chair the same committee. A date is set for our first meeting and I attend, happy to see a number of the same faces from last year, and happy to catch up from the summer break with the new friends that I have made. As the meeting gets underway, we all realize that a co-chair has not been named for the overall event. Last year's co-chair has become this year's chairwoman, but she has no co-chair to assume the reins for next year. We discuss this fact, briefly, before going on with the rest of our business.

As I left the meeting that evening, I started thinking about the upcoming year. At that point, I had yet to commit fully to IMTX, I was already anticipating that Little J would be driving soon cutting down my taxi driving, and work had been a bit slow. I had a bit of free time on my hands, and although I'd never co-chaired an event, I was sure that given the opportunity, I could do the job and do it well.

When I got home that night, I shot an email to the chairwoman and volunteered. Almost immediately, she replied what a wonderful idea she thought it was and how excited she was to be able to get to know me and work with me. She thanked me profusely for volunteering and said that she was going to let the office of development at NDP know that the event now had a co-chair.

I shared the news with Big J, who was happily surprised to see me getting more involved with the little's school, although a bit shocked that it was in the kind of committee that it was. He said he thought I would do great and that the event was lucky to have me.

I went to bed that night hopeful. Hopeful that I was turning over a new leaf. Hopeful that this opportunity, this new found confidence in participating in a group, especially a group one hundred percent made up of women, would help to dispel the feelings of insecurity that I have tended to have.

The next morning, in my email box was a note from the chairwoman. Let me preface by saying that she was beside herself, I could tell from the tone of her words. She is an incredibly sweet woman and she was put into a position that was very difficult for her by having to reply to me. Anyway, the note said that the director of development at the school had decided to interview for the position and that the chairwoman should thank me for my interest but... basically - no thanks.

No thanks. Not good enough. Not the right experience. Not the right contacts. Not the right image. Not the right ... you fill in the blank.

I began to doubt myself, yet again. Why wasn't I good enough and how do they know if they won't interview me? What did I do to make the director believe I was incapable of handling the job?  Is it because sometimes I wear workout clothes to pick up the littles? Is it because my tattoo is visible? Have we not donated enough money to the school the past few years?   Does she just not like me? What? What is it?

I talked about it with Big J, with my friends. I stewed about it. I got angry. I felt rejected. Why in the world had I put myself out there in the first place?

And then, a little voice inside reminded me that it really didn't matter. Her reasons, their reasons, they meant nothing to me. Maybe I am finally growing up, maybe the therapy I've done has finally started to work, but regardless...  I realized that I honestly did not care why she didn't want me. I have spent last forty-two years becoming who I am, getting happy with me.  Its taken work, hard work, and the bottom line is that I won't let her or anyone take that away from me. I refuse to try to fit into her mold - anyone's for that matter - just to play nice. Been there, done that, its time to move on.

It's been a long time coming, but you know what? I have a lot to offer. And I believe in me.

And if this me is not good enough for you, madame director, then that is simply your loss.   Oh, and now that the event is over and you still have no co-chair, how do you like me now?

tuesday, toeday (that means ten!)

2011-04-13T09:46:00.002-07:00

... and one day late just to keep you on your toes ...

10. Tomorrow I am headed to California with Frankie for the Southern CA National Qualifier. Which is a fancy way of saying - I'm headed to CA to watch a whole lotta volleyball. The games start on Friday, so on Monday, I sent Frankie a text at school asking her if she wanted to go a day early and visit with Mickey and his friends. Her reply? YESSSS!!! THIS MAKES MY LIFE! I love that girl.

9. While I'm in CA, my schedule calls for a three hour run. I sent feelers out to the other parents who will be traveling to the tournament, asking if anyone was interested in joining me and got a surprisingly large number of responses. Unfortunately, they were along the lines of, what are you crazy? and I can't even ride a bike that long!  So, it looks like its going to be me, myself and I running this weekend. Which isn't all bad - especially when I get the opportunity to run along the beach. I love the beach. I'll be sure to post some pictures so you can all be jealous. ;)

8. Speaking of loving the beach, I get periodic updates from ZipRealty about homes that come up for sale in Coronado and yesterday, I found my dream home. Four bedrooms, four baths, modern lines, right in the village.   Even Big J loved it but we agreed there was just one problem. Dumb job.  I mean, the littles and I could move there in a heart beat, but Big J? Not so much. I told him we'd be fine with him commuting back and forth each week. I mean, seriously. How old could that get, really?

7. I kept up the Wednesday morning group today for the entire first half of the run! No matter that they're all doing Zane Grey this weekend and they're in taper mode. I mean, I was so right there, I could have totally been leading the group.

6. Ok, so I might have been exaggerating just a teensy bit about the leading the group part.

5. Back in December, after I had my colonoscopy, the doctor told me to start taking a pepcid otc every single day to control some of my symptoms. I took it religiously for about three months, until I happened upon an article in one of Big J's magazines where it listed some medications that you should really avoid becoming dependent upon because of the side effects - things like pepcid being one of them. Of course, that scared the sh*t out of me so I stopped taking it - cold turkey - the rebound effect of which has made me feel god awful miserable the last few weeks.

I asked my coach Mel to recommend a nutritionist or a naturopath and she sent me to a woman here in town that her husband knows and I was able to get in to see her yesterday. I just have to say I love her! I had my appointment yesterday which I prefaced with - I am not good at taking medicine - but my tummy, oh my tummy!   She recommended that I take 1/2 tsp of baking soda in some water when I first get up to try to neutralize the acidity - which I did before I ran with the group this am, and whaddya know? The tummy feels just fine.

Now, I know one day does not prove anything, but if it works, how easy would that be?

We also did some blood work to try to figure out if I'm having any food allergies - oh, Lord, please do not let me be allergic to peanut butter - so I am pretty hopeful that we might actually get to the bottom (no pun intended) of this this time!

4. Speaking of Zane Gray.   Its my A race next year. Just throwing that out there now so y'all can hold me accountable.

3. April 18th is coming up. Don't forget.

april 18th.
tpc.
be kind.

2.   On Wednesdays when I head down to meet the group, it is still dark outside.   We generally wear headlamps for the first half hour or so, although, the sun is coming up earlier now and a few brave souls went naked this morning. Anyway. One of my favorite sights when I head up the road to the preserve is looking to my left at Piestawa Peak and seeing all the little lights climbing slowly up the mountain. Its so - peaceful looking, you know?   Little lights, strung out along the path, they always make me smile.

1. A few weeks ago, while I was running with my friend JJ, he was talking about the loss of his parents - just a short 7 months apart. He mentioned that he'd gone to grief counseling for awhile afterwards and that it had helped him tremendously. He recounted an exercise that they did in the group early on where they were asked to write down the things that people had said to them after learning about the loss of their loved one. Things like, he's in a better place.  Or, she's not suffering anymore. Or, God never gives you more than you can handle. Or, you'll forget the pain after awhile. Or, life goes on. Or... you get the picture. Well intentioned words that, forgive me, are simply a load of crap.

The song Breakeven by the Script is about a man whose girlfriend has moved on to a new relationship and he's broken hearted. The chorus goes something along the lines of... cuz when a heart breaks, no it don't break even.   Which is pretty damn true of many situations, isn't it?  Break up, death, change, illness. But, the lyrics in the song that I really love are these:

they say bad things happen for a reason

but no wise words gonna stop the bleeding

In my humble opinion - forget the sympathies and sorries and thinking about yous - put that on a hallmark card instead.

why?

2011-04-06T09:26:00.008-07:00

As you know, the littles are getting older now.   The conversations around our dinner table have changed. No longer are we discussing Zoe 101 or Club Penguin or any of the various things we used to talk about a few years ago. No, now we're talking about adult things. We're talking about things like who is dating whom and who does drugs and whose parents let them drink at home and why a sweet, thirteen year old boy would choose to commit suicide.

Yes, you read that right. The littles, Frankie in particular, had a friend that killed himself last week.   They want to know why. They want to understand. They want to try to make sense of it. But, honestly, how can I ever hope to explain something to them when I don't even understand it myself?

Through the years, I have had a few loved ones commit suicide. One was during my sophomore year of college. My friend, Mel, and his girlfriend, Lucy, lived in the apartment next to mine.   Mel was a really great guy - totally smart (National Merit Scholar), interesting, fun to be around. My sophomore year was one of turmoil for me, and I remember feeling completely comfortable whenever I visited Mel and Lucy in their apartment. We'd act silly, we'd listen to music, they taught me to smoke. In hindsight, maybe that wasn't such a good skill to have learned, but well, it was college and all. Regardless, I have very fond memories of the time we spent together and the things I learned during that time, about myself - about life.

Lucy had gone home to visit her family over a break from school and upon her return, Mel was to pick her up at the airport. He left her a message that he couldn't be there and to catch a cab. She did, and when she got home, she found him, hanging from the shower head in their bathroom.

I will never understand why. I have tears in my eyes as I type this, even now, some 25 years later. I mean, truly. Yes, his home life was hard.  But isn't everyone's at some point or another? His father held some secret government position and I don't remember much about his mother. But he had everything going for him...   or so it seemed.

Through the years, there have been a few others. Friends. Acquaintances. People I have known who have chosen a path that I simply cannot, no matter how hard I try, understand.

In my past, there have been times when I have been sad. I have been extremely sad. There have been dark days in my own life where I have looked around and wondered how the hell I could have gotten to this place. But. And I guess this is a big but, I've never felt hopeless. I always knew that my mother was there to help me when I needed it. And when she wasn't physically there any longer, my father. And Big J. And the people I hold close and call my friends.

Inside, I always knew, no matter how deep I sunk into that abyss, that there would be someone on the other side holding out their hand - all I had to do was reach for it.

Did this young boy not know that?   Big J knows his father, how could he not know that his father would there for him? That he loved him, no matter what? What about a teacher, a friend, a friend of a parent?

Big J and I have a wonderful, open, relationship with the littles. Based on the conversations we've had, I know they feel comfortable talking to me and particularly to Big J about anything and everything. I know when they are sad. I know when they are happy. I know when something is bothering them and when they want space and just how much space to give them before I need to reel them back in.

Will this be enough? Enough to keep them from following a similar path? I hope to God that it is.

We talked about their friend. We talked about the feelings of hopelessness, the feelings of having no one to talk to, no one to rely upon. My littles didn't understand it any more than I did and, honestly, for that I was grateful. But it didn't stop them from wondering why. From wondering if there was something they could have done. From wondering how he could have hidden it so well, from everyone, that he was hurting so very badly.

The very same things I wondered when Mel died. The very same things I still wonder today.

I don't know that there will ever be an answer. As I look back in my own life, there were signs of Mel's unhappiness, but we didn't see them as serious. They were just hurdles. Hurdles that everyone has to go through at some point, right? Frankie's friend was unhappy, acting out, but how could we possibly imagine that things might end the way that they did? When you cannot ever fathom an action, how can you anticipate it? How can you possibly ever hope to prevent it?

I held my two just a bit tighter when I kissed them goodnight that evening. As if somehow, my closeness, my love, would keep them happy and safe.  And as I went to bed myself that night, I said a prayer for the family of the littles' friend, wishing them some semblance of peace from this unspeakable tragedy of a sweet young life cut way too short.

tuesday, toeday (that means ten!)

2011-04-05T13:35:00.003-07:00

We haven't had a Tuesday ten in awhile, so let's get down to it...

10. Have you ever really taken some time to think about the concept of paying it forward? I think about it. A lot, actually. I think about things that I have done that would be considered paying it forward.   I think about things that are done for me that I would consider paying it forward.

I watch the television commercials - you know the ones from Liberty Mutual where people see other people doing nice things and so in turn, they do nice things?  In the commercials they call it 'being responsible'. But, I often wonder if it really works that way.   When I pick up that empty soda can and toss it into the trash, is the man across the street watching? Does he even notice?

And then I wonder who even came up with the concept of paying it forward in the first place? I mean, truly, isn't paying it forward simply a new term for exactly what Liberty Mutual suggests - being responsible? Or, how about the golden rule?  Since the beginning of time, haven't we been encouraged to treat others as we would like to be treated?  Just how difficult is that, really?

9. Frankie and her team kicked booty at the volleyball tourney this weekend. She came off the court after the first game where they knocked out the #2 seeded team and whispered in my ear - my coach hugged me! I've spoken about Frankie's coach before, so you get what I'm saying here. It was a big moment for my girl.

8. Last week I was riding my bike, in the bike lane where I was supposed to be, and a car honked and buzzed me as it went by at 50 miles per hour. Instinctively, a not so nice name came into my head and I barely caught myself before saying it aloud. I wanted to. Badly. There was no reason for the driver to treat me that way. I started to think, maybe he's in a rush. Maybe he doesn't like cyclists. Maybe he has macular degeneration and doesn't realize how close he was to me. (ok, that might be pushing it) But, there I was, making excuses for a person who five inches closer could have killed me and left the littles motherless. I think the fact that I didn't curse him (and his entire extended family) was paying it forward - don't you?

7. I had a bad workout weekend. Actually it wasn't so much bad as non-existent. I was tired and feeling like I was not recovering so right smack dab in the middle of IM training, I took the whole weekend off and spent both days watching volleyball. Which is actually a very good cardio workout if you ask me. Regardless, now I feel better so it must have been what my body needed.

6. Big J bought a mountain bike so that he can ride while I run in the trails. This kind of makes him like my dealer, doesn't it? Supporting my habit?

5. Last week, I had an email conversation with an old friend. It was nice, comfortable. Funny how people come in and out of your life as you get older, but with the friends you had when you were young, you can just pick up as if time has never passed. For more than twenty years, I have owed this friend an apology. I can't say its something I have thought about every single day the past twenty years, but when I do reflect on that particular time in my life, I have often felt sad and regretful. It is easy to bury our heads in the sand and assume that people forget or move on or that too much time has passed. But, truth is, we don't forget, and while I can't say that my friend was waiting for my apology for the past twenty years, because I get the feeling she's moved on, I still felt it needed to be said. Even after all this time.

4. Today is TOMS' A Day without Shoes. I'm so all over that!

3. I just got a new phone and I downloaded Words with Friends and now I'm addicted to it. Unfortunately, I am only playing with Frankie right now and my friend Elaine (whose handle is superspeller, lol!) but if you have WWF and wanna play - hit me up - melisaangelone. I'm hoping the brain activity will help me stave off the early onset Alzheimer's I'm feeling I'm having lately. Or maybe its perimenopause. Actually, omg, I thought I was pregnant last week, thank the Lord I was wrong about that!

2. The bowl lunches are back. That's really all I have to say about that.

1. Back to that pay it forward thing. Many of us find it easy to pay it forward when we're doing well, when we're happy, when things are a-ok and peachy keen in our lives. But, what about when things are not so great? What about when we're sad? What about when we're heartbroken? What about when we simply cannot think past the hurt that is inside us?

Ya, its way harder then. Believe me.

I have a friend who is going through something this month that is really, really difficult and in order to try to cope, to try to make some sort of sense of the senseless - is that even possible? - they are encouraging little random acts of kindness, or as I like to call it - paying it forward. So, in honor of them, in honor of their healing, I'd like to ask you all a favor. I'd like to ask you, my circle of influence, to ask your circles of influence, and on and on, to do a little paying it forward this month.

Put a little sticky on your calendar, on your computer, a note in your iphone for April 18th. Mark it with a simple pink tpc, then go out and do something good that day. Make a difference, pay it forward, practice a random act of kindness. Heck, just say something nice to someone if you're not in the habit of doing that regularly. It all counts.

You can do it. I know you can. And don't you worry your pretty little head one bit if you don't have a calendar or an iphone, the mom in me will be compelled to remind you. Maybe even a couple of times.

april 18.
tpc.
be kind.

Easy peasy.

my best

2011-03-30T10:38:00.003-07:00

I want to let you in on a little secret. Way back when, you know... way back when, before my first marathon, before my first Ironman, before any of those long distance events I've chosen to do in the past ten years or so, I thought I was the shit. Seriously. I thought that I could do anything I wanted to do and that whatever that thing was, it would come easy and I would be great at it.

Looking back, I realize I saw a lot of successes as a child and young adult. My parents encouraged me, as I do with my littles, to try new things, to put myself out there and to make some sort of an effort. I ran for various offices in school elections, I maintained all A's in high school, I made the cheerleading squad. Very rarely was there something I wanted that I did not see come to fruition.

That being said, I also did not have to work very hard in school. I was blessed in a way, I guess, that learning came easy enough to me that I didn't seem to have to study that much and yet, I could still maintain my grades. In hindsight, maybe this was more of a curse?   Although, for as much as I attempted and succeeded, there were also things that I did not attempt, that I thought I could do, just because - you know, how hard could that be... really?

I remember watching the gymnastics portion of the Olympics on television when I was about ten or so. Nadia Comaneci was doing her thing on the uneven bars and in my living room, I was twirling and jumping, certain that one day I would be there too. She was doing it, why couldn't I? Looking back, there are countless reasons why I couldn't do what she was doing - genetics, training, time - and so needless to say, my dreams of being an Olympic medalist faded with the closing ceremonies that year although my belief in myself, that I could be there if I wanted, most certainly did not.

There have been numerous times over the years since then that I've witnessed incredible feats of athleticism or been awed by the knowledge and composure of a champion and thought, I could do that. I want to do that.   Perhaps its because true champions make it look so easy? The simple fact that they are at the top of their game, performing effortlessly, allows us mere mortals to mistakenly believe that we have a chance to be that good too?

When I took up marathoning, as with previous endeavors in my life, I thought I would be great at it. First place, gold medals all around.  Little did I realize then, that being great at marathoning, being great at most sports, requires all the same factors that being great at gymnastics does - genetics, training, desire, time.   Just about everything that could go wrong did go wrong with my first race and as I hobbled across the finish line, every piece of me broken and in pain, I swore to myself and everyone within earshot that I was never doing that again!

A few days later, I was in Indiana with my father for my grandmother's funeral, when I had this urge to run. A need to run. Just run. In my mind, I had broken up with running since I obviously wasn't great at it, so the desire to be out there caught me a little off guard. Regardless, I obeyed, laced up my shoes, gathered myself together and off I went. I remember thinking at first - why am I out here? Why am I doing this? I am never going to be anything more than mediocre, so why do it? Why torture myself this way?

In all my life, I had never experienced such an acute sense of self doubt before. I can't remember ever feeling insecure about my performance or my effort or my ability, so where did that come from? Slowly though, those thoughts gave way to thoughts of my grandmother, sweet memories of her flipping through my mind as my feet clicked off the miles.

I don't know how fast I went, I have no idea how far I went, but I do remember thinking when I got home, that somewhere along the route that day, running had become less about running and being good at it, whatever that meant. It had, instead, become my therapy. A way to deal with the emotions that race around in my head all day long. I ran through my mom's cancer and death. I ran through the loss of papa. I've run through arguments with Big J. I run when I am happy, I run when I am sad, and I especially run when I am mad and I need something to absorb the emotions that I cannot seem to find another appropriate outlet for.

Along the way, I believe I have become a better runner. I love my long runs and I've done speedwork now and then and I go through periods of what I'd like to think are true running brilliance. Although truth be told, they don't last very long, and eventually I fall back into my tried and true, always-able-to-keep-a-smile-on-my-face, I will always make it to the end, momo pace.

Recently, I've been running a bunch with my new trail running friends and for all my perceived belief in myself and my ability, I am humbled each and every time I run with them. I'm often last or close to last to return to the trail head, and periodically those little doubts will creep into my head - maybe I shouldn't be doing this? Maybe this is too hard? Maybe these people are just to fast for me?

Slowly, slowly, I am teaching myself to be conscious of this voice. At 42, I am old enough to be certain that I will never silence it for good, but now when I do hear it, rather than allow it to paralyze me - I am learning to speak back. You can do this, momo. It is hard, but look at you go! You are climbing up, you're at the top! Look at that view! You might be last, but you showed up and you finished! It.is.good!

And it is in these moments, in the dark, in the trails, in my head, where I am finally learning to let go of trying to be the best and am, instead, becoming content at being my best. Which is just exactly what we should all be anyway, no?

little gifts

2011-03-29T13:36:00.004-07:00

There is a woman in my life that I just truly love to pieces. I know that may sound like a strange thing to say about a girl friend, but it is true. This woman is crazy fun. She is athletic, she is smart, she is wise. She is incredibly kind and giving and thoughtful and she has this uncanny ability to make everyone in her presence feel special. The special-est, actually, and if that were a word it would fit exactly.  Deep down to her very soul, I believe that this woman is about as good as they get.

I'm always grateful for the time I get to spend with her because I feel as if I am always learning about myself when I do. She makes me think. She asks me questions that require introspection and thought. She challenges me to be better, to do better, but all on my own time frame and in my own way.

She never criticizes. I've never, in all the time I've known her, heard her say an unkind thing about anyone. Ever. Not many of us could say the same, could we?

She enjoys life and lives it to the fullest. She is not worried in the least about what you think or what I think or what anyone thinks for that matter. She does what she wants, when she wants, with whom she wants. And each time I get to spend time with her, these qualities make me love her that much more.

The other day, we got to spend quite a bit of time together - the better part of a day, in fact - and as I was watching her and listening to her, I suddenly realized that she reminded me of someone. Someone I once knew. Someone I loved more than anything in the world.

She reminds me of my mother.

And not just her personality reminded me, her zest for life, her kindness. That is my mother and more - the way she loved life, the way she loved living. Physically, too, there is something about my friend that is just as comforting and familiar to me. The shape of her legs, the way she moves her hands when she speaks, the pattern of her speech.

It was eerie, and I was caught off guard. How could I have not noticed it before?   The resemblance, the similarities? Maybe subconsciously I had. Maybe the simple fact that I am really happy and at peace when we spend time together should have been a sign. Maybe the fact that I respect her advice, that I listen and apply the things she shares with me should have been a sign.

There are lots of things, now that I look back and who can say why, after all the time we've spent together, I suddenly noticed it, and yet I did. Right there, in the middle of a regular ole Friday.

You would think that after such a huge realization, blabber mouth that I am would have blurted - hey, you remind me of my mom! But I didn't. I should have. I should have just given her a big old hug and said - I love you and you remind me of my mother - is that ok?

But I didn't for a few reasons, least of which was that I was afraid that she might not take it as a compliment. Would she think I thought she was so much older than me? Would that offend her? And as I reread what I wrote above about her, I want you to know that even I realize that is ridiculous. She would have taken it for what it was, what it is - a special little gift my mother was sending me in the form of my friend.

Later that night, I was discussing this with Big J and I suddenly realized something else. Although, my friend is older than me, age wise, there is no way on earth she could be my mother. However, my last good memories, my last happy memories of my mom (before she got sick) were when she was just about my friend's age, and no matter how old I get, I will always remember her that way, as if suspended in time.

Maybe the whole thing is not so strange at all. Maybe we are destined to make connections with certain people because we gravitate toward those who share similar traits with those we love and in particular, have lost.   Who knows really. I guess I could probably analyze it every which way, but what I think I'd rather do is simply say... thank you. Thank you to the circumstances that brought my friend and me together, that opened my eyes last week, that allowed me to feel close to my mother once again after all these years.

parenting

2011-03-23T09:13:00.003-07:00

When I look back at my life and all the things I have gotten myself into over the years, I would have to say, without a shadow of a doubt, that parenting has been the hardest thing I have ever done. From the moment I first held the squiggly bundle of Little J joy in my arms, to the moment I eventually breathe my last breath on this earth, I will be a parent. I think as a parent, I behave as a parent, I make decisions as a parent. My life, as much as I'd like to think is about me, is about my littles. And truth be told, I could not imagine it any other way.

When my littles were small, most of my parenting revolved around the physical. Carrying them, feeding them, changing them, clothing them, buckling them in, putting them to bed, drying their tears, singing to them. I was entrusted with this little thing and it was my responsibility to make sure that it survived. It was a full time job, 24/7, 365 days a year.

I was exhausted, physically, much of the time. I remember falling into bed after hours of singing and bedtime books thinking that there was no way I could get up and do it all over again. And yet, come morning, when that teeny voice would call from the next room - mommy! - I was always the first one there - smile on my face - ready to tackle the next day, and the next, and the next, with my babies.

As they began to grow, my parenting became less about the physical, and more about the emotional. Why are they crying? Why are they afraid? Why are they biting the kids on the playground? It became even more vital that the my job of parenting make them feel secure and loved and strong and capable and free to grow.

Mommy loves you. Daddy loves you. Don't touch, its hot. No hitting, it is not nice. Please share. Carrots are so good for you, eat 'em up. See, there are no monsters under the bed! I will always protect you! Give kisses. Let me hold you.

These days, there is very little physical parenting that I do. My littles wake themselves up in the morning, they dress themselves, they drive themselves to school, they manage their homework, they go visit their friends. Physically - they just don't need me anymore.   And emotionally, I often feel I am more dependent upon them than they are upon me.   I seek out their hugs. I hold and kiss them. I need their warmth and their closeness because slowly, slowly, I sense it slipping away.

Mostly, now, I find the parenting that I do is all mental.   Each and every discussion with the littles requires that I be prepared, knowledgeable and on top of my game.   They ask my opinion about drugs, about sex, about drinking, about life. We discuss right versus wrong. We talk options. We talk consequences. Gone are the days when I could answer any difficult question with because I said so. My littles are adults and I must treat them as such.

It is hard, this transition from moldable infant to decision making adult. It requires patience on my part, it requires the ability to listen, without bias, to what they have to say. It requires realizing and accepting that my littles are now making decisions on their own and that not only must they live with those consequences of those decisions, but that I must as well.

Sometimes I am overjoyed at the behaviors I see developing in them. And sometimes, when things aren't going so well, I am so sad that it brings me to tears. I trust that this is a natural feeling. I believe as parents, it is our responsibility to bring our children along as far as we can, but then we must move aside and allow them to fly on their own.

And yet, as natural and expected as this transition is, it can be so incredibly painful at the same time.   After 16, 17, or 18 years of round the clock care, that feeling of loss, that feeling of not being needed - well, I can only say in my experience, it is really difficult to endure.

And so we fill our time. We take up new hobbies - golf, trail running, ironman, you get the picture.  We travel, we eat out more, we don't have to rush home, we do things we haven't done since having children because we haven't had time, all the while experiencing this life and its new opportunities through our new eyes - the eyes of parents.

And we wait. We wait for them to check in.   We wait for them to come home. We wait... for them.

Hoping and praying, as we wait, that we've done enough, that we taught them enough, that we showed them enough, that we loved them enough that they can make the right decisions when they need to and that although we want them to need us, we'd love for them to need us, that they won't.

fear

2011-03-21T11:47:00.005-07:00

A few weeks ago, my friend Amy suggested that she might want to do the ride to Bartlett Lake sometime soon. Amy is training for the Triple Bypass in Colorado and although she's been riding long with me fairly regularly, we haven't been doing very hilly rides - which is exactly what she is going to need in order to be ready for the TB in July. As long as I've been riding here in Arizona, I've never ridden to Bartlett Lake. Considering its mostly downhill into the lake, this is not surprising to anyone I am sure, so I hemmed and hawed a bit when Amy first suggested it.

Amy and I ride quite a bit together and she is well aware of my downhill phobia, so in addition to suggesting Bartlett, she also suggested that her father might want to ride with us. Bob rides well over 500 miles a week and she knew that he'd be the perfect one to ride the downhill portions with me and guide me through them.    My own personal chauffeur. It all sounded well and good and so the plans were made that we'd go on a weekday when there would be less traffic, and we were even able to find a few additional tag along riders to join us.

Monday, I'm all good. Tuesday, I'm all good. Wednesday morning, I'm all good.  Wednesday night, panic sets in.

As we were having dinner, I mentioned to Big J that we'd be riding to Bartlett the following morning. Big J has ridden that route on his motorcycle numerous times and he started talking about the terrain. The downhill. The twisties. It can get fast. There are cars... pulling boats.  No bike lane. Then, right in the middle of the conversation, as I'm trying to push my heart out of my throat and back to where it belongs, the phone rings. Its my friend, Nancy, confirming that she would be joining us on the ride in the morning. I mention to Nancy that Big J and I are talking about the route, and she casually responds that the last time she and her husband rode to Bartlett, they rode the last nasty descent into the lake at 45 mph.

Ugh.

I went to bed with a feeling of dread in my stomach. I tossed and turned all night - imagining holding the group up, imagining having to bail and turn around midway because I was too frightened, imagining crashing because I was over tentative. It was a long night, believe me, and when morning finally dawned - I told Big J that I was not going to do the Bartlett part of the ride. I'd decided that I would just ride the group to the turnoff and then I'd go finish up my four hours somewhere else. Somewhere safer.

I texted Amy and emailed Nancy, telling them my plans, and then headed out the door to meet the group.

A little birdie tells me that you are a bit nervous about the ride, Bob says to me as soon as I meet up with them.
Well, um, ya, I just - well, I just really hate the downhill.
No point in going crazy downhill. Everyone gets there eventually. I like to take it easy. You ride with me, we'll get down just fine.

And just like that, it was settled. I was going to the lake.

I'm not going to say it was easy. For me, it wasn't. Not even close. In fact, from the turnoff to the lake itself felt like the longest thirteen miles ever. I was scared, but, we took our time, Bob rode right with me and before I knew it - we were approaching the boat dock. Is it silly to admit that I had tears in my eyes when I got there? I did. I was so... relieved for having gotten there... relieved for having made it safely... and most of all, deep down, proud of myself for actually going in the first place.

I'm finding that fear is a funny thing. Sometimes my fear is based in sort of past traumatic event, and sometimes it just comes out of nowhere, the feelings of panic so incredibly intense, they paralyze me. When people have asked me why I am so afraid to descend, I tell them that it was because I had an accident - and I have - but truth is, the accidents I have been involved in were more about cars than going downhill - so that really doesn't make any sense.

On Thursday night, after the ride, as we were talking about Bartlett, Big J asked me to try to think back to the first time I could remember feeling so scared about going downhill and as I thought, a light bulb went on in my head. The very first time I ever remember feeling that intense, paralyzing fear was when we were in Utah, and Jaynee, Supa and I rode Sardine Pass.

Our friends, Jaynee and Benny, had asked me to come to Utah and ride from Ogden to Logan with them - it was going to be about 90 miles and fit perfectly into my training schedule for IMAZ - so we packed up the littles and headed north for a mini vacation with a bit of cycling thrown in.

As we started out on ride day, I vividly remember climbing and climbing and climbing for the better part of an hour thinking, oh my God, this is so beautiful, I'm having so much fun, this is going to be such a great day.  Then, suddenly, we crested the pass. And as soon as we did and I realized I had to now go screaming downhill, on a freeway, on a new bike, by myself since Jaynee and Supa were long gone, I freaked. I'm not sure why I hadn't realized this fact during the very long climb up, but regardless, while Jaynee and Supa bombed toward the bottom at fifty miles per hour - I sat on the top of the pass having full and total melt down.

But as afraid as I was, I was also somewhat coherent enough to realize that somehow, someway, I had to get down. Short of flagging a semi truck down and asking the driver to take me to the bottom, or, heaven forbid, walking my bike down (which don't think I didn't consider), I had to ride it out.

I want you to know, I cried every pedal stroke of the way down. And I talked to myself, aloud, alternating between berating myself for being so afraid and attempting to encourage myself to be strong. This is stupid, this is stupid, maybe Big J will drive by and pick you up. You can do it, momo, just take it slow and easy. This sucks. I hate this. Just keep your hands on the brakes, you can do this. You can get there. I rode the brakes the entire way and eventually, what seemed like hours later, made it the bottom. After which I swore I would never put myself into that position again. Never. Ever. Ever. Ever. EVER.

The only thing is, the more I have avoided putting myself into that position, the position of having to actually descend any great distance or grade, the more scared I have become. My fear of going downhill has become irrationally... ginormous... and I am not exaggerating in the least when I say that. Ask anyone - the dogmom, Amy, my friend Nancy. They all know it. They all wait patiently for me as I ride my brakes or take detours or bypass the hills.

It makes me feel ridiculous, to be honest. I hate to be last. I hate to feel as if I'm holding others up. I hate passing up a challenge especially when I can climb like nobody's business. I hate the way they ask if everything is ok.  I hate to watch them pull away and wish that I felt comfortable enough to be riding the same, fearless way - feeling the wind in hair and watching my speedometer inch up... 25 mph, 30 mph, 40 mph.

But, alas, I'm finding that facing your fears and eliminating your fears are two entirely different things. Riding to Bartlett has helped me to face my fear. I did it. I reached the bottom, and I felt intense pride in myself for doing so. It even made me comfortable enough to say that I would probably do it again sometime.

But, that all being said, I am also a realist and I am not naive enough to believe that I will ever be ready to do Mount Lemmon.  Or South Mountain. Or the Triple Bypass for that matter.  No matter how much as I'd like to believe that I could.

going pro

2011-03-16T14:30:00.005-07:00

Today I had two uninterrupted half hour time frames with Frankie as we drove to and from practice. You'd have thought that after spending the entire weekend with me in Denver, she would have had plenty enough mom time, and yet we still found lots of things to talk about as we drove. I'm going to miss this time after she starts driving - I already miss it with Little J, so believe me, I soak it up whenever I have the chance.

One of the more interesting topics, imho, happened just after I noticed a car with a license plate that read "mrs jjh".

momo: Hey, Kiki. See that license plate? The one that says mrs jjh? I think that's weird.
kiki: Why?
momo: I think because I never look at myself as being Mrs anybody. I like to be Melisa. Or momo. Definitely not Mrs. Big J. I don't belong to your dad. I'm my own person.
kiki: So when people call you Mrs. Angelone, do you say - that's my mother in law?
momo: Sometimes. Or I just say - call me Melisa or momo.

(slight pause)

momo:   Do you think you'll change your name when you get married? When I got married, women almost always did change their names. Not so much these days.
kiki: Hmm. Not sure. Depends on what the new name is. I mean Frankie Angelone kinda goes together.
momo:   Yep, that was pretty much the point.

(slight pause)

momo: You know, you don't have to get married, right? I'm not one of those moms that thinks that if you aren't married by the time you're 25 that something is wrong. You have plenty of time to get married if you want to.
kiki: I totally know. I have lots of stuff I want to do first.
momo: Oh, yea? Like what?
kiki:  I have to finish high school, then I want to go to college and play volleyball, then I want to go pro.

(dumbfounded pause)

momo: Pro... volleyball?
kiki: Yep. And maybe the Olympics.
momo: Wow.  Totally cool.  That's a big goal - but I believe in you and I know you can do anything you put your mind to. You will definitely have your work cut out for you, though.
kiki: Yea. I'm not afraid. My coach is trying to see how far she can push me right now to make me give up, but I'm tough and I want to play. And if I had a husband, he might get in the way. Or, he would have to totally understand how much I love volleyball. Actually, he should probably be a pro at something too so that he wouldn't mind me being so busy.

lol! If it were only that easy to plan your life, right? Although, I wouldn't bet against my girl. After the weekend's games in Denver, Frankie's coach had a few comments for her that would have left most girls in tears, but not Frankie. In fact, I think she took the words as a personal challenge, which - I am going to go out on a limb and assume - was exactly the coach's intent.

When we were talking about it on the way home, Frankie related the comments and I asked her if she remembered where she'd been at the beginning of the season - player 12 picked out of 12. She knew she'd have to work hard to get to play. Then I asked her where she was today, after just three months on the team. Starting, she said. I asked her if her coach was any meaner to her now than she was in the beginning and after thinking about it for a second, she said no.   I suggested that perhaps it was her coach's way of seeing if she could get Frankie to either rise to the next level or break. Without thinking twice, Frankie said, no way is she going to break me. I love volleyball.

Nope, I'd never bet against Frankie. If she says she's going pro, well, then, she's going pro. And heaven help anyone who tries to get in her way. :)

tuesday toeday! (that means ten)

2011-03-08T14:38:00.002-07:00

Seems like the last couple of weeks my tuesday toeday posts have had themes.   This week, I'm gonna let you peek into how my momo brain really works and go all random on you.

10. Tomorrow, I am going to a baby shower for our used-to-be babysitter, Steph. Steph started watching the littles in 2001.   Up until that point, I traveled for work quite a bit and we'd had nannies that lived in. But, once I started working from home, we didn't need a live-in any longer, however we did need a babysitter periodically and roundabout, we found Steph. I still remember the conversation with Big J the night she was supposed to sit for us for the first time...

Big J: What if she's a psychopath?
Momo: She's not.
Big J: How do you know?
Momo: Because I just do. She had references. I talked to her. She's nice.
Big J: What if she shows up and she's got piercings and looks like a psychopath?
Momo: She's not going to be... I already told you that.
Big J: Well, if she is, I'm going to say you're sick and we don't need her.

Needless to say, she was not a psychopath and Steph babysat for us throughout her high school years, throughout college while she attended ASU and even traveled with us to San Diego a few times. She even interned for Big J one summer and as she neared graduation, I remember teasing him - you're going to hire Steph! Which he did and she has worked for him ever since.

Steph is part of our family. When she was in high school, we offered her one "get out of jail free card", which she never used. And when she met her husband, Dan, the first year of college, she brought him to meet us and to pass the Big J inspection. Dan is a wonderful guy and although I think Big J's initial reaction was something along the lines of "I'm not sure he's the one", he indeed was the one, and they got married two years ago.

It kinda felt like our first child was getting married, you know? And now - here she is - all pregnant and expecting and due on April 1st. Where the heck did that time go? And wait, does this make me an honorary grandmomo?

9. I saw a license plate today as I was driving that said SCALP3L. It was on a beat up 1990's era green honda civic that looked like it had a few hundred thousand miles on it. A few things went through my head. First, I don't know if I'd want that guy scalpeling on me if he keeps his car in that condition. Secondly, student loans must really suck.

8. I never had to take out a student loan while I was in college but I did have a series of random jobs throughout my college years. I made sandwiches and cut meat at a deli. I trained people on how to use weights in a fitness center. I was a lifeguard. I taught swim lessons. I taught preschool. I showed model homes. I was a waitress. I got petitions signed. All these kept me from having to take student loans, but as I look back, they also kept me from really being able to fully appreciate the college experience. As the littles gets ready to look at schools and think about college - I struggle between wanting them to focus all their attention on school and wanting them to work - even if just a bit.

7. That reminds me. Notre Dame hosted a career day the other day and all the students had the opportunity to attend three or four guest lectures on possible career paths. Frankie chose pro athlete. wth? I mean, I know she love, love, loves volleyball, but I'm not sure that my little girl is going to be able to make any kind of living at it unless she grows about a foot between now and tomorrow.

But, between you and me and the light post? It all started to come together for me when I found out that the guest lecturer was none other than Frankie's new crush's dad who used to play major league baseball. After which I made sure to have the whole Basketball Wives talk with her and inform her that I so would not be happy to see her smiling face on VH1.

On the flip side, though, she made a very nice impression on said crush's dad, and the mom went out of her way to make a point of telling me how impressed they both are with her and that is always nice to hear.

6. A friend of mine is giving up Starbucks for Lent. This friend loves coffee, like really loves coffee, and I think I gasped aloud when I heard her say she was giving it up. Then, she qualified her statement by saying that she's just giving up stopping at Starbucks to buy coffee - she's still going to drink coffee - and I was beyond relieved. I was certain after a few days, her husband and I would find her and have to insert a coffee iv if she went cold turkey!   In fact, with the amount of coffee that I have been drinking lately, should I give it up again, that is EXACTLY what we'd have to do.

Which got me to thinking about what I might want to give up for Lent. Something I'd miss. Something that I love. Something that, every time I thought about having it, I would remember sacrifice.

Yep, you got it - m&ms. I might just die.

Do not think I'm joking either.   You all know me well enough to know that I'd never joke about Lent and I'd never joke about m&ms.

Maybe I'm actually going to think about this a little bit more. Lent doesn't start until tomorrow, right?

5.  One year, when I was in college and broke, I ate fried rice every day for about a month.

4. Big J has business meetings the week after Easter on the island of Maui. I looked at my schedule and I do not think there is any worse week to be going to Hawaii as far as training goes, since that week is just about three weeks out from IMTX and most likely my peak week. Plus, there is Frankie's volleyball practice and a tournament. Plus, little J's stuff, plus, plus, plus, plus and after I thought long and hard about it, I said, what the heck, let's go. We're flying to the Big Island on Monday and staying at the Four Seasons compliments of my friend Ciro there and all the work the dogmom and I have done for him. On Wednesday, we'll head to Maui, where Big J will have his meetings and I will lounge by the pool, sipping umbrella drinks and playing like I am a wife of luxury.

Bwahhhhahhhhahhhaaaa, seriously, though, I'll be running and swimming and with any luck, renting a bike, and getting all primed and ready for my race. But in Hawaii. How cool is that?? The greyhound is dying of jealousy right now, I just know it. ;)

3. All that fuss and stuff I made about being so sad that little J was driving?

So over it.

2. You know that quote that says 'an unexamined life is not worth living'? Lately, I've been thinking about that and wondering just exactly what Socrates meant when he said that. I mean, I see people all over the place, every day, not examining their lives and they seem pretty darned happy to me. And yet, here I am, examining myself through the 10x magnifier and wondering just why I chose to look through that lens? I sometimes wish I didn't think so much. Didn't worry so much. Didn't what-if everything six ways from Sunday. It sure seems to me like life would be a whole lot less confusing, don't you think?

1. Last night, I was flipping through the channels and started watching Castle and there was this point where two of the characters who are in a relationship have a misunderstanding over the male's celebrity 5. I'd never heard that term, so of course, I had to google it this morning, and I lighted upon this little piece that made me lol!

Believe it or not, Big J and I also have our own celebrity 5, or what we like to lovingly call our would ya's?. Not only can I name all of his, including Faith Hill and his latest crush, Grace Potter, but he can name mine as well - Howie Long, Jesse Palmer, Peyton Manning. Ok, not PM, but you get it - I have a thing for football. Anyway. I started to wonder if every couple has their own celebrity 5 and if it makes them laugh like it makes me and Big J laugh. An inside joke of sorts.

Or maybe I can just laugh about it because I've been married for what seems like forever and I am beyond confident that there is no way on God's green earth that Big J could ever happen across a naked Grace Potter in a dark alley. At least not the real Grace Potter. ;-)

alone but not alone

2011-03-07T14:35:00.003-07:00

Awhile back, Lewis, one of the members of our local tri team, organized a few long runs in the trails which were very well attended. Unfortunately, they didn't coincide with my long runs, but when the suggestion was made to perhaps run a loop of Pemberton the first weekend in March - I jumped on the bandwagon quickly.  I'd just come off the relay, I figured the distance was just about right for where I would be in my training cycle, and since there is nothing I don't love about Pemberton - it was basically a win/win all around. I emailed Mel with the date and my plans, asked her to work the run into my schedule, then went around trying to sweet talk people into running with me.

Sadly, though, the group thing started to look like it wasn't happening and as unbelievable as it sounds, I also wasn't having much luck finding anyone who wanted to do the 15.5 mile loop with me.   I probably could have had some company for a shorter route, but it seemed like the full distance- and doing the full distance in the trails - was scaring a few people off.

Now that I think about it - that's kind of funny in and of itself, I mean, who is ready to just jump on 15 miles at any given point in time besides me and maybe my sweet Supa? Regardless, I was persistent and eventually, Tracy agreed to run with me. Even after I took her out for 12 miles in the McDowells on Monday.

We met at 7 and headed out past Rio Verde. As we made a left into the park, we noticed a group of runners running up the access road. They looked like maybe they were doing some sort of hill repeats or speedwork - they were flying! - and I looked over at Tracy to assure her we were not going to be running that fast. Actually, I don't think I've run that fast ever. Not even down hill. It was crazy.

As we parked at the trailhead to Pemberton, there were a few cars in the lot, and we ran into a friend of Tracy's who'd run into the park and was getting ready to ride his mountain bike a bit so we chit chatted for a few minutes before heading out.

I'd decided that we'd run the trail in the clockwise direction, so the first three miles would be the hardest of the entire route. It is a bit rocky and mostly uphill, so we settled in and started running. Almost immediately, I had an oh! kinda moment. A realization about long trail running that I'd never considered before, having not done that many long runs out there in the trails.

Let me preface by saying that I am not generally the first to join in on running in big groups. I have a few tried and true runner friends that I like to go out with - but it is a rare day when I will just up and run any distance with a random, new person or group. This is not a fault of the said new person or group, its simply my own insecurities at work, because I've always thought that when you run together, you have to run together, and what if...

I am too slow for them?
I have nothing to say to them?
I have to stop, will it annoy them?
I have to lead and they don't like where we go?
I have to pee or spit or farmer blow or heaven forbid, poop!?

The list goes on and on, and so rather than worry about impacting another person's workout - I've chosen to do a lot of my running solo. I talk to myself. I listen to books. I look around. I think and work through things in my head. To be honest, I really like that time out there - especially on the long runs - because it really seems like my life just kind of comes together, if you know what I mean.

Tracy and I have run a few times together, and so I knew we'd be well suited speedwise and wasn't worried about holding her up or leaving her behind. However, fairly quickly after we began running yesterday, I realized, its almost impossible to run together together in the trails.  Tracy fell into step behind me, allowing me to guide her, and before long - we were both transported into our own little worlds, via the magic of apple and ipod.

I listened to my book. I marveled at the beauty of the place we live. I thought about how Big J always says that the desert is his church and how being out there, on a Sunday, I could finally understand what he meant. Periodically, we'd stop to regroup, remove some piece of clothing or take a gel. But, for the most part, we remained silent and simply enjoyed the day as it unfolded around us.

Honestly, the experience was everything I love about long running alone - the solitude, the quiet, the time to think - magnified to an even greater degree by the fact that we were in the trails and by the simple fact that I wasn't actually alone. We could each go at our own pace, do our own thing out there and yet if or when we needed something, the other was there.

Being alone but not alone is kinda nice now and then, you know?

Come to think of it, my best relationships are exactly like that. They are with people that I can just be with, without having to be on with. Those are by far the greatest relationships ever, imho. Think about it for a minute... Can you think of anyone that you can be with, that you can just be with? That you can talk to or not talk to and its still all good? Don't those kinds of relationships just make you feel... I don't know... understood? They definitely do for me, and to be able to experience that together-but-not-togetherness while running, well, all I can say is that it was really kinda cool.

Ha. Running as a metaphor for my life. Again. Who'd have thunk? Every time I think I just about have myself all figured out, something new comes up. I reckon I'll just have to keep on running.

Oh, and I got 15.5 miles out of the day, too. Bonus!

an ah-ha

2011-03-02T10:51:00.007-07:00

A few weeks ago, still flying high after participating in the relay at Pemberton with Mel, I happened upon a website for an endurance and trail running group here in Arizona called Aravaipa Running.  I was hoping to find a group to run the trails with a day or two a week since Big J doesn't like me to go it solo and since most of my running friends shy away running any type of distance in the trails.

On the page of 'friends of Aravaipa' I noticed a link to the Wednesday Morning Running Club. The WMRC is a group that meets in the Phoenix Mountain Preserve once weekly - Wednesdays, duh - to run the trails in the preserve. It sounded just exactly like what I was looking for and I was so excited to find the link - well, that was until I noticed that each Wednesday's run starts at 5:15 am.

Phoenix Mountain Preserve is about 20 miles from my house. Besides just the driving time and the fact that I'm really loving me some sleep lately, can you imagine what ungodly time I'd have to wake up in order to get my regular am business done with before I started running? Remember the tuesday, toeday $h*t edition?? Yea, pretty darned early, that is for certain.

Regardless, I emailed a bit with the run leader and I figured I'd try it - if just once. To say I did. Because I'm like that. He said that the run was for experienced ultra trail runners and beginners alike and that there were even a few IM athletes that came out to run, too, so he was sure I would be just fine.

First, let me preface by saying that while I have a bit of a love/hate relationship with road running, I have a full-on love affair with trail running. Although, by trail running standards (is there such a thing?) I would definitely be considered a newbie. I run a lot of dirt around my house and am fairly comfortable with the McDowells, but to be truthful, I have not left the comfort zone of my own backyard playground in a very long time. And I have never branched out to play with other people while out there, either.

Until today.

Unsurprisingly, I was the first one at the trailhead this morning at o'dark am. I sat in my car for a few minutes, hoping I was in the right place, when another car pulled up and parked next to me. The two women did not get out of their car - so I tapped on their window, proceeding to scare the bejeezus out of them - and asked if they were part of WMRC. They said no, but that every Wednesday there were a lot of cars parked around there, so I was probably in the right place.

Soon, a few more cars pulled in, and everyone was really friendly as they introduced themselves to me while we were preparing to start running. 5:16, headlamps on, and we were off.

The only thing I kept thinking the first mile was that I wished I had worn my road id, so that when I passed over dead on the trail, at least they could call Big J to let him know.

But after the first little quick uphill, I finally got into a bit of a rhythm. Believe me when I say that trail running is tricky in and of itself, but you throw in darkness, and its a whole new ballgame. I watched the feet of the gentleman in front of me, quick turnover he called back, and followed, and before I knew it, we'd reached the midway point and I was still with the group! Score one for me!

After a quick few minutes to grab water, we were off again. The second half of the run started with some fairly level dirt and I felt entirely comfortable running right with the group. But then, and really all I have to say at this point is thank God for the darkness, we started to climb and most of them pulled away. At one point, I looked ahead and I noticed headlamps at what seemed like a hundred feet above me and I laughed out loud.

You got yourself into this, momo, get yourself out. I knew there were two people behind me, so I figured I couldn't get too lost, so I just kept running and when it got steep, I power walked. A few switchbacks and before I knew it, I was at the top. The run leader, who had waited for me at the top, said - you ok, momo?

Yep, all good! Still running! I looked around and I could see the lights of the city and my heart did a little flip inside my chest, it was sooo incredibly pretty! I realized I never would have seen that if I'd slept in. Score two.

As I neared the bottom of the hill, the two runners that had been behind me came out of nowhere. Wait. You could bypass the climb??   It didn't matter, I felt all proud and stuff that I'd actually done it and overjoyed when I finally reached the parking lot. 1:05 according to my watch. Probably four or five minutes behind the main group - but not last! Although, honestly, I don't think last or first for that matter means much out there.

As I was driving home, I started thinking about what I love about running the trails. I love being out there. I love how fast the time seems to go as you concentrate on every footfall, every breath. I love how much I feel a part of my surroundings and that although I really have to focus, I feel connected to the trail, the environment, to my breath, to my very soul.

And then something hit me.  An ah-ha! of sorts.

I've said a number of times that I don't know about Ironman. I don't know if I really want to be training for Ironman. Some days I'm happy, but some days I think - what is the point of all this swimming and biking and running, truly? I mean, in and of themselves, I like the sports - well, except the swimming part, but we won't belabor that point.

I like riding my bike. I like running. But, and this is what I've been fighting, when I'm training for Ironman, these things I normally like to do become simply stepping stones to the next. Have to do's versus want to do's. Are you following?

Speedwork to get faster. Check. Intervals on the bike. Check. Long bike. Check. Long swim. Check. Long run. Check.

I go through the workouts to get to the next level, but truth? And I finally just realized this today, I don't find JOY in the climb.

But when I'm out on the trails - whether it be an hour, two hours, four hours - I am full of joy. Its a happiness that I cannot express nor explain, so I don't even think I will try. But I know you can understand. If you have children, think about the moment they were born. Think about the feelings of accomplishment you had - the feelings of connection, of love - to something bigger than yourself. Remember that?

I do. Its indescribable. And I remembered again today.  I found that missing piece of the puzzle I have been searching, unsuccessfully, for the past while. The why I've been chasing IM. In reality, all we want is to feel and to be happy, don't we? With and in whatever we choose to do. And we do what we do to bring ourselves that happiness, whether it be through our work or our hobbies.

Why the hell not is as good a reason to train as any, I'd guess. Why the hell not certainly makes me happy - but being able to experience true, unadulterated, stop the presses, joy in the process too, like I do out there in the trails? Its better. Oh, so much better!

And all it took was a little ole run through the mountains in the dark to remind me.

tuesday toeday (that means ten!)

2011-03-01T11:05:00.001-07:00

On Sunday, I attended a meeting at the little's high school.   As we were waiting around, I overheard a few of the moms talking about a bible study that they'd recently begun attending.  Apparently, the speaker the previous week had been a woman who'd begun by talking about how she believed that we can all believe ourselves happy.   She explained to the group that she'd gone through a period where she was very unhappy with just about everything in her life and how she felt like she was wallowing in this unhappiness.

I wasn't at the bible study, so I don't know the catalyst for her change, but one day she decided to be happy and in order to do that - she needed to concentrate on the positive rather than the negative in her life. She began to focus on the good. She filled her head with positive thoughts about the things that had been making her unhappy before, whether that be her job, her husband, her friends, and lo and behold, she started to feel happy.

As athletes, we all know the benefits of positive thinking - of ridding our minds of the self-doubt that can creep in as we attempt the crazy things that we do - and instead, filling it with affirmations of success. We visualize ourselves crossing the finish line. We repeat, over and over, the mantras that keep us going - you can do it, you are awesome, run like a gazelle, be the best.

But have you ever thought about doing the same in your personal life? Have you ever thought about filling your heart and mind 24/7 with such positive and happy thoughts and affirmations that there could be no time, no room, for unhappiness to creep in?   What do you think would happen? Less violence in the world? Less hate? Less divorce?   Maybe just a whole lotta happy going on?

I think we should try it.  A little experiment, today, March 1st, to see what would happen. Let's call it a little attempt to cultivate a nongrumpy attitude of gratitude.

And so, here you go - ten random things that have made me happy this week.

10. For the last year or so, every morning around 8, I've received a text message that says, simply, Morning MOMO! Every morning.   Pretty cool, no?

9.   I love the word love. I love that there are people in my life that I can say I love, but I love even more that I can say I love them aloud. I love that when the littles come to kiss me at night, they say, I love you momma, and that they truly know what that means. I love to tell my family and friends I love them because I love how I feel when someone says they love me. Makes me all kindsa mushy and happy inside, you know?   Who doesn't want to feel like that all day long?

8. I was running yesterday and recounting a story to my friend Tracy as we ran. I was lamenting the fact that there was just nothing I could do about this certain situation and that it was just going to have to be what it was.   Tracy suggested a solution, something I hadn't even thought of, and something that was so brilliant in its simplicity, that I think I actually laughed out loud. I'm so thankful for others' perspectives! People need people and I, most of all, need to remember that.

7.   Last night, as I was driving Frankie to practice, I looked to my right and noticed the sunset - there is truly nothing like an Arizona sunset, as the sky becomes spectacular shades of yellow and orange and red and pink. Yesterday, I realized, the sunset was simply pink, with a wispy clouds here and there, and I wondered if it was a little message just for me. God talking to me - look around momo. How often do we just go about our business without looking around, without noticing our surroundings, without being fully conscious? The sun sets every single day of the year and yet, how often do I notice it? My eyes are open, but just what am I seeing? I run on autopilot much of the time and yet yesterday, I noticed the sunset. And then I saw that it was pink. Just for me.

6.   I went to the bike shop the other day to pick up some things and there was this man there picking up his bike and we started chatting. He was an amputee. He said he's been watching some race on tv and he's seen another amputee on a bike that had been specifically designed for him. He got to thinking that maybe he could come up with something like that and so he sought out Steve and Jay at our bike shop, showed them what he wanted, and through a bit of trial and error - they were able to come up with just exactly what he needed. He showed me how he could sit on the saddle and how his stump fit into the holder they created and he told me that now he could ride for hours without feeling too much pain. I was overwhelmed by the joy he felt.   It was contagious. I was smiling with him, I was checking out his bike, asking him questions, I was so happy that they'd found a solution and that he could ride.

Much of the time I take for granted these two legs, these two arms, this body that gets me going and takes me where I want to go, but I have to be honest when I say, I didn't feel sorry for the man at the shop for not having two legs. Feeling sorry for him would have done him no good. What I felt, instead, was happiness and joy.  His situation is his situation, and he is making the very best of it, living his life to the fullest, each and every day. And isn't that just exactly what we all should be doing?

5. What did we do before the internet? The internet helps me to connect. It helps me to find answers and plumbers and directions to new places. It lets me do my banking and shopping from the privacy of my own home.  I can spend all day researching whatever makes me happy and never have to speak to a living soul, or get out of my pajamas! If you think about it - its really quite incredible.   I don't know, I just think it is. And since here I am, on the internet, being all thankful and stuff, I thought I should just say that.

4. Harry's Law. Ok, I know, there are a gazillion tv shows out there to be happy for, tv shows that make us laugh or entertain us or just allow us to tune out and vegetate for a thirty or sixty minute period, but honestly? I don't watch enough tv to need to do any of those things, so when I do watch - I want it to be good. And Harry's Law... it is that good. Definitely worth watching. Oh, you'll laugh now and then, its not short on comedic situations and you'll surely be entertained, if just by the simple fact that besides practicing law, her office doubles as a shoe store. But mostly, when I watch, and I'd bet that its the same with you, I'm just hopeful that Kathy Bates' character is based on real live human being. And that that human being is available should I ever need an attorney.

3. Immodium. And that is all I have to say about that.

2. Including the wall behind my desk and the shelves above, there are 23 photographs. Some are of me, at IM or different events. Some are of my friends. Some are of my family. I look at the faces in those photographs and the other photographs around my house and I think how cool it is that through them, and in an instant, we can be transported to a different time. We can see the ones we love, whether they're still with us or not. We can relive the feelings of joy as we graduate, get married, birth our children, cross a finish line.  Sometimes I sit here and stare at an image and I can literally feel the emotions I felt at that particular point in time, I can close my eyes and recall the events surrounding the day and everything that led up to that single second captured in print. Its intense. Sometimes I cry. Sometimes I wonder. Sometimes all I can do is shake my head and laugh out loud. If nothing else, it always makes me feel, and lately, that is a good thing.

1. You. Today, I'm thankful, grateful for you. Yes!! You are my number 1! You read all this... stuff, the written down narrative that is running non-stop in my head, and you comment.   You agree or you like, or you dislike and tell me about it later - however you choose to let me know - I'm thankful for you. Like, really, really thankful. You are the rock to my roll! The cherry on top of my ginormous sundae! The ... ok, just thankful, that's all. Really thankful.

Now it's your turn. You can do it, give me just one thing...

a not so gentle reminder

2011-02-28T16:21:00.005-07:00

Last week, like I mentioned, I was grumpy.  There was a small part of me that recognized just how unattractive grumpy really is, and just how unfun grumpy is to be around, and so that little part of me was truly attempting to put grumpy on the back burner... I made light of it. I blogged about it. I blamed it on the training, on aging, on pms. But, and I'm sure this is some sort of Murphy's Law or something, doesn't it just seem like the harder you try to change how you feel - the more you actually feel that way?

The harder I tried not to be grumpy, the more grumpy I was becoming, dang it.   Even more frustrating about the whole thing is that I don't really like being grumpy. I prefer to think I'm a half-full kinda gal.

Oh, its raining? My car is getting a free bath.
Oh, there's no wine? I'll drink beer.
Oh, you got a D on your test? Well, at least it wasn't an F!

Ok, maybe that last one is pushing it a bit, but you get the idea.

No matter what I did, I just couldn't shake it. The feeling was just below the surface, simmering, waiting to rear its ugly head at the most inopportune time possible. It was so bad that last night, I went to bed without saying goodnight to my littles or Big J, and that is something I never, ever do. Oh, and that was right after I gave Big J an earful about the dishes and the laundry and blah blah blah blah blah.

See? Bad.   Come to think of it, even my dreams last night were reflections of my grumpy mood. I don't remember them exactly, but I do remember waking up around 2 AM gasping for breath with my heart rate somewhere near 150, thinking I really need to get a handle on this nasty business.

So when my trail run this morning through the McDowell preserve didn't fully shake it loose, I really started to wonder that if that couldn't lift my mood, was there anything in the world that possibly could?

And then through a friend of friend of a friend, I happened upon a blog that tore me to shreds. Completely to shreds. Emotions and feelings so raw, so real, so... sad... that my grumpy heart broke as I read them.  I won't go into the content, but believe me when I say, in a not so gentle way, it reminded me of what I seemed to have forgotten in the past week or so.

And that is that life is good, really really good, my friends. But as good as it can sometimes be, it can also sometimes be way too short.

I've said it. I've written it. I believe it to my core, and yet - I'd forgotten just how short. It only took a few simple sentences to remind me that we must live every day to the absolute fullest, we are in no way guaranteed tomorrow. And if I am wallowing around in my grumpiness because my skin looks like orange peels, or heaven forbid, the laundry hasn't been folded, then I am wasting that precious gift - the time I have left with my littles, the time I have left with Big J, with my friends and with those I have yet to meet. And if by chance my time is shorter than longer, I'd truly hate to think my parting thoughts to you all would have contained the word... grumpy.

The blog owner will never know me. She'll never know the impact her heart wrenching words made on my life, on my perspective, on this day - the day that grumpy went away.  I guess that is both the beauty, and sometimes the curse, of the internet. She will never know of either the blessing or of the reprimand that her pain bestowed upon me.

But I will know and I intend to remember. In particular when that grumpiness wants to take over like I know it will. And with any luck and a little grace, maybe one day I can figure out just exactly how to pay that blessing forward.

tuesday, toeday (that means ten)

2011-02-23T18:09:00.002-07:00

I am grumpy. Like really, really grumpy. Eons ago, I posted about being grumpy and that I was beyond certain it was a by-product of my training and it very easily could have been a by-product of my training at that point in time because at that point in time... I hadn't yet turned 40.

Oh, I know what you're going to say. Age is just a number and I shouldn't go blaming all my grumpiness on turning 40. But, bear with me here for a second. I mean really. Prior to turning 40, ok, I will admit that there were some things that might have, could have, even should have made me grumpy. I mean I am a woman and all, and even I know that sometimes I can get grumpy just simply for the sake of being grumpy, because it is my right, you know, as a woman and all.

But since turning 40?  Well, since I turned 40, there is stuff happening to me that I do not like. No, I do not like it one little bit and it is making me very, very grumpy because try as I might, there doesn't seem to be anything I can do about it.

So, compliments of the things about being 40 that make me grumpy - here's your tuesday ten... one day late.

10. I am fairly certain that I am heating our entire house singlehandedly since I turned 40. Heater broken? Freezing temperatures? Not to worry! Thermo-momo to the rescue! But, alas, all the money we may be saving on our gas bill by me heating the house at night is going down the drain, literally, since now I am having to wash the sheets every damn day.

9.   I'm sorry, what was that you said? Are you mumbling? Can you repeat that? Seriously, if you want me to answer you, you should really speak up.

8.   The other day, I went to yoga. I really love yoga, I love what it does for my body, I love how they heat the room so that you get all sweaty and detoxified and all, I love the sequences of poses and how I feel so limber and loose for days after taking a good class.

So, there I was, wearing shorts like I usually do, hanging out in child's pose as the teacher begins to guide our practice and before long, we were getting into our first down dog. Heels down, hiney high, arms reaching. I'm thinking I'm looking all good and yogaliscious for a 42 year old and that is when I notice it.

What the heck?   What is that?

I know you've heard of chicken arms - that loose stuff that kinda wobbles around on the upper arm?   Well, did you know you can get it on your legs? To be precise, right above your knees?   Eeewww and it is gross. It kind of wrinkles all up and shimmies around and really makes an appearance in down dog and I am going to be honest when I say - that pose and me? We are not friends. No. And I am quite certain I will never be doing that pose again in public. Ever. Ever ever ever.

Ever.

7.   I had my annual ob/gyn appointment today.

No, I'm not going there. Please. There is some stuff even I consider to be private. ;)

So, like I was saying, I had my annual appointment today and my doctor asked what I was up to lately, if I'd been running because she is a runner and she likes to know what I'm up to, and so I told her... I am doing Ironman in May. She asked how I was doing with the training and I said, oh fine. She asked what Big J thought of the training and I said he thinks I'm grumpy lately. She asked if I was having hot flashes, night sweats. Yes. She asked if sometimes I felt my heart racing. I said yes. She asked if I had gained or lost weight. I said yes. She asked a couple of other questions to which I also replied yes and then she asked if I thought it was the training... or did I think I might be going through perimenopause.

Seriously? At 42? Perimenopause? What else?

6. I love to do the Sunday crossword puzzles. In fact, when I applied for the Kona lottery this year, I volunteered that my special talent was the ability to almost complete the Sunday New York Times crossword. Its a big skill, believe me. Some of those questions are hard!

Except, is it just me or is the typeface on those things getting awful small lately?

5. My fingers are crooked. My mom's fingers were crooked, my grandma's fingers were crooked, and, had I gotten the opportunity to meet my great-grandma, I imagine I would have seen that her fingers were crooked, too.   They say that osteo-arthritis is hereditary, so that is most likely why my fingers are getting all scrunched up like they are, but secretly, as much as I know that I'm going to have to manage it in the future, I look at my fingers and I notice how much they look like my mom's and it makes me smile just a bit.

4. I do not have time to mess with what I don't have time to mess with. I'm sorry. I really used to have some patience, but now - when things irritate or infuriate me - I just walk away. Poof.  Gone. I don't want to fight. I'm not going to change your mind and most likely, you're not going to change mine, so let's just agree to disagree, shall we?

Big J is of course exempted from that stance, though, because what fun would that be?

3.   The other day I made the huge mistake of looking in the magnifying mirror.   Since I'm back in the sun a bit more with the cycling and all, I restarted using Tazorac on my face to help with the sun spots, and I was feeling a bit - dry - so I took a quick peek to see if the flaking was noticeable.

Holy moly. Do not do that. Do not look in the magnifying mirror after the age of 40. Just do.not.do.it. Please, please just believe me on that one.

2.   Last night, on my way home from picking up Frankie from training, Little J called and asked if he could get anything started for dinner. I said, yes, absolutely. Can you get the quinoa going? I'll walk you through how to get it started. Go into the cupboard and get the rice cooker. Ok, now get the quinoa - its in a plastic bin on the third shelf. Got it? K.   Now, take the center white thing out of the rice cooker and pour two cups of dry quinoa into the metal part. I'll wait on the phone while you get the... the... you know that thing? Its under the cabinet where the bowls are. That, thing? That cup thing? The...

You mean the measuring cup, mom?

Yea, that thing.

1. The other day, I went to yoga. I really... Oh wait. Sorry. Did I already tell you that?

why the hell not?

2011-02-18T12:52:00.002-07:00

As much as I'd like to deny the fact that I am in training, the simple truth is - I am in training. And for those of you who have been in training, you know exactly what I mean. The runs are getting longer, the rides are taking up a good part of the day, my body smells like chlorine and my hair hasn't been out of a french braid in weeks.  Ok, that last point might be distinct to me, but you get the picture.

Funny thing is, though, six weeks ago, I was on the fence. I had not been in a swimming pool to swim laps in over a year. I had not been on my bike since May. Granted, I had been running, but as seems to happen during most holiday seasons for me, even my running had taken a bit of a hit.

I had signed up for IMTX back in July during a bit of a low point in my summer.   Big J, Frankie and I were in the motor home, visiting Little J at camp when my dad and Liz came up to stay with us for a night and check out Culver. That night at dinner, we started talking about Little J learning to drive and that the littles were becoming more and more self-sufficient and then someone casually asked what I was going to do with all my free time.

First, you have to understand my frame of mind at the time. Little J had already been at camp for four weeks - longer than he'd ever been away before. Which I admit, and I have mentioned on numerous occasions, was extremely difficult for me. Then, all the talk about driving, and then my dad mentioned something about life totally changing when your children drive because they become so independent, you hardly ever see them. And then someone said that before you know it they're off to college, married, having kids and well... I about lost it.

Oh, wait, add that to the fact that I am absolutely sure I had had way too much wine at that point.

And so when I realized my computer was open on the counter, in typical momo-I have to have a plan-fashion, I thought - since I am going to have so much time on my hands, I'll just do Ironman.

Logical, right?   For most people?  Well, probably not. But in some sort of messed up way for me, I guess so. And so in a matter of ten minutes flat, I had secured a room and board (way yummy board I might add) at the Greyhound abode, registered and shelled out my $640 on ironman.com.

Almost immediately - um, after the wine wore off - I began to have buyer's remorse. What was I thinking? Did I really want to do Ironman? Didn't I say I was retired? No good can possibly come of this. And at some point during the next few weeks, I casually mentioned to Mel that I'd registered, punctuated with - but I'm probably not going to do it...

Friends would ask me if I had begun training and I'd say, oh, no, not yet.   Mel asked me if I had tried to get a refund, and I said, oh, no not yet.  I was completely up in the air, neither committed nor uncommitted.

And then one day in early January, I thought - why the hell not? Exactly those words, verbatim. Why the hell not?  And since even I couldn't answer that question, I decided... why the hell not?

Mel and I had already scheduled time to chat in January, and when we finally connected, I told her I had made up my mind and I was doing it. But. And the but was huge in my mind. But, the training had to work in my life and around the littles' sports commitments and if I was going to do it, I wanted to do it to regain my love for triathlon. No expectations this time around, no 12:15, no fundraising, no nothing except crossing the finish line, upright, with a smile on my face.

She laughed. She always laughs at me.  I think because I always come to her with what I've created in my head to be a ginormous obstacle, but what in reality she knows is just a little ole speed bump.  Of course its doable, she said.  Its all up to you and your attitude and how you approach it. Well, duh. Hello, voice of reason. See why she's always laughing at me? I don't know why I was putting so much pressure on myself, but I knew she was right. It is all up to me, isn't it?

So. So, now, here I am in training. You know, training training? And the secret truth is, over the last two years since convincing myself that I was done with Ironman and since poo-pooing all things tri, I'd actually forgotten how much I really do love it. The training. The planning. The eating. The laundry. The trips to the bike shop.  The runs and rides and yes, Virginia, even the swims.

I love it.   Dang it, I really do.

And then, when I see it all come together, when the training, my family, my responsibilities, my life in general, when I see that they can all co-exist... when that happens? In the simplest of terms I guess I can only say that it makes me happy.   Plain ole, smile on my face, waking up on the right side of the bed, happy.

And lately, I'm realizing (and Big J can attest) that happy? happy is really, really good.

tuesday toeday! (that means ten)

2011-02-15T14:07:00.005-07:00

Here I posted yesterday and I'm already posting again today? I must be on a roll...

10. or a bit bored...

So, the littles are now driving themselves to school and add that to the fact that I believe I'm in the middle of a recovery week, and suddenly I seem to have an awful lot of time on my hands. Not that I don't have things to do, mind you, I do - I mean thinking about, planning and shopping for my ever increasing appetite takes all kinds of time - but the whole driving thing just freed up about 5 hours a week for me. Its... well, its strange. I hear them get up in the morning and for the first time since they started school twelve years ago, I don't even have to get out of bed! I think I could get used to this. Except that I actually do get out of bed because I have to tell them to be the ball, or be all they can be, or give them some other equally silly euphemism before they head off to start their days - because that is just what we do.

9. A few weeks ago, I was asked to write a piece for a local newsletter talking about triathlon. The person who asked me had read my blog in the past and thought I could connect with readers who might be thinking about getting into triathlon for the first time. I finished it yesterday and sent it off. My first byline. Kinda cool.

8. Today I rode with some friends and while I am regaining my cycling legs uphill and on the flats and on the rollers, the downhill is continuing to freak me out. Its frustrating but I cannot seem to shake it. Last week, I researched the profile for Texas and while I don't think it'll hurt me too much in that race, its really starting to tick me off that everyone has to wait for me at the bottom of a hill. Even if its just a minute or two. Suggestions??

7. My dogs are snoring so loudly I can hardly think. Seriously. Bulldogs sound like big freight trains when they sleep and Lulu likes to sleep under the chair in my office during the day. (she loves her momma!)  Sometimes, during conference calls, I have to put the phone on mute because she is so dang loud.

6.  Frankie makes me laugh. When she loves something a whole lot, she proclaims that it "makes her life".   This mac and cheese makes my life! My friend Kate is so funny, she makes my life! Hunter threw me down on the ground for our Spanish project, it made my life! And she always says it with such drama and inflection that you can totally understand how it makes her life to be eating that very bowl of mac and cheese, you know?

Frankie girl, you make my life!

5. My cleaning lady is here. I told the littles that if they did not put away all the crap hanging around in their rooms, Gloria would not be allowed in them.   Apparently, Big J backed me up on this by telling them that they didn't want to have to in their own squalor for another two weeks, and so they'd better pick things up.

This morning after they'd left, I almost had a heart attack when I realized they'd made their beds. Seriously. THEY MADE THEIR BEDS. I've been trying to get them to make their beds for years. I beg, I plead, I yell, I cry, I bribe. Nothing works. I think its the whole driving thing that has done it. I'm getting more bang for my buck with that Camaro than I ever anticipated.

Now if I can just teach them to do their own laundry, they might have a chance of surviving college.

4. Mel says I can do my first trail race at six weeks post IM. I don't know if she just meant trail trail or if she meant ultra trail, so I'm going to avoid asking her that question and find myself a trail marathon + to run toward the end of summer.   Something hard. Ok, not real hard, but kind of hard. Mediumish hard. Yea, that'd be good. Real good.

3. My trainer should be here today! And then my friend, Brian, is coming to set it up for me! He accepts payment in food. Last time he was over, he fixed up my phone and I fed him quinoa. He was like, what is this stuff? I said it quinoa, it tastes pretty much like nothing, you have to add a whole lot of salt. When he volunteered to set up my tacx, I told him I'd pay him by making dinner. First he asked if Big J could make dinner and when Big J gave him grief for talking me into buying the trainer in the first place and said, no he wasn't cooking anything, Brian asked if we would have to have that stuff that tastes like nothing again.

2. I told Big J not to buy me flowers for Valentine's Day. I told him they just die and then I have to throw them out and then I feel bad about throwing them out.  He response was, how long have I known you? I know you hate flowers. ;) He brought me a plant instead. Its a nice plant. It has pink flowers on it. I hope I can keep it alive at least till March.

1. ONE. One with Mary J and U2 has to be my favoritest song of all time. It makes me happy.  Fact is, I love it so much, I think it makes my life.

Enjoy.

rr: pemberton 50k relay

2011-02-14T17:21:00.005-07:00

Awhile back, waaaayyyy before I changed my mind for the hundredth time and decided that I was going to attempt IMTX, I had mentioned to my coach that I wanted to run the Pemberton 50k. Well, not only was it before the whole Texas decision, but it was also before the Komen 3day and my six week bout with tendinitis caused by such 3day. And it was before the holidays. And actually, I think it was before my ill-fated bq attempt at Top of Utah, too.

So, needless to say, since I had been unable to run any mileage at all until the beginning of January and since I'd decided to go from zero to iron in six weeks flat - running 31 miles in a row, on trail, in the dark, by myself, wasn't looking like such a smart idea.

In fact, Mel made not one mention of it when we put together my plan for Texas, so I knew without question that she thought it was a very bad idea.

Somewhere around the middle of January, I decided that if I couldn't do it solo, then maybe I could talk someone (somecrazyone) into doing it as a relay with me. I registered myself and an unknown as an all female relay and set out to find myself a runner friend. I honestly used to have quite a bit of success in this area, but, at some point (maybe it was after all the Ultraviolet fun we had last year), I think my ironfriends began to get wise to my tactics.

I started with our resident supastar, who, although she initially committed, ended up sick the next weekend and pretty soon, the two of us couldn't seem to pull the logistics together.

During a ride the following week, I tried the dogmom and Nancy. And you know, I don't think they even thought about it for two seconds before they both blurted out... uh, no.

Later that day, I was lamenting the lack of a running partner to Big J when my phone beeped for an incoming e-mail.

Hey girl!

Chatted with Nancy and saw that you are on a team for the 50k – do you have room for me to join your team?
Mel

On one hand, oh, soooo BUSTED! On the other hand, oh, sweet Jesus, yes, you can join my team! Please!

The race consists of two loops on the 15.5 mile Pemberton Trail, located in McDowell Mountain Park.   This year for the first time in the ten year history of the 50k, the race was being held at night. Start time was 5 pm and part of the thought behind holding it as a night run was that the Javelina Jundred is also run on the Pemberton trail and it would give the ultra community a chance to get used to running the trail at night.

Mel allowed me to pick which leg I wanted and I selected the first.   Packet pick up was between 3:30 and 4:30 and let's just say that since I was driving and in charge, Mel and I were really early.   With all our wacky temperatures in AZ lately, we'd also way over packed and were prepared for just about any weather possible. As it was about 70 when the race would begin, I finally decided on a tank top, shorts and my trail shoes.   I put on my visor, attached my headlamp, hooked up my ipod and headed to the start line.

Right about 4:45, the race director gathered the 100 or so participants to give us a quick little pep talk about logistics. He gave us the names and bios of the men working the aid stations way out there along the trail and encouraged us to remember to talk to them and ask for help if we needed it. And then, without ceremony and with a quick 'ready, set, go', we headed off across the shaving cream start line and onto the Pemberton Trail.

I immediately knew that I was going out too fast as I had tagged onto a group of about eight women who were all running together. I think they were running their first ultra because Mel and I had commented about how they'd taken at least three dozen pictures prior to race start. After the first mile, the course started to take a little bit of an uphill turn and as my breathing became a bit more labored, I decided to dial it back a notch.

Four of the women went ahead and the remainder stayed with me until the first aid station at mile 5, when I pulled away from them and headed out on my own. I've been running with an ipod lately, but rather than listening to music, I've been listening to books and the story was getting juicy so although I was sad to lose the comfort of listening to the running women talk, I did enjoy the quiet and the chance to concentrate on the narrator of my story. Listening to books while running is kind of like a perfectly paced running partner who does all the talking. Nice, huh?

The first half of that first loop was hard. The trail on that front side is a bit rocky, but it is also mostly uphill. Plus, I think I'd underestimated a bit how hard it would be to start running at 5 pm. I mean, truly. I'm a morning runner. I like to run before breakfast, preferably in the dark. Waiting until 5 had me all up in a wad. What was I supposed to eat? How much should I drink? Should I take a nap? Plus too, I'd had some wine the night before and we all know what that does to me.  Suffice to say, the 5 pm start messed me up a bit.

Right about the midway point of the first loop, as the sun started to go down, so did the elevation of the trail and I found myself picking up the pace a bit. The back half of the loop is slightly less rocky and mostly all downhill, which made me really happy. I turned on my headlamp, listened to my book, kept my pace steady and watched the ground ahead of me to avoid any missteps and before I knew it, I was entering the exchange point where Mel was ready and waiting for me.

My total time was 2:33 for the 15.5 and to be honest, I'm pretty sure I could have kept pace and completed the whole 31 with as good as I was feeling. Better not to push it though, right? I mean I am training for IM after all. ;)

After Mel headed out and I'd changed - putting on just about every stitch of clothing I'd brought because, damn if it didn't get cold out there at night - I sat by the start line and chit chatted with the race director, Brian, and the volunteers helping out at the finish line. I got to see the first man come across and ogle him in awestruck wonder as he talked of his 50k, 50m, 100m, 100m, 100m five months ahead. I saw the first all male relay team finish. I saw the first woman. I witnessed the camaraderie of the runners and the helpfulness of the volunteers as racers began their second loops.

And just like that, I was hooked. Plain and simple. I have decided to be a trail runner, and fingers crossed, eventually an ultra trail runner, when I grow up. Which, in layman's terms, means after IMTX has been crossed off the list. But, what a blast, seriously!

Just before ten, Mel came in and I knew immediately that she'd had as much fun as I had had out there. She said she'd felt kind of bad being so fresh while everyone was on their second loop, but she also said it gave her a whole host of rabbits to pick off while she ran. She'd run from headlamp to headlamp, letting the passed runners know that she was a relay runner, lest she disrupt their pace, and singing out loud to herself.

I could so totally imagine her singing! Mel makes me laugh. She is one of those rare people that is just happy all the time. I think when I grow up, not only do I want to be an ultra trail runner, I also want to be happy like Mel. It kinda refreshing, you know?

All in all, we finished our run in 4:54. A completely respectable time, imho, for 31 miles and even good enough for first place women's relay honors! I'm definitely way happy with the way things turned out. And, in looking at the results today online, I realized the first woman 40-49 finished in 5:25 and that got me to thinking that less than 5:25 might be a respectable goal for me solo for next year. :)

growing up

2011-02-11T09:05:00.004-07:00

When Frankie made the transition from pre-k to kindergarten, I had a friend whose son was also making the same transition. I remember her telling me that as she dropped him off for his first day of real school, she cried. She cried when she got home, she cried all day long. He was her baby and he was growing up and she was having a hard time accepting it.

I thought that was kind of interesting and I tried my best to console her - just look at the time you'll have now... he's growing up, isn't that so great... The littles had been in preschool for awhile at that point and in my opinion, kindergarten was just the next step.

Fast forward.

For the last thirteen years, the littles have been enrolled in schools that did not offer bus services. Every morning, without fail, I would take them to school and then return home to begin my day. Every afternoon, back to the school I'd go (oftentimes more than once depending on which sports season we happened to be in) to pick them up.

Last year, when Frankie was still at Rancho, my round trip to hit the high school and then the middle school took an hour every morning, then a repeat at pick up time, and for the past thirteen years, the only times I can remember NOT driving them was if I had an early morning workout planned. And on those days, Big J would step in and play surrogate taxi-mom.

This morning, I heard Little J's shower go on at 6:30. By 7 am, he was dressed, keys in hand, ushering his sister into the passenger seat, and heading off to school.

I am going to be honest with you and tell you that even as I type, the tears are flowing. How can it be that I have a child old enough to drive? How can it be that they've grown up that fast? I close my eyes and I see them little. I see them take their first steps. I see them off to school for the first time. Riding bikes. Learning to swim. I think back to my friend who was so lost when her youngest went to kindergarten and the loss I feel seems like that, magnified by about ten thousand percent.

For the past sixteen years, my life has revolved around the littles. It has been consumed with where they need to be, what they're doing, how I can help them, what I can do. And then in an instant, in the bright light of the dmv, their lives - my life - changed. They've found freedom. And, to some extent, so have I. And although they were ready for it, truth is, I'm not sure I was.

My emotions have been all over the board the past few weeks. So much so that Big J said he is concerned about my emotional state. Which, I am sure is a very nice way of saying I think you're acting like a crazy person. Maybe I am. But I think I just need a few days, a few weeks, to reconcile the fact that they don't need me as much anymore.

I know that they don't not need me. I know that they'll still need me to care for them, to love them, to guide them and to hug on them when they're feeling low. Those are the things I cherish doing anyway, so in reality, I should be happy, right? More time to train, more time to work, more time for momo?

Unfortunately for this momma, it just doesn't work that way. I miss them already. I miss the morning grumpiness. I miss the after school talks. I miss them fighting over the front seat. The littles are not just my littles, I am not just their momma. For the past sixteen years, they've been my friends, and now they're moving on.

Deep down, I know that this is what is supposed to happen and I am beyond proud of the young adults they are growing up to be. Their new found freedom is exciting, for them and for us as well. Being able to drive opens up a whole new world for them, one which I am confident that Big J and I have done our best to help them be prepared to tackle.

And yet? And yet... there are still tears.

As I watched them drive away this morning, I stood in the driveway, waving, bearing witness to my littles taking their first big steps into adulthood, and my heart was in my throat as I choked back giving them one last piece of advice. Just let them be, momo. They can do it. You've taught them well.

Somewhere, deep inside, I suddenly realized that it is not just the littles that need to grow. Maybe I need to be doing just a little growing, too. A little letting go, a little moving on. But how? And why, oh why, does my heart feel like its been plucked out of my chest?

tuesday, toeday (that means ten)

2011-02-08T13:45:00.004-07:00

Let's see if I can come up with ten random enough things to make it interesting today.

10. I really, really want a computrainer. Like bad. The past two weeks, I've ridden at Inverse Cycling with a few friends and omg, is it a great workout. Today, I hung tight for the first twenty or so miles, but as soon as we reached the 8.9% grade hill, the boys left me in the dust to play clean up. Which does not make me happy, let me assure you. I'm thinking an extra day to preride the courses before our Tuesday sweat fests is in order. That's not cheating is it? Hmph, its only cheating if I don't tell anybody.

9. No news from the 3 day yet. I'm not sure, in this case, if no news is good news and I cannot remember if they said they'd contact applicants on the 7th or the 9th of February, so... still waiting. I did do a little google searching online to see if I could find any other videos and I was able to find one woman's applicant submission. It was really good. And very dramatic. Like really dramatic - lots of inflection and facial expression use. Perhaps the webcam wasn't the best idea.

8. I've been swimming consistently for four weeks now and I don't like it any better than I did before I started. I do, however, like swimming at night, which I've been doing the two nights a week that Frankie has volleyball practice. Aspire's volleyball facility is just around the corner from Lifetime, so I reactivated my membership and visit their pool to kill time. Um, I mean train. On Mondays and Wednesdays, there is a masters class going on, and although I get there too late to join, the coach, Katie, always makes room for me. I've found that night swimming is actually kind of relaxing and I sleep really well on those nights that I do swim. Although, I am not sure that Big J does, because he keeps telling me that every time he rolls toward me, the whole bed smells like chlorine. I do shower, I swear!

7. Tomorrow, Little J is eligible to get his drivers license. I told Big J that I thought that would be a really good father/son bonding experience.

6. The past three weeks since Little J turned 16 have been excruciatingly painful. Let me emphasize that. EX.CRU.CI.AT.ING. Note to self, I am pretty sure we should have waited for the big Camaro unveiling until he actually had his license.

5. Had that been the case, I might still be speaking to him.   But, I am not. I AM ON STRIKE.

4. This weekend, I'm running the Pemberton 50k as a relay team with my coach, Melissa Spooner. You know, 3 time IM Champion, Melissa Spooner? Yep, that's the one, and yep, that's right - she's on my team. I'm thinking there is no way I could have stacked this any better and we could easily be standing on the podium come race finish.  Never mind that there are only six other relay teams registered. We are going to kick some trail hiney!

The truth is - Mel is incredible. Not only is she a fantastic (iow... she understands me) coach, but she's also pretty hot. I think I have a girl crush on her. I think I may actually have written about that at one point, but let's not embarrass ourselves shall we?

3. There are only three months left till IMTX. Sometimes I'm really excited about the race and sometimes, I wonder just what the hell I was thinking signing up for another ironman. That's normal, right?

2.   My m&m addiction is getting worse. I need an m&m intervention. Every night, I mix a handful of peanut butter m&ms and a handful of pretzel m&ms together on a paper towel and take it to bed with me to watch Criminal Minds and now, there is this big ole stack of paper towels on my bedside table.   That's bad. I need help. Maybe I should just get rid of the evidence, that might be less painful.

1. Ha. Big J just sent me an email asking if I'm on strike against him, too. No, honey, but remember that love language thing? Wasn't words of affection my primary love language? Oh, wait. No. Thaaaaat's right, it was... gifts. (see number 10 above...)

much love!

all in

2011-02-07T11:47:00.000-07:00

When I was growing up, my family moved around a lot. My father was an officer in the Air Force and that meant that every two or three years, he was reassigned to a new location. As a family, we'd pack up and travel cross country or cross ocean to the new base. We'd unpack, get adjusted into our new home and our new school, we'd make a few friends, and just about the time it felt as if we'd finally set down some roots - we'd get orders and it would be time to do it all over again.

By far, the easiest places to move were the stand alone military environments - the locations where our housing was on base and where the schools we attended were DoDDS schools. On those moves, the kids in our classes, the teachers, the friends that we made, were used to new kids moving in and out all the time. It was easy to make friends. Easy to find a place to fit in.

The hardest moves were the ones to small towns, places where the kids had known each other since infancy and had formed alliances that didn't much allow for outsiders. Making friends on those moves was really tough, and keeping them after we moved yet again, even tougher.

Over the years, I've wondered about the friends that I'd made during those different moves. Sometimes, I'd search a name or two out online. Sometimes with success, oftentimes without. When I discovered Facebook, I thought it was the most incredible tool ever. Quickly, I became "friends" with people I'd known since high school, since grade school even! And for a girl who was used to moving and losing touch simply because of the strain of time and distance, I felt as if I were the luckiest person on the planet.

I love Facebook for that reason alone... and yet, it is because of Facebook, I have also discovered something about myself that I hadn't realized before.

I cannot multitask when it comes to friends.

Does that even make any sense? Let me try to explain...

When I was in college, and my roommate was heading out for sorority rush, I did not even pretend to want to go. Later, when the women that I worked with, would head out for happy hour or girls nights out, I made excuses as to why I could not attend. Even today, when faced with large groups of women, I am uncomfortable, awkward even, and I avoid those situations like the plague.

I prefer intimacy. I crave the relationships, the sharing of true feelings with people that I truly care about, that only seems to happen one on one or with just a few. Apparently, I'm not real good with small talk. And I'm even worse at pretending that I am.

Growing up, I only ever had one best friend at a time. Because we moved and because the internet and skype hadn't yet been invented, that best friend changed as we changed locations, but suffice it to say, I can probably count them all on one hand. And now, thanks to the beauty of Facebook, I can count them among my friends yet again.

But, today, I find myself with a few women in my life that I love and whom I would consider my best friends. And I have to be honest when I say that having more than one is a little strange for me. I tend to be all in or all out. And, in reality, its kind of hard to be all in for more than one person at a time, don't you think?

I wonder how polygamists do it. I mean, seriously.

When we are children, your best friend is single most important person in your life - the one person you tell everything to, the person you could talk to for hours, the person who's got your back no matter what trouble you get yourself into, the person who simply knows you best.

When we become adults, it seems that things change. We become more private, more leery of sharing what is really in our hearts for fear of being let down, judged, shunned. Its a delicate balance we learn to keep between sharing it all and sharing what we think others should hear. And sharing it with multiple best friends - well, that's a whole 'nother story altogether. In my experience, best friends tend to be the people that you grew up with, the people that knew you then, that shared your past, that love you still. Making a best friend as an adult woman seemed simply impossible.

And yet, as I look around at my life, it is clear to me that I have. I feel incredibly blessed lately that I have more than a few people in my life that I can say I care about tremendously. Friendships that are new and have not developed over the decades of our lives, and yet friendships that I would, without hesitation, call best. Its a new place for me, and I'm working, each and every day, on learning to trust those relationships - even if we aren't able to see each other every day and have talk-fest sleepovers like we would have had we been teenagers. ;)

The sharing is different now. The cares and worries multiplied, the joys increased, as time passes along. And as much I crave connection, I find that trusting others with my heart is a very scary thing. Each and every day, I must remind myself to be open, not to close myself off from the love that my friends share, to be all in. But I am learning, even if it is by baby steps, how to be a friend, and how to accept friendship in return.

And, maybe, learning how to multitask just a teensy bit, too.

the three day

2011-02-04T11:10:00.000-07:00

Lest you think, based on my last post, that I've completely given up trying anything new, I thought I'd share my recent three day story with you.

As many of you are aware, I became involved with the Susan Komen 3-day for the Cure walk last year when my long time running partner, Mrs. Cashman suggested that she might want to put together a team. Mrs. C has spent the past three years fighting her own battle with breast cancer and as she was nearing the end of her reconstruction, she felt increasingly like she needed to give back. To give back to the community that been such a support for her during her ordeal, to help give others the same opportunities, through the Komen Foundation, that she had had for knowledge and support and guidance.

She tossed around the idea with a some friends, and a few of us joined her in creating our team, affectionately called the Bad Girls, after those bad girls that had created her affiliation with breast cancer, in the first place.

My first experience with the 3-day was magical. From the sea of pink to the volunteers to the staff and crew that cared for us each and every step along the route. I listened to the stories of the women and men that walked with me. I cried at the losses and celebrated the victories of the survivors. I met and shared stories with women along the route that I know will remain life-long friends. I felt, truly felt deep down, that I was making a difference. Before we'd even finished day 3, a number of us had already committed to doing it again.

This past year, our team was even bigger. A number of new and incredible women (and one man!) joined us and the presence of our Bad Girl tee-shirts and the indomitable spirit of our team's walkers became a presence to be reckoned with along the Phoenix streets.

However, as much as our team epitomized the spirit of the 3-day, I felt a bit of a disconnect during the walk. Don't get me wrong, I continue to feel as if each walker, each step we take, makes a difference, brings us closer to what we desperately need - a cure. I think what I was feeling, in my heart of hearts, though, was that I had done this last year - and now, rather than walking, I needed to be doing something more.

I just wasn't sure what it was! Would it be for breast cancer? Would it be to support any type of cancer? Would it be for an established foundation or a fledgling opportunity to help someone, somewhere else?

December passed and we moved into the new year and right around mid-January, I received an email in my inbox from the 3-day. I had already made up my mind that I wasn't going to be walking the upcoming year, so I have to be honest when I say, I almost deleted it without reading it. But, read it I did and what I read intrigued me. More than I can say.

For the past four years, the National Spokesperson for the 3-day has been a woman by the name of Jenne Fromme. Her presence during my experience with the 3-day always left me in tears. From the opening ceremonies, to the evening events, to the emotionally charged and moving ending ceremonies, Jenne guided the walkers through with love and patience and unwavering spirit. The email was to let us know that Jenne was leaving, to pursue other opportunities, and that the Susan Komen Foundation was looking for a new Spokesperson. Their hope, by sending an email to previous walkers and crew, was that they would find someone within the masses of people who were already loyal to the 3-day. Applications needed to be created and submitted by January 23rd.

Hmmm.

Now, I have no public speaking experience, I do know that. I know I have never given a press release on tv or spoken in front of thousands of people. But I do know that I love the 3-day. And I do believe in the message of hope it shares and the way the walk inspires everyday people to have faith that they can make a difference. Suddenly, I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I could do that job.

I talked about it with Big J. I talked about it with RP and my friend Jules, both of whom had been with me the first year of the 3-day. I mentioned it to my dad and Liz and a few others. And, much to my surprise, they all encouraged me to apply.

But then. Then, I started having second thoughts. What if my lack of experience was a deal-breaker? What if I couldn't get through the video that I needed to create, reciting lines from the 3-day? What if the powers that be just laughed at my attempt?

January 22nd came. Liz asked me if I'd applied yet and I told her not yet. She replied with, I really hope you do. Big J asked me if I'd created my video yet. Did I need any help? My family was behind me and there I was, losing faith in myself before I'd even tried. Exactly what I preach to the littles never to let happen...

What kind of role model was I being for them? And just what exactly did I have to lose?

My video is raw, I used my computer's camera to capture the footage since I was at a loss as to how to upload the video from our video camera. It took me a good forty or fifty takes to finish it, what with big J walking in and the dogs barking and my own nervousness. And, now, as I watch it, I notice the words I stumble over, the awkwardness of talking to no-one in particular. But I did finish it, and I posted it, with my application, and I hit the send button before I had a chance to think twice and change my mind.

It is a big job. It will be a lot of travel come late summer and fall, and it will require a lot of help on the part of Big J, the littles and even the dog-mom, with fs, to keep things rolling around these parts. But, its doable, should it come to that.

But, I know, very likely it won't come to that. Very likely there is a person out there that has the experience to do the job incredibly well. My only hope is that they will have the same love of the 3-day that I do, that Jenne does, the kind of love that makes all the difference in the world when you're shepherding thousands of walkers through a journey that will change their lives forever, for the better.

So, today, regardless of the outcome, I'm simply proud that I applied.

Which is not to say that I wouldn't love the job. I totally, completely, one hundred thousand percent would love the job. And I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I could do it. And do it well. I guess I just need to hope the 3-day thinks so, too.

resolutions

2011-02-02T10:42:00.000-07:00

As I am getting older, I am becoming even more and more a creature of habit. I like - actually I think I crave - routine. I imagine this is a result of my father being in the military during my younger years and that there always seemed to be a schedule that had to be kept. When we moved, where we lived, what we did. There was a plan for everything. A place for everything. No mess, no fuss, no thought.

For the most part, I am ok with this fact. I mean, I kind of have to be, don't I? This desire for routine and repetition is about as synonymous with me being momo as the color pink. You simply cannot have one without the other.

When we entered 2010, I posted about how I was going to "try something new" every day of the year. No more bowl lunches, a little less planning, more spontaneity. And, now that we have entered 2011, as much as I would like to reflect on the past year and tell you all that I succeed in this grand goal, unfortunately, I'm not sure that that would be completely honest.

I did try different foods a few times for lunch. I met friends for lunch, or made a sandwich here and there, but recently have settled quite happily back into eating my bowl lunches. They just work for me - a little carb, a little protein, a little avocado and maybe some salsa - so I guess why mess with something if its not broken?

I did try dressing up during the day, wearing grown up clothes, drying my hair and even putting on make-up and perfume, but now that training has started again, I seem to be back to UA and Nike. And, you know what? Again, it works for me, for the stage my life is in right now.

As I look back on the resolutions I posted in 2010 and the reality of the year - I realize it wasn't so much the newness or change I was craving, because really, the bowl lunches weren't creating stress or unhappiness in my life.  The habits I had created and come to rely upon, weren't even interfering with my life, if anything, they were making it manageable.

The truth is... I was unhappy. Unhappy with where I was. Unhappy with the reality of how I felt about certain things. Unhappy with my expectations of others. Unhappy, in turn, with what I felt was expected of me. Unhappy with the fact that no matter what I tried, I never felt like I measured up to those expectations. Just simply... unhappy.

I think I hid it pretty well, though. I feel as if I have always done a fairly good job of putting on the outward happy face and hiding what is really inside. Oh, sure, I will let it out now and then - little glimpses into my true thoughts - but for the most part, my recent interactions with the world - my friends, my family, this blog - have become watered down versions of the real me (in ten bullet points or less).

Just plain sad, imho.

I mean, who wants to know that Big J and I fight, right? Who wants to know that I sometimes get so frustrated I walk out or slam doors or, heaven forbid, drop the f-bomb? Who wants to know that oftentimes I have doubts how I've parented the littles? Who wants to know the sadness in my heart for hurting a friend or the mistakes I've made in my past?

You just want to share the happy, right? The moments of celebration. The moments of clarity. The moments when all is right in my little momo-world.

Truth is, I've suddenly realized, is that those I love do want to share these things with me. As much as I need to get the feelings out so that they do not continue to fester inside, the people I love need to hear them. They can help me. They can guide me. They can just put their arms around me and love me through.

The doubts, the fears, the hopes, the dreams. As important as the happinesses we share with each other are, the hurdles we face together are truly what bind us, what connect us to each other. Our burdens become less when we share them with others. Our stories allow us to commiserate, to connect, to help one another.

Just because I get mad at Big J doesn't mean that I don't love him with all my heart. And just because I yell in anger at the littles, doesn't mean they're going to turn into serial killers. I am human. My thoughts are human.   My feelings and actions are human. For me to pretend they are otherwise - perfect - would be a farce. And I may be a lot of things, but I am not going to be a liar.

I'd like to say that 2011 will be completely different.   I'd like to think that once you realize where you've been - you can only go forward. But as we all know - most journeys involve taking a few steps forward and then oftentimes, a few steps back. It is just how life works.   Maybe I will share something and I will be judged. Maybe I will have to live with that knowledge. But, what I can say, is that I'm resolving to move forward. To let go of the expectations - the ones I hold and the ones that I feel others hold - and to listen to my heart.

If you want to, you can share my journey. And if not, that's ok too.

tuesday toeday (that means ten!)

2011-01-04T12:57:00.003-07:00

The why I ♥ NY edition...

10. You can get there from anywhere.

After watching the weather obsessively Monday and after seeing all the flight cancellations taking place into JFK, I was a bit concerned traveling on Tuesday would be total chaos, so I talked Big J into heading out two and a half hours early for our 9:59 AM flight to the city. No small feat, let me assure you. When we got up that morning, weather.com said the weather had cleared up and thankfully, the airport was quiet when we arrived. We were able to breeze through checking our four fifty pound bags, sail through security and get seated at the gate easily two hours before take off. And then we waited. And got delayed. And waited some more. And got delayed. And then, you guessed it, we got cancelled.

Customer service at USAir was doing its best (?) to get everyone rebooked, but after cancelling all the flights on Monday, they informed us that the soonest we would be able to get out would be Thursday. Um, Thursday? That was so not going to work seeing that the kids had school on Monday and seeing that we had theater tickets for Wednesday! What about going through DC? Booked. What about going through Charlotte? Booked. What about Newark? Booked.

Finally in frustration, I went onto the USAir website and attempted to change my own reservation, which is when I discovered a flight leaving in two hours, going through Vegas and into Philly. What if we took that and then took the train into the city? The online booking engine was telling me that I had to pay an additional $500 per person to switch, so Big J and I went into the USAir Executive Club where the very nice woman at the desk helped us rebook, at no additional charge, and even upgraded all four of us to first class.

Pick up bags, recheck bags, off to Vegas and of course, the flight into Philly gets delayed. Eventually we did take off and we made it to PA around 2 AM. Without our bags. Which after 30 minutes of looking, had ended up coming in on an earlier flight and were being stored. A quick night at the Intercontinental and we were up and at Amtrak by 10. Which is when our train got delayed. No, I am not joking. But, thankfully for us and before Big J had a coronary, a very kind porter took pity on us and put us onto a train departing even earlier than our original one and we were OFF TO NY!

9. Broadway is totally cool.

When people talked about Broadway shows, I think I expected the theaters and the productions to be like what you'd see here - at Gammage or one of our many, very large, venues. But, oh, the theater in NY is soooo not like that! The spaces themselves are small, the feeling intimate, it is truly an incredible experience. Big J and I took the littles to see Jersey Boys and although they only recognized one of the songs as a remake on the radio now, all in all, they really loved the show. Plus, and how can you beat this, now they have an even more colorful vocabulary than they did before. You think I jest?

8. The buildings are SO tall.

I lost count of the people I bumped into because I was continuously looking up in awe. Thirty stories, forty stories, fifty stories. Totally incredible. The littles and Big J walked ahead of me as I just meandered my way behind them, looking up.

Well, and then there's the Empire State Building which garnered us these fantastic views. I'd love to have been able to have seen the view at night.

7. There are churches everywhere.

I love the churches, all the churches, St. Patrick's, St. John's, and especially St. Paul's which is located right at the base of where the World Trade Towers used to stand. St. Paul's served as a refuge during the first few months post-911 and believe me when I tell you - you cannot walk through it without getting emotional. It is a living testament to the goodness of our American people - from the lives of those we lost, to the bravery and courage of those that volunteered in the days afterwards, to the selflessness of those who donated their time, their money, their efforts.

6. Ground Zero.

Our country lost much on the September 11th. We lost our innocence. We lost our feelings of invincibility as a nation. We lost so many of our own. Today, Ground Zero stands as a living memorial to that loss, and yet, when I looked at that hallowed ground, when I looked upon the magnitude of the damage that had been inflicted on our country, I was also filled with hope. Hope in our people. Hope that, despite adversity, we are one nation, under God, indivisible. You must see it for yourself.

5. You can eat any time you want.

Breakfast for dinner? Pizza at 2 AM? Chinese? Thai? Italian? Sushi? French? Indian? American? You want it - you got it. Whenever you want it. As much of it as you want. I thought I'd died and gone to food heaven. I did wish that I'd been training more lately, though, so I could have enjoyed even more of it. Especially that 2 AM pizza. ;-)

4. The bike tours through Central Park.

I cannot even begin to tell you all I learned about NY from my bike tour guide. I am going to go out on a limb and say there is absolutely no way to see the Park better than on a bike with a tour guide. Especially if you had the two tour guides that Big J and I had. Bernard and Andrew. They were like this comedic tag team, each trying to one-up the other on their knowledge of who did this and who did that and who lived where and what movie was filmed here, but man oh man, did they know their Central Park history and they loved sharing it with us. The stories we heard in that hour thirty ride were so fun, the littles are still talking about it today.

Try this one on for size... any idea where you can find this?

3. Old friends.

I have friends that live in NY and although we didn't get to see all of them, there's something about being in the same state as someone you care about that makes you feel closer to them, don't you think? Allows you to reconnect and reminisce why you love them in the first place? Allows you to get a glimpse of the life they lead and to gain new perspectives? We had dinner at Palm Too with Big J's friend, Pic, that he hadn't seen in over ten years and we had dinner with my friend, James, from high school and his new family. We even had plans to see my girl, Julie, on New Year's Day, but Frankie ended up fighting a cold and so I let her sleep. All in all, though, it made me realize how much I miss them and how very important it is to keep in touch.

2. There is so much to see!

1. NYE in NYC.

When my bestie, RP, told me that she and her family were headed to NY for New Year's Eve, I think I might have said, oh, dat's so nice, but I am sure what I was really thinking was, what a ZOO!

And you know? It was. A total, crazy, incredibly loud and wild, zoo. People started lining up midday in anticipation of the ball drop. They lined up for miles and miles and miles, from Times Square into Central Park and beyond. I cannot say enough about how organized and patient the NYC policemen and women were that night. But, believe it or not, it was all pretty peaceful. Loud. But peaceful.

The nine of us headed down about 10:30 when ke$ha started to play and just after Taio Cruz was on stage. With our hotel badges, we bypassed the security and were able to find a great vantage point to see both the stage and the ball drop.

It was an experience I am sure the littles will never forget, and one which I will treasure for many, many years. Me, Big J and my littles, rp and her family, and about three million of my closest friends, ushering in, with great anticipation and excitement, the brand new year. 1/1/11.

It was exactly as I'd hoped it would be and I was just exactly where I wanted to be.

Thank you, NY. much, much ♥.

tuesday toeday (that means ten!)

2010-12-14T11:08:00.006-07:00

Beware, its the sh*t edition...

10. Thursday I have to have a colonoscopy. We're trying to get to the bottom (no pun intended) of what is bothering my stomach. Earlier this year, I was diagnosed with an ulcer but as most of my friends will tell you - dogmom? - I've had stomach issues forever. Looks like my kidneys and my gall bladder and my appendix and everything else we've looked at so far is all good - so now we're doing the colonoscopy.

9. The prep scares the sh*t out of me. I wish it would scare the sh*t out of me literally so I don't have to drink two gallons of miralax tomorrow.

8. The first tummy issues I can remember having were in the second grade. The elementary school I went to had a little side (k - 3) and a big side (4 - 6). I had to go to the bathroom and was on the big side and decided to use the bathroom there. Some big girls were also in the bathroom and started making fun of me and after that I refused to go to the bathroom at school.   I messed myself up so badly by holding it, I had to go to the nurse twice a day and take Mylanta for months.

7. I have a potty mouth.  It just flies out sometimes before I can censor it. Sh*t is one of my favorite words. It was my mom's favorite too.  When she was kinda mad at me, she'd yell - you little sh*t. When she was really mad, she'd use my middle name.

6. When I was in high school, I used to go at least a week without going to the bathroom. My mom thought this was abnormal and took me to the doctor, which didn't help much.  One night, I drank some cleansing tea, which, unfortunately, didn't really work right away. The next day I was supposed to ride a bus four hours to Seoul with the football team for a game. Two hours into the trip, the bus had to pull over because that tea started to work. I refused to get back on. I won't ride a bus that doesn't have a bathroom to this day.

5. Oh, did I mention that I was wearing a full length bodysuit that day? With a big ole sweater over it? Try getting that off in a hurry.

4. When I was in college, I started smoking so that I would go to the bathroom. If you've ever had a cigarette first thing in the morning, you will know what I mean. Eventually, I decided that my lungs were more important than going to the bathroom every day, so I quit. Unfortunately, there is nothing in this world worse than a reformed smoker. Don't even come near me with a cigarette.

3. Nowadays, I have the opposite problem. I go. A lot. I feel sorry for those people that say they can't go in public places. I can go anywhere, anytime, anyhow.  I carry toilet paper in my car for that very reason. And hand sanitizer.

2. I got quit by my first GI doctor earlier this year. He sent me a certified letter saying that I had breached our doctor/patient relationship. Ok, so maybe I did cancel the colonoscopy he had scheduled for me.  More than once. Ok, three times.  I told you, I'm afraid of the prep.   At this point, I don't want to go any more than I'm already going. Geez.

1. My new doctor is great. First off, she's a woman. And that makes all the difference.  Although, when I told her that Big J said he thought none of this sh*t business was in my colon, that it was all in my head and that what I really needed was cymbalta, her only response? Just might be.

tuesday toeday (that means ten!)

2010-12-07T10:55:00.005-07:00

Yep, its Tuesday, so let's just get right down to it...

10. This past weekend, Frankie and I had some pictures taken together. Initially (back in September and then again October and then again in November and ...) we were going to have family pictures taken and after making and breaking the appointment so many times because of a whole myriad of reasons, I decided that maybe it'd just be fun to do some girl pics and we could worry about the family pictures come the new year.

I've been feeling kinda lucky lately that I've had the opportunity to spend so much time with Frankie and that she's been wanting to spend so much time with me.  Because, you know how it goes, before we know it, they're grown up and gone and its going to be like mom, who? So, while I have her held captive, momma/mini-me pictures sounded like a really fun way to celebrate how much I love her and how thankful I am for her.

I haven't seen them yet and I have to tell you, I am simply DYING to. We were barefoot. And in jeans. On the side of the road by a ramshackle old house. And the woman who took them? She is a goddess. Once they're done and I post them, you will want her to shoot you, yes siree bob, you most certainly will. I guarantee it.

9. The number of miles on my car left to E when I pulled into the gas station in my pajamas this am.

8. I finally have all my toenails back. Ok, fine. They didn't grow that fast, but the Vietnamese lady at the nail salon worked some magic for me on Sunday when I said I needed all my toenails back asap for my pictures.  And voila - ten, pretty painted toenails!

7. Johnny and I had an opportunity present itself to us for New Years Eve and although I can't tell you what it is just quite yet, if it works out, it is going to be in.cred.i.ble! I hope, I hope, I hope!

6. Tucson is not happening. I'm bummed. The foot is just not ready quite yet. I know I'm being smart by not pushing it and I hope that I'm shortening the healing timeframe because I am being smart, but dang - I want to run so badly! I miss it.  Tucson will be the first marathon for my friend, Amy, and although I wish I could be running it with her - I know she's going to have a blast and will come out of it wanting to do another one.  bwaaaahahaha! ;-)

5. What is the maximum number of times you will reach out to a friend without a reply before you finally decide to just cut your losses?

4. I haven't started my Christmas cards yet. Actually, I'm thinking of sending New Year's cards - omg, especially if #7 happens. The picture opportunities will be endless. Oh, and somebody I know and love will be there with us and she takes the most incredible pictures... Yes, yes, yes, New Year's cards it is!

3. The bug guy dropped by the other day, a day earlier than he normally does. I don't write him checks, his company just bills me, but he was kind of just hanging around, shooting the breeze, when I realized he wouldn't be back before the Christmas and he was waiting to see if I was going to give him a holiday bonus. Am I supposed to give the bug guy a holiday bonus? Don't you think that is kind of... presumptuous? I mean, its not like I gave him a bonus last year - he just started for us in April - so how does he know that I even give bonuses at all? Just due to the simple fact that I have a bug guy? I think that's weird. I mean, don't get me wrong, he does a fine job of spraying the house and all - but, I don't know. I just find it weird.

2. This month is pay it forward month. Have you been the recipient of any random acts of kindness this month? Have you done any yourself? Go do one today. You can't believe how great it makes you feel to randomly, anonymously do something nice for someone else. I dare you.

1. No. Scratch that.  I double dog dare you.

taximom

2010-12-03T10:30:00.005-07:00

Sometime early last school year, Frankie mentioned that she might want to play club volleyball and would I please look up the tryout information for her. Since neither of us had had any experience with club or tryouts or anything of the sort, my first web check ended in complete frustration.

How does that age group thing work? You can play up but you can't play down? What do National and Regional mean? All the clubs try out on the same exact day, what if you don't make a club?? Or a team at all? And holy moly, it costs how much?

After talking to some friends who have daughters that have played club, and after talking to Jaynee because I knew she knows all there is to know about volleyball, I am loathe to admit, I was even more confused about the whole process, but we finally decided on a club called AZ Sky. AZ Sky planned to field four teams in Frankie's age group and as a family, we figured that there she would have the best opportunity to make a team.

Tryout day came and since I still wasn't clear on the National/Regional thing, I signed my sweet little beginning volleyball player up for National tryouts. Within five minutes of watching her on the court, I wanted to die for her right then and there. Those girls? Those girls had obviously been playing since birth. I had never seen anything quite like it. Frankie did her best to keep up, but within half an hour, the two National teams had been fielded and all the remaining girls were moved down to Regional tryouts.

Then the first Regional team was fielded. Then the second team was fielded. My heart was breaking for her as I watched the coaches take the players that they wanted while Frankie remained on the court. At the point the fourth team was gone, about forty girls remained on the court and I was wondering when they'd thank us and let us know that we could leave. Suddenly, a coach pulled Frankie aside, spoke to her, and the smile she flashed me told me the entire story - I MADE A TEAM!

I have to be honest when I say, I got a little teary eyed. I was so relieved for her, and yet, I was so proud at the same time. To watch her hang in there, throughout the whole process, even though in the beginning those phenom girls were kicking her hiney all around the court, well, it was inspiring. She wanted to play and she was not going to back down, not one little bit.

Fast forward, her team begins practicing and its clear that although Frankie is naturally athletic and has a lot of raw power, she doesn't know just how to use it. She's not getting playtime and I see she's getting frustrated. One of the other parents mentioned that it might be a good idea to start her with some private lessons and when I spoke to Frankie about it, she agreed.

But, let me tell you - if I thought finding a club was confusing, try finding a good private coach. There are hundreds of them and some are good and some are, well, let's just say they're not so good. I looked around a bit, she had a couple of not so great experiences, when I remembered that Little J had mentioned that one day when he was at Lifetime there had been a volleyball lesson going on.

I think his exact words were something along the lines of, we were playing basketball and that volleyball coach at Lifetime yelled at us, she's way mean!

I figured that since Lifetime was just around the corner, one lesson couldn't hurt. And even if the woman was really, really mean (emphasis Little J's), Frankie was tough, so I scheduled her. I took her to the lesson, and during the seventy minutes, as I watched Frankie interact with the coach, I knew she was going to come off that court and tell me in no uncertain terms that there was no way in heck she was going back there.

But, you know, she didn't. I think what she did say was something along the lines of, wow, she's tough, but she's going to make me better, mom, I am definitely going back.

And just like that Frankie became Michelle's Friday girl. And then she started improving, noticeably. And then she started getting played more at tournaments. And then her confidence grew and her coaches made her captain of her Festival team. And then she decided she wanted to bypass the Freshman team at NDP and tryout for JV. And then, much to our relief and to her delight and to Michelle's credit, she made it!

The high school season was a decent one. The JV had some ups and downs, but the girls got along well and seemed to enjoy playing - even if they weren't winning all that much. Frankie continued to see Michelle. And she continued to improve. And somewhere around the beginning of October, talk of club began to be heard.

The parents of the NDP girls whispered about where their daughters were going to tryout. Everything was very vague, which was somewhat frustrating for me, since we weren't sure what to do with Frankie. The likelihood of her making a National team at AZ Sky were fairly slim. That team from last year? They are incredible and are all still together. Add that to the fact that Frankie didn't know anyone at Club Red or Spiral or AZU or any of the other clubs around where we lived, which could hurt her during the try out process. The parents talked of teams being stacked and coaches knowing the talent and that if you didn't have an advocate, you were pretty much screwed.

But then we realized we did have an advocate! We had Michelle and she'd just joined a new club called Aspire as the Director of College Recruitment. She and I talked about the coaches and the new club and the philosophy and the talent and the opportunity that Frankie could have there. It all sounded fantastic and like the perfect environment to me but when she asked me if Frankie would even consider playing there, I knew I couldn't answer. I knew it had to be Frankie's decision. No matter how much I wanted it for her, she was the one that would be playing and although the coaching would be incredible and the club was up and coming and Michelle would be there - not one of her friends planned to go there. And you know how teenage girls are about being with their friends.

Big J and I talked about club with her. We talked about playing with her friends. We talked about the opportunities at Aspire, the coaches, being with Michelle, having an advocate when she decided to go to college. We talked about all the options and then we left the decision to her. Personally, I felt her decision would be a big turning point in her volleyball life. Pick here - go one way. Pick there - go another. But I also felt that it was a decision she had to make for herself, one that she would have to live with. She thought about it for a little while, then came to me and said - I really think I want to play volleyball in college and so I really think that I should be playing at Aspire.

Oh, be still my heart, she's growing up, isn't she?

Prior to tryouts, we were able to get Frankie in for a private lesson with the owner and coaches at Aspire so that she wasn't going into tryouts an unknown. Four coaches and Frankie for an hour on a Sunday. Talk about intimidating, right? But she stepped up and tried her best to show them that she was teachable and a team player.

Michelle and I talked about the teams in her age group. The 15N1 team was going to be coached by Sharon Vanis who is the current Varsity volleyball coach at Hamilton HS. Can you say bad ass? Totally. But if Frankie made that team, she would be one of the last girls picked and would have to work to earn her spot. The second possible team for her would be the 16N2 team. A great team too, great coaches, but Frankie would have been one of the first players chosen for this team.

Dilemma. But, fortunately, not a decision I had to make. It was in the hands of the volleyball gods to place Frankie where she needed to be. Although secretly both Michelle and I wanted her to be on the 15N1 team, even if neither of us would say so...

Tryouts came and we headed to Aspire. Girl after girl after girl began to arrive to sign up for the three 15 and 16 teams - easily 70 or 80 girls in all. And again, I hate to admit, like last year, my heart sank.

I began to doubt.

And I began to pray that Frankie wouldn't be disappointed.

And I remembered that the Varsity coach at NDP had offered Frankie a spot on her club team, without even having to try out.

And I wondered if we'd made the right decision.

And I wished they'd let the parents watch tryouts so at least I'd know what was going on.

And then I saw Michelle and we chitchatted for awhile before, in a serious tone, she said she had something to tell me.

And I wondered how disappointed Frankie would be.

And I tried to figure out how I would comfort her.

And I teared up as a smile engulfed Michelle's face and she told me that Vanis had chosen Frankie.

Oh, sweet relief!

Such emotions we feel for our children, such pain and such pleasure and such love. I know we would have dealt with whatever had been thrown her way. And I know that Frankie would have played her heart out on any team she was placed on, because that is who she is. And that in the end, its just volleyball. It is not life or death - simply a sport that gives Frankie enjoyment to play.

But, oh, the pride I felt to see her want, to see her attempt, to see her succeed. Its indescribable.

And so its back to taximom - 30 miles each way, two to three times a week, sitting in my car for hours since the practices are closed. Paying the fees. Traveling to games. Missing vacations. Setting up privates. Bringing snacks. Doing laundry. Sitting for hours at tournaments. Staying up late and getting up early. Cheering my heart out. And all the other things I will do, happily, for her, for as long as she wants to continue playing.

Because for now, that is my job. And because truly, what wouldn't you do for your children?

tuesday toeday (that means ten)

2010-11-30T10:17:00.009-07:00

I'm going to admit that I am shamelessly stealing an idea from another blogger who happens to do a weekly blogpost called Thursday thirteen. I'm thinking since it is Tuesday afterall and it is Tuesday toeday - how 'bout I share my ten toes worth of this week's momo wisdom with you for your reading pleasure?

kk, let's get to it...

10. That Thanksgiving post? Getting over it? Epic fail. Wait - let me empasize that some so you can truly understand what I mean when I say epic. EPIC. E.P.I.C. EEEEPPPPPIIIICCCC fail.

9. epic (adj): astronomic, colossal, considerable, enormous, gigantic, ginormous, humongous, jumbo, mammoth, massive, mega, monster, monumental, prodigious, sizeable, tremendous, vast, very big, very large, whopping. Ginormous. Ha, I like it. I think I shall use ginormous as my word of the day.

On Thanksgiving day, momo suffered a ginormous emotional breakdown, resulting in her banishment to the bedroom closet for a few hours in order to allow her time and space to regain her composure. (and to ensure she would not be strangled to death by someone who shall remain nameless)

Ooooooh ya. That epic.

8. Although, in retrospect, I do not think there is a single ounce of moisture left in my entire body and now that the holiday season is officially upon us and now that my television set is permanently tuned to Lifetime where it is holiday movie heaven 24/7 - this just might be a blessing in disguise.

7. A Diva's Christmas Carol... Possibly the best Scrooge remake movie ever made. Just sayin'.

6. Six. The age little J was the last time he played soccer on an actual team. Six. The number of hours left before his first game of the school season. Six. The number x 100 at least that I've spent on balls and shin guards and shorts and special cleats and every imaginable piece of soccer paraphernalia - including a vuvuzela - so I sure hope he gets to play at least a couple of ... plays? innings? downs?? what the heck?

5. I have tendinitis in my foot and I haven't run in two weeks. I'm grumpy. But, on the bright side, it isn't a stress fracture and its temporary. And it has gotten me back in the pool which if imtx is going to happen is prolly a good thing.

4. I have been finding that I have a whole lot of time on my hands lately. Perhaps its the not running thing. Anyway... And with all this time on my hands spent thinking and thinking, I've been thinking that I might like to go back to school. Not just any school though. Seminary.

3. Frankie and I volunteered at Maggie's Place this past weekend. Maggie's Place is a transitional home for pregnant women who have no where else to go - basically they are homeless or have been kicked out of their homes for whatever reason. It provides the women with a clean, structured, safe environment during their pregnancy and for up to six months afterwards to learn about their new babies and motherhood and even about what comes next - like looking for a job and supporting themselves and their babies. It was an incredible experience for both Frankie and me and we can't wait to be able to go back. Oh, and there was a two week old baby there during our visit - Hailey. Oh my God, I'd forgotten how little they can be! She was such a sweet little peanut and I have to be honest when I say I wanted her to come home with me. Oh, soooo badly.

2. All I want for Christmas is my two toenails. my two toenails. my two toenails.

1. Although, if that is just truly impossible, I would settle for a teensy bit of peace on earth.

much love!

thanksgiving

2010-11-24T10:26:00.004-07:00

Thanksgiving... A day when we are reminded to be thankful. A day when we gather together with our loved ones and we celebrate our lives and the many blessings that have been bestowed upon us.

I am thankful. I look around me, at my life, at my family and my friends, at the opportunities and even at the stuff that surrounds me, and oh, I am thankful. Humbly so. Oftentimes so much so it is impossible to put the thankfuness into words. My life is good.

But deep down, kept hidden until the holidays come, there is also a darkness that lives inside me. A darkness that is not thankful. No, that darkness is not.thankful.in.the.least. The darkness is angry, it's mean and nasty, and it so does not like to play nice with the thankful side of me on Thanksgiving day.

Thanksgiving... A day that falls this year on the anniversary of the death of the single most important person in my life.

Just how exactly is the thankful part of me supposed to reconcile that little fact?

To be honest, I never thought it could. To be even more honest, I never even tried. For years now, most of the year, I have believed myself to be fine. Accepting. Able to see how special she was and how much of an influence she was in my life and how lucky I was to be hers. I've thought endlessly about it. I've written volumes about it. I have been healing.

But then... Thanksgiving... A day to be thankful.

Thankful? Thankful? Please forgive me, but... screw that. I just couldn't do it. Oh, believe me, I can put on a good show, but deep inside - the darkness was always there, growing angrier and angrier, leaving me absolutely no choice but to start back at the beginning of the healing process come black Friday. And honestly, could there be any more fitting nomenclature for that awful day?

I remember a time when Big J and I were first dating, he was relating a story to me and my comment in reply was that he needed to get over it. What I meant was that he needed to make peace with what had happened so that he could move on. What I said, however, was not quite that loving and kind. It was cold and harsh, seemingly uncaring, although truth be told, it was probably exactly what he needed to hear. It was time to get over it.

I don't like that darkness being inside of me. I don't like the feelings of sadness, the longing, the pain. I don't like that Thanksgiving has become bittersweet and that all my children will remember of the day are my tears.

Just recently I have been thinking that the time has come for me to make peace with the day, with the loss, with the lesson, and to move on. Maybe it is the fact that its been ten years, an entire decade, since she has gone. Maybe it is the fact that her ashes are at rest now, in the Mediterranean where she wanted them to be. Or, maybe its just that I have finally realized that I don't need the sadness anymore to remember her, to keep her close.

Aeschylus said, happiness is a choice that requires effort at times. Believe me when I say it will be a monumental effort to move the darkness aside, to finally let it go. It will be difficult. It will require making a conscious choice, each and every moment of the day, to be thankful.

Because I am, on Thanksgiving and every day, incredibly so. Thankful for her presence in my life, even though it was cut short. Thankful for her lessons. Thankful for her laughter, her tears, her beauty. Thankful, beyond words, for her love. Thankful.

Thanksgiving 2010... A day where I will celebrate choosing to finally get over it.

who?

2010-10-18T12:00:00.001-07:00

Well, who are you? (Who are you? Who, who, who, who?)
I really wanna know (Who are you? Who, who, who, who?)
Tell me, who are you? (Who are you? Who, who, who, who?)
'Cause I really wanna know (Who are you? Who, who, who, who?)   ~ The Who

Do you ever stop to think just who you are? Who exactly? Do your circumstances create who you are? Do your surroundings? Does that fact that you have a significant other, children, a job and responsibilities make you who you are? Do you ever think about it? Does anyone even care?

In case you haven't realized by now, I think.  A lot. I have an inordinate amount of quiet time in my day, whether it be while I'm working or while I'm running or while I'm doing all those other things I am responsible for, where my only conversations are with me, myself and I. Sometimes this is a good thing. I am able to work through problems or issues that arise. I am able to weigh my options. I have time to think before I act.

And sometimes? Sometimes I wonder if its not such a good thing because the answers to my questions seem to always lead me to more and more and more questions which never get answered no matter how much I think!

I started thinking the other day about just who I am. I mean, yes, I am me. I was brought into this world as a daughter. I became a sister and student and then a wife and a mother. I work, which makes me an employee. I am a runner. I am a writer. I hope I am a friend.

But do these labels - mother, wife, sister, friend - do they make me me? Am I what you call me, the woman that you see when you look at me from afar, or is there something else, something more, something inexplicable - that makes me who I am inside? That makes us all... unique?

I'd like to think that we are more. I'd like to think that thre are choices we make, paths that we take, experiences that we have, that lead us toward becoming the who we are destined to be. I'd like to think that I appreciate those paths and experiences as I am going through them, but more often than not, I don't.

For example... I didn't appreciate, until I had children, just how selfish I was. I didn't appreciate, until I hurt a friend, just how important honesty is in life. I didn't appreciate, until my mother died, the strength of unconditional love.  I didn't appreciate, until Ironman, the dedication it takes to succeed. I didn't appreciate, until I was hurting, the comfort in a hug. I didn't appreciate, until I had enough, just how little I actually need.

Stepping back a bit, I can see now how these experiences are shaping the who that is me.   I can see how holding my mother's hand as she passed guided me to be compassionate. I can see how not being honest caused me pain and heartache. I can see how having has caused me to want to share. I can see how words can hurt but love can heal.

And I've realized that it is precisely these experiences and the ones to come that are the key.   Above all the labels I've tended to adopt, above the things I have done, above all that - it is the experiences and the connections I have made in this life and ultimately, my reactions to those experiences and connections, that will forever shape the me that I am supposed to be.

But this realization frustrates me more than being oblivious would, I am afraid. Can you guess why? It's really pretty simple.  The truth is, and for whatever reason, I tend to want to hide the who that is me, for the who that I think you want to be me.

A dilemma in which I am certain I am not alone.