What Would Wonder Woman Do?

This morning was a rest day for me... so not only did I NOT have to run this morning, but I got to sleep in until 7. Now I know sleeping until 7 doesn't sound all that luxurious, but I have little ones that wake with the sun... so 7:00 AM is a big deal. 

I came downstairs to find Steve and the kids all sugared up on donuts and getting ready to go to Walmart. I rubbed sleep from my eyes and looked at the rest of my surroundings. The kitchen was cluttered  with dishes, pots, and pans from last night's dinner. The garbage can was full. "Hey, love," I asked Steve, "Can you do me a favor before you leave?" "Sure," he answered, "You want me to take out the trash?" he asked, following my gaze. "No," I yawned, "Just take the bag out of the can. I think I can get a little more in there before it has to go out."

He pulls out the bag, and sets it by the sink. Then he kisses me goodbye and leaves with the kids to go shopping.

I yawn again and put the kettle on for some tea. While I wait for it to boil, I get the dishes rinsed off and loaded into the dishwasher. I pour the hot water into my mug, put some tea in to steep, and take a last look at the countertops. I gather all the recycles together, put them in a bag, and open the back door. As I cross the lawn in my bare feet, I throw the recycles into the bin. I walk back to the back door, stretching and running my hands through my magnificent bedhead, and place my hand on the knob.

I attempt to turn the knob. Nothing doing. Totally locked out. 
Well, crap. Here I am, in the backyard, in my pajamas, my hair sticking out in 42 directions, in my bare feet. Home alone, and completely locked out.
Crudmuffins.

I sit on the back patio and weigh my options. It's 7:30 in the morning on Sunday. I very well can't knock on my neighbors' doors and ask to use their phone... it would be really rude, plus it's not that big an emergency. Plus I look like a total goof. Just then a golf cart goes by. Golfers! My backyard faces the 6th tee! I could wait for a golfer to tee off and ask to use their phone.

Two seconds later, that strikes me as a dumb idea as well. Somehow the "crazy pajama lady running at me while I golf" perspective seems unlikely to be successful.

I decide to go check the garage and the front door. Maybe somehow they're open. I walk around, test my hypothesis. Nope. Nothing. As I stand there, pondering my options and feeling completely ridiculous, my neighbor comes out and walks to his car. He waves, does a double take as he takes in my wonderful Tootsie Pop pajamas - complete with dozens of owls and lollipops - waves again and continues walking. I decide this may be my only chance. I tiptoe over and ask if I can use his cell phone. Amused, he pulls it out and hands it to me. "Locked out?" he smirks. "Yeah," I say sheepishly, "Thanks for this." I call my husband - who naturally, doesn't answer. I leave a terse voicemail explaining my problem. I hand the phone back and thank my neighbor again. 

I then go in the backyard, sit down in a lawn chair, close my eyes, and ponder life. Bumblebees laze along, buzzing by my head. The clack of golf club on ball sounds every 10 minutes or so. Since my pajama top is black, and I'm in Texas in the summer, sweat pours down my back and pools in my buttocks. Lovely. I place my feet on the ground, stretching. A rogue lone fire ant climbs up my foot, bites my ankle. I kill it. I sigh. I wait.

Finally my husband opens the back door, laughing, "What happened to you?"

I smile ruefully. "How about you go get a spare key made while you're out?"

Posted by wwwwd at 05:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

For those of you not in the Dallas Fort-Worth area, allow me to let you know that it's been between 101 and 104 degrees this week, and that's BEFORE you add in the heat index. So, because I'd rather die from being randomly mugged than heatstroke dementia, I've been waking up at 4:30 AM to go for a run. Yes. That's right. 4 Freakin' 30. I run with reflectors on in the middle of the road so I can see anyone coming and they can see me. Safety first. Uh, kinda.

Now, I am not pleased with this arrangement. But it is all I have, and I need to exercise to a) stay sane and b) fit into my jeans.

Today was just too much of an adventure, though. Here is this morning's run breakdown:

4:30 AM. Alarm goes off. The clock-radio is playing Justin Timberlake and Madonna singing about "4 Minutes." I want 4 minutes more of sleep. I hit snooze.

4:34 AM.  Stupid alarm. Stupid clock. Stupid running. SNOOZE!

4:44 AM. I am now awake enough to menally debate whether or not I really, truly, honestly, seriously want to leave this nice, warm, cozy bed to go outside where it's dark and bad people might be lurking... to go EXERCISE of all stupid things. I decide to stop being a dork and just get up and do it already.

4:50. I'm dressed. Shoes laced up. Teeth brushed. Ready to go. Where's my stupid iPod?

4:52. Thorough search of bedroom and office. Stupid iPod not upstairs anywhere. 

4:53. Thorough search of living room, kitchen, and family room. Stupid iPod not here either.

4:54. Checking bedroom again. Stupid iPod on sewing machine. Sewing machine?? WTF? Who put it there?

4:55. Stretching outside. 

4:56. Starting to run.

4:58. HOLY MOTHER OF GOD WHAT IS THAT LITTLE BLACK THING BY MY RIGHT LEG?!?!? Take on sudden burst of speed. Realize it's my shadow. Feel like idiot.

5:03. Huh. Sure is quiet out - ZOMG WHAT IS THAT THING NEAR MY LEFT FOOT?!?! Oh. Shadow again. DUH.

5:10. Hey, I wonder why it's so dark out here? Is it cloudy? Nope. There's the stars. But they look weird. Oh. Huh. It's not darker than normal out here. I just forgot to put on my glasses before I left the house. I just can't see, that's all. Well, uh. Okay. Running in the dark without glasses, not very good and WTF IS THAT?!? Again with the shadow. Damn shadow.

5:16. Run smack dab into a surprisingly fire-hose strength sprinkler, completely unexpectedly. (reference entry 5:10, can't see a damn thing) Emerge with left side of me completely drenched.

5:20. Dart to the sidewalk to avoid approaching vehicle. Hey! Vehicle is newspaper guy throwing papers! Get oddly excited, and feel smug. I know who he works for, yeah, that's right. Lose smug feeling tripping over dip in sidewalk.

5:26. Return home. At least I think it's my house. Did I mention it's dark and I can't see?

So, yeah. Totally an adventure today. Ugh. Why am I doing this again?

Posted by wwwwd at 07:52 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Posted by wwwwd at 06:45 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

A few weeks back, we went to the Dadfest 5K as a family. Steve and I ran the 5K, and the kids did the 50-yard dash.

 

Never in my life would I think that a simple thing like a 50-yard dash could be so spectacular. I mean, this event did it right. They let the kids run in groups of about 6 so that every child could get special attention. Every child that finished got a "medal" necklace. The announcer called each run over the loudspeaker, and the children running were featured up on the JumboTron. It was amazing. And the best part was that they got to run from the end zone in the Cowboys Stadium to the 50-yard line (the Star).

 

Steph and GT were SO excited. Steve took up position at the finish line, while I waited in the start line with the kids. As I waited with them in the throng of parents and children waiting impatiently for their turn to run, I watched them each go through a different mental process. Steph, like her mother, was in her head, focusing, seeing herself run fast, getting to the finish line. Gabriel, on the other hand, was beaming, his little mouth in a wide smile and his face completely lit up. He was enthralled with the crowd, the balloons, the kids, and being on the football field.

 

Suddenly we found ourselves one line away from being next to run. "Okay, guys," I said, "Get ready to run. Go as fast as you can until you cross under those balloons." Stephanie nodded, a solemn face like a soldier on the eve of battle. Gabriel suddenly got stagefright. "Mommy, I'm scared!" he cried, losing his edge and getting lost. I started to panic. It was almost their turn! What do I do? "Stephanie, your brother is scared," I whispered, urgently, into her ear, "Hold his hand while you race. It's his first race. Be nice." "But he goes slower!" she complained, clearly wanting to fly over the finish line unencumbered. "Please do it for him," I practically hissed, "He needs you right now." She opened her mouth to protest again and then closed it. A determined look came over her. "I'll do it," she told me, and then clasped her brother's hand.

 

"Stephie's going to hold your hand," I told Gabriel, "So you won't be scared." His face lit up again, and then they stepped into position to race. I took a step away to watch them cross.

 

And they were off.

 

 

Now I know, in reality, the 50-yard dash probably only lasted about 60 seconds. But in my heart, time slowed down and every moment imprinted itself on me, one piece at a time. I saw them running together down the field. I heard the announcer shouting, "Well, here come 904 and 905! What a team, folks! Look at them holding hands! And looking so cool in their matching shirts! Give them a hand!" I hear the crowds clapping. I see them cross under the balloon arch. I notice that I am clapping so hard my hands are stinging. I realize I am so happy I am crying a little.

 

 

I caught up with them and Steve off to the side of the field. Both of them waved their medals at me. "Look, Mommy!" they cried, "We won! We won!" 

 

It was one of the best moments of my life.

Posted by wwwwd at 06:49 AM | Permalink | Comments (6) | TrackBacks (0)

 So I've been doing this "fit club" thing at work to support my team and continue on my master diet plan of not eating like a moron. To this end, we've been going over to the convention center at lunch and walking around... me and some of the ladies I work with. On these treks, we quiz aloud and wonder how far we're really walking. Finally, I brought in my pedometer from home to settle the matter. 

Only it died about halfway through our walk. Dammit. Must be my magnetic personality gone awry.

So I got on eBay to see if I could get a deal on a new one. The old one I'd bought at Target for like, $15... so I was trying to get a better pedometer at a cheaper price. I saw a "Delxue Talking Pedometer" and became transfixed with the description. Talking? What would it say? "Walk faster, fat ass!" or "You've just taken 1 step! 2 steps! 3 steps! What? Don't stop! More! More!" Oh, my imagination knew no limits on what the talking pedometer would say. So I bid on it. 

Also, knowing what a steal that talking pedometer was, I bid on another cheap-o lot of 6 pedometers just in case I got outbid on the deluxe talking one. Because I still needed a pedometer. I thought I'd give the extra pedometers to my ladies at work if I won the lot of six.

A few days later... joy! I won the deluxe talking pedometer! Woo! 

And, uh, then I looked at the shipping. It looked like an awful lot of shipping. Granted, it was Priority Mail USPS, and that costs more... but whoa. I opened up the auction to see if I'd missed something.

Well. I did. 

Seems like I won TEN Deluxe talking pedometers. I don't know what I thought the first time I read it - clearly it says Quantity: 10. I guess I thought "Lot of 10" was a brand name or something. Wow. Ten. That's a lot of pedometers. What will I do with them all? Put one on each hand, one on each foot, and scatter the other 6 around my waist? Will they all talk to each other? My gracious. Ten whole pedometers. And all mine.

Just as this... uh... surprise settled in... I realized I was still bidding on a lot of 6. Oh, crap. I don't need six more pedometers! Is someone kidding?? I anxiously watched the auction status, praying to be outbid. Twenty minutes left. Ten. Five. "Congratulations!" Well, crud. 

Sixteen whole freakin' pedometers, baby. All mine. I think I'm going to have to get a trenchcoat and set up shop at Union Station. "Yo, baby, I got what you need. You need a smokin' hot pedometer, I got it right here..."

Posted by wwwwd at 06:09 AM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)

I was walking out of a big meeting with the senior leaders of our company and I found myself walking next to an SVP that I like a whole lot. "Hey, what's up?" I said, "How it's going?"

"Oh," he shrugged, "The usual. Trying to keep too many balls in the air."
 
Meaning to be EMPATHETIC and HELPFUL, I quipped, "Well, you just do what you need to do to hold tight onto your balls." 

He stares at me. There is a nanosecond of silence as we both realize what I just said.
He bursts into uncontrollable laughter. I do too, blushing fiercely.

"That's the best advice I've ever gotten at work!" he laughed, delighted.

{*smacks forehead*}

Posted by wwwwd at 07:11 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

On Friday, as I was packing to leave, I went to get all of my uneaten food out of the refrigerator. Now, earlier, on Monday, I'd brought in a container of cubed watermelon that I just hadn't gotten around to eating throughout the week. I rummaged through the shelves, mentally planning on just eating it for dinner. 

Only my container was gone.

"Huh," I said to myself, confused. It couldn't have gotten moldy and gross in only one week's time. No one should have wanted to throw it out. I kneeled down to take a better look. Maybe I was suffering from refrigerator blindness. Maybe it was right in front of me and I just couldn't see it. My friend Cheesecake was fixing herself some coffee and asked me what I was doing. 

"I'm looking for my watermelon," I replied, the confusion clearly apparent in my voice. Just then the Professor, one of my analysts, came around the corner. "I put it in here earlier this week and now it's gone."

"Do you think someone threw it out?" asked Cheesecake, "I just saw it yesterday and it still looked good to me. Matter of fact, I thought about eating it myself."

The Prof started waving his hand at me. I thought it was in greeting. "Hey, Prof," I nodded, and moved a few items out of my way to look at the back of the fridge. 

"That's really weird," Cheesecake mused, "What on earth could have happened to your watermelon??" I was just wondering the same thing myself when I noticed that the Prof was now waving TWO hands wildly in my direction. It occurred to me that he wasn't just greeting me, but rather, he was trying to get my attention.

"Uh, Boss," he said, "I think I am guilty."

"What?" I quizzed, more confused than ever. 

"Yes, it is true," he nodded. "I brought in watermelon early this week, but on Tuesday, I could not remember if I ate it. I watch the watermelon. I watch Wednesday. It was still NOT eaten. Thursday, SAME story. So today, I think, oh, it is my watermelon and I just forgot to eat it. So. I eat it. I'M SO SORRY!" And with that exclamation, he gives me an exaggerated shrug.

I laugh. "It's really okay," I assure him, "I just want the container."

"OH I AM SO SORRY, BOSS, SO SORRY!" he implores, going back down the hall to fetch the container. I eye Cheesecake. "I'm really not all that upset by it." I explain, amused. "Clearly," she says, smiling herself.

This morning, when I come in, in the refrigerator is a container full of watermelon with a sticky note bearing my name. The Prof hears me laughing, and he and Llama come around the corner. "SEE!" the Prof exclaims, full of repentant joy, "I REPLACE the watermelon, and I MARK it so it is SAFELY for you!!" 

"Oh, was that your watermelon?" asks Llama. "It was good."

"What?!?" I exclaim indignantly, "You ate my watermelon too?!?!"

Just then Cheesecake wanders over. "I thought you weren't upset?" she smiles.

"Well, I wasn't!" I intone sarcastically, "But ONE person is an accident! TWO is a conspiracy! A WATERMELON conspiracy!!"

The nerve.

Posted by wwwwd at 01:29 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

It all started out so innocently. My friend Mia, who typically doesn't recognize any song released after 1979, has been challenging me to make her mix playlists with certain themes. One of these mixes was - as per her directions - songs that have a number in the title. It wasn't much of a challenge, because there are SO many songs that fit that description... but I had fun putting some of my favorites on there.

Posted by wwwwd at 06:31 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Last night, I went out to dinner with Hawk and some business associates who happened to be in from out of town: Jack, who's a British dude and slightly more reserved than the rest of us, and Tink, who's a senior sales director for an agency. We'd had our dinner and were getting silly after cocktails and dessert when Tink (who is lithe, petite, and beautiful) breaks into the following story:

(PS - I'm sure there was a reason we got on this tangent but I sure can't remember what it was.)

Tink: "You know the owner's wife [of the company we were discussing] just got a boob job."
Jack: (somewhat enthusiastically) "REALLY! I didn't know that!"
Tink: "Oh, yeah. You know, what is it about women and showing off their new boobs? They just want to show you!"
Hawk: "I know!" Hawk smiled and shook her head.
Jack: "REALLY?!" It seemed that Jack would have all kinds of stuff to... think about... later.
Me: "Well, you know, it's a big investment. Like getting your car detailed and pimping out your ride. You just want to show those bad girls off, I reckon."
Hawk: "Yeah, I went through the same thing... tummy tuck/boob job versus buying a Harley. I went with the Harley."
Me: "Shoot, you'll get more mileage from your Harley."

[general laughter, coffee through noses, collective post-laughter sigh]

Tink: "ANYWAY, so she gets 'em done, and then I'm in the office early that morning, and she's all like, 'Wanna see?' So I don't want to be rude, she's the owner's daughter, so I was like... 'Uh, okay.' Mind you, we're in that conference room in the front... the one with the glass wall. SO! She lifts up her shirt and shows me and then she's all like, 'But you totally have to feel them too!' and she PUTS my HANDS right on there! (Which, you know, I could feel the bags, but I wasn't gonna tell HER that, you know, trying to be nice. Owner's daughter, etc.) So I'm standing there, with my hands on her chest when I hear a clatter outside. It's the IT development team walking in... seeing this, and totally dropping all their laptops. Awful. So. Embarrassing."

I giggled for a good three minutes. That's my new favorite work story ever. 

Posted by wwwwd at 12:26 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

We had a very low key Father's day here at our house, because Steve was sick with a chest cold most of the day. To cheer him up, my daughter suggested that coloring with her might help him. As they bent over their pictures, I heard the following:

 

Steph: "Hey, Daddy, do you want to color with the yellow or the moron?"

Steve: "The what?"

Steph: (slowly, as though he was being obtuse) "The YELLLLLLOOOOW or the MOOOORRRROOON!"

 

Steve: "Give me the moron."

Steph: "Here Daddy."

Steve: (laughing) "Honey, this is MAROON. Like BALLOON. Not moron."

Posted by wwwwd at 12:03 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

 Tonight was my daughter's kindergarten graduation party at her school. My son, being only 4 years old, was tired and ready to go to bed around 8:00. So he and I left early, and we kissed my husband and daughter goodnight.

On the way home, I was still all fired up from the Hawaiian Punch juice boxes, and the Wiggles played on 11. I found myself - for no real reason I can figure - belting out "Stars" from Les Miserables at the top of my lungs as I got him ready for bed. GT put his hands over his ears, made faces expressing his displeasure - and yet I took the Mom prerogative to continue to do something that annoyed my child simply because I enjoy doing the annoying thing.

"MOM-MY!" I know when he says it in two syllables that he's not pleased with me. "WHY you singin' that?" 

"I dunno, pumpkin, I just got the music in me!" I say, and continue singing.

"Well, how do we get it OUT of you??" he scowled, and walked around me slowly, looking for an off-switch. 

Heh.

Posted by wwwwd at 07:41 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

My MIL gave my husband a $200 Walmart gift card for his birthday yesterday.  As I was working on a memo at work, my phone rang:

"HEY! I'm at Walmart! Guess what I got??" exclaims Steve, all excited.
I smile. "What did you get??" I ask.
"I got you 4 new tires for your car, and an oil change!" he says gleefully.
"Wha...? You... you spent your birthday money on me?" I quiz, confused.
"Of course!" he says, "I don't have a job, I never have any money, and all I ever dream of is getting a job so I can help you more. All I wanted to do was spend this on you."

*awwwww* 
*melts*

Posted by wwwwd at 07:04 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Happy Mother's Day for all of you moms out there! I started my day with big hugs and this little homemade card from Stephanie:

 

 

It was almost like getting an annual review from my daughter. She very carefully talked me through it, reinforcing the fact that while she doesn't like it much when I'm mad at her, I'm overall a pretty nice mommy. In fact, on my mommy scorecard, I ranked as nice 60% of the time, Hugging 20% of the time, and Mad at Her only 20% of the time. Not too bad.

 

Then you'll note that in my picture, depicting me in the garden, my hair is carefully styled. I'm sporting a pink bow in my fabulous hair, my technicolor gardening dreamcoat, blue jeans, and my pink platform wedge garden shoes. (None of which exist in real life, but it's nice to know what she'd like to see me wearing.)

 

Then it was time for my gift, which was... wait for it... Whack a MOLE! Let the rhythm take you over, Whack a Mole! I giggled for a good 10 minutes.

 

 

I'm having a great Mother's Day and I hope you are too!

Posted by wwwwd at 11:57 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Today, thanks to my friend Mia and her New Year's Resolution to run one 5K every month in 2008, I participated in the Habitat for Humanity 5K here in Dallas. It was at Reverchon Park, on a muggy and cloudy Saturday, and there were about 300 people there.

 

We got there early, and found ourselves aimlessly wandering around, waiting for the announcement to queue at the start line. As we were stretching, I said, "Hey, I'm really proud of you sticking to your plan to run a 5K every month. This is race #4! You're really doing it!"

 

She laughed sarcastically and replied, "Thanks for making me come out and run these stupid races. You're just not gonna let me forget that big idea, are you?"

 

"Nope!" I laughed, cheerfully, "You shouldn't have asked me if you didn't mean it!"

 

A few moments passed, and we started the race, the first mile and a half was UP-FREAKIN-HILL. The first half a mile was up a REALLY STEEP HILL. In my head, as I went up it, panting, annoyed, I dubbed it the "Totally Stupid Hill of Despair." By the mid-point of the race, I'd renamed the race the "Who In The World Designed This Stupid Course 5K and Heart Attack."

 

I finished the race and immediately lurched over to the water table. A couple of minutes later, Mia crossed the finish line and staggered over to accept the water I was holding for her. "What... the... heck-was-up-with-that-stupid-course??" she panted, swigging the water. "Totally!" I gasped back, chugging down water myself. "But hey... we finished the race, and we didn't die. Let's focus on that."

 

"You wanna go get brunch?" she asked, wiping sweat from her brow. "Yeah," I answered, "Let's get someone to take our picture before we go, though."

 

Here we are, aren't we cute? And sweaty? and flushed?

"Results are posted on the truck!" boomed the announcer. "Let's go see how we did," I said to Mia. Imagine my surprise when I found out that I was first in my age divison. Holy cow. I'm really not that good a runner. Plus I've never won a trophy or a medal or anything like that ever. In my whole life. Fortunately for me, there were only 6 women in my age backet, and I beat them all! Woo!

 

So here's a very happy me... accepting my GOLD MEDAL!

Posted by wwwwd at 11:34 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

On Saturday, Steph and I did a short 1-mile fun run in Rockwall. It was her first race, and she was very excited about running. Here we are mugging for the camera right after we arrived:

"Okay, pumpkin," I said, "Let's stretch and get our muscles ready for the big race."

 

"Why?" she asked, "Why can't we just RUN?"

 

"You'll run fast like the Flash if your muscles are ready. That's why we stretch them," I explained.

 

"OKAY!" she yelled. Right in my ear.

 

The man on the bullhorn announced that it was 5 minutes until the race was set to start. "Come on," I told her, "Let's go get at the starting line."

 

"Mommy, I don't think we're supposed to be on the ROAD," she warned me, "I think we should be on the sidewalk instead. That's where PEOPLE go," she added, "CARS go on the road." She then shot me a withering "why-must-I-suffer-my-mentally-challenged-mother" look.

 

"When you run in a real race," I retorted, "You get to run in the road! Isn't that cool? See how the police cars are making the other cars go away? We're special and get to run on the ROAD!" I hoped my enthusiasm would win back her confidence and restore my status as an intelligent being.

 

"This is WEIRD," she muttered, accepting my explanation.

 

Behind us, two Rockwall high school students were talking about how they were going to run the 1-mile run and then the 5K right after. I was surprised that Steph was listening to them, because she had gotten so quiet. I thought she was still pondering the propriety of standing in the road when she said, alarmed, "Mommy, how many races are we running? Are we running TWO?"

 

I laughed. "No, pumpkin, we're just running one race."

 

"Is it the THREE mile race?" she quizzed, concerned.

 

"No, it's the ONE mile race," I reassured her.

 

"Well, WHY are THEY running TWO races???" she asked, completely baffled by all of that running.

 

"I guess they just love to run," I said.

 

"That's right!" said the high school girl, "We just love to run!"

 

Steph's brows knitted together in concentration as she digested this bit of information. Then she tugged on my shirt, signalling for me to lean down and receive a confidence. "Mommy," she whispered, "I don't LOVE to run. I just like it. Is that okay?"

 

"I just like it too," I smiled, "I don't love it either. It's okay."

 

Just then, the starting buzzer fired and we took off. She sprinted up the first hill and it was all I could do to keep up with her. When she reached the top, she looked back and me and yelled, "There's MORE?!?! How FAR DO WE RUN!?!?!"

 

I laughed, catching up, "Just be like Dory. Just keep running, it's only about 10 minutes of running." At one point, I lifted her onto my back and ran her about 100 yards to give her a rest. The next thing I knew, the finish line was in sight. "Look, Stephie!" I panted, "See the red banner up there? We're almost finished!" People on the sides started to clap. "See, they're clapping for YOU!" I said.

 

She put on a burst of speed at the end and crossed the finish line.

 

"Mommy, I just kept trying my best, and I did it!" she laughed, very proud of herself.

 

What an awesome day.

Posted by wwwwd at 07:04 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

I haven't been on much because I've been so heads-down, just getting through life. 

I do have one thing that is keeping me smiling right now. My daughter has been begging to run a race with me (I run a 5K race for charity every month). She's only 5, so I know she'd never make it through a 5K... but I did find a 1 mile fun run event on Saturday. She's so excited to run with me like a grown-up! :) Now, I think it won't go very well and that she'll run a little and then hate it, or cry, or be angry that she isn't winning the race... or all of the above. I've been talking her through it being about just finishing the race and that's what it's all about. 

Still, I'm really excited about it too! :)

I'll post pics and let you know how it goes.  

Posted by wwwwd at 07:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

We went to the grocery store yesterday as part of our standard Saturday routine. GT insisted that we get one of those grocery carts with the plastic car on the front of it so he could "drive" around the store. After he climbed into the car, I pushed the cart through the first aisle. As I stopped to put something in the cart, I heard a little voice expressing confusion from the car:

"Huh. Guess I wan out of gas!"

Posted by wwwwd at 09:12 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I took the kids to a movie this weekend ("Horton Hears a Who") and on the way, we were listening to a CD I'd made. Just a general mix CD, nothing special - other than the fact it didn't have any language on it that wasn't kid-friendly. Enrique Iglasias' "Bailamos" (pronounced BYE LA MOST - pay attention, this is important for later) came on, and both children fell silent, transfixed. As the song ended, they begged me to play it again. I'm an obliging Mommy, so I played it again. 

Near the back half of the song, after the bridge, I noticed that both of them were quietly singing the song - in that hesitant way people sing when they aren't quite sure of the words. As the song ended, they both clamored, "AGAIN! AGAIN!" 

Now, this is an AWFUL lot of Enrique for me, but I do love my children, so I played it again. THIS time, they belted out the chorus as it came around. I thought, "Wow, they know the chorus after only 2 listens," completely amazed with my intelligent children. Granted, "Bailamos" is not that complicated a song, but they are 4 and 5 years old, so it's still kind of impressive. 

Then I realized WHAT they were singing. And I started laughing so hard I almost had to pull over.

The actual chorus:
"Bailamos!
Let the rhythm take you over,
Bailamos!"

What my children were LOUDLY singing:
"Whack a MOLE!
Let the rhythm take you OVER!
Whack a MOLE!"

Posted by wwwwd at 07:41 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

There are two very relevant things that you need to know in order to really understand the magnitude of what happened to me today:

1) A few weeks ago, my daughter had a cookie dough fundraiser at school. I sold enough dough at work for her to be able to take a limo ride for meeting a certain sales goal. All the dough came in last night. So, today, I had to take it in to work.

2) For the last 6 weeks, my boss and I have diligently been trying to schedule a meeting with the top 2 Big Cheeses at our company to give a one-year review of my department's progress against the original business case to create my team. It's been rescheduled several times over... and the most recent presentation date was for tomorrow.

When I woke this morning, I went through several wardrobe choices as I attempted to reconcile professional attire requirements with the grim reality of lugging about 40 pounds of cookie dough into work.  Finally I gave up, daring to break the rule and wear jeans on a day that was not Casual Friday. I paired the jeans with a ruched black shirt and jacket combo, and cute black loafers as well. 

I had just returned to my office after unloading all of the dough in the floor refrigerator, when the phone rang. It was my boss. 

"We're going to be on for today," she said, "4:30 to 5:30."
Imagine my dismay. The New Cheese hates jeans. Hates 'em. Crrrrrap.
"Uh," I stammer, "I think we have a situation here." Briefly I explain my wardrobe issue.
"Take my card, and I will send you out to get new pants," she informs me, decisively, "My admin can even drive you."

I instantly call my husband, who decides that it is a good idea to critique the way I've organized my closet as he struggles to find the pair of black pants I'm requesting. "I'll bring them around 1:00." Perfect. We hang up.

Phone rings.
Boss.
"It might happen earlier. How are we coming with the pants? We might have to go soon."
Crrrap.
"I'll work it out. Count on me." We're reduced ourselves to a military brevity as Operation Pants enters a new phase.

I walk the floor, scrutinizing every female colleague I have. Mostly I'm focused on the waist and hip area. Who's most likely to be my size? Whose pants can I commandeer? I pass the Research area. Nope. Small thin butts there. Creative... varied butt sizes... one potential. However, the true treasure lay in Loyalty. My friend Iraq. As I stood there, sizing her up from afar, it seemed a perfect match. Same height, similar sizes, people tend to think we're both pregnant when we're not... AND her pants match my outfit. Gravy!

I realize I'm late for a phone call and dash back to my office. I dial Iraq while I wait for the inbound call. "Iraq," I say, all business, "I'm going to ask you something odd and I'd like you to not read too much into it."

"Uh, okay," she answers, cautiously.

"What size are your pants?" I ask. She tells me. It's a little small, but if I give the presentation standing, then I think I can pull it off. "Can I borrow your pants?" I ask.

"What, right now??" She's clearly startled. "Like, we switch?"

"Yes," I intone firmly, "In your pants lie the future of my team." In my head, I realize how very wrong that sounds. Quickly I explain the situation. She's in. Perfect. We'll switch whenever I get my call for the presentation.

Hours go by. Nothing. No word. Iraq calls. "I have lunch offsite with a vendor. Can I take my pants with me?"
I laugh. "Please do," I respond graciously.

Shortly thereafter my boss emails: It's not going to happen today. Need a quick one-sheeter to make a quick argument. Keep your pants on. 

I call my husband, and get his voicemail: "I'm good! I'm good! I don't need the pants! Repeat! Cancel Operation Pants!"

Man.

Posted by wwwwd at 06:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Posted by wwwwd at 09:36 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)