Happy Fall

Fall officially arrived yesterday as the Autumn equinox occurred.  The Autumn equinox is the point where there is exactly 12 hours of daylight and 12 hours of darkness at the equator.   Now the days will get shorter until the Winter solstice in December.  Fall unofficially started three weeks ago here when school began. 

Jack is now a freshman in high school!

Katherine starting middle school!

 

I am still hanging out with the Haycock Cougar...

Surprise!  Katherine helped with orientation.  It gets pretty hot and sweaty in there...don't think she'll be applying to be a mascot again anytime soon.

 

In addition to starting school we also went on our 9th annual neighborhood camping trip.  This year's highlight was ziplining!

 

It was fun to get all the kids together for the weekend. 

 

We are now in the full swing of fall.  Jack is playing football (already had his first--hopefully last--concussion) and Katherine is preparing for the first Girl Scout camping trip...yes, I am chaperoning again. Looking forward to more adventures of the season. 

Happy Fall!

 



Triathlon Report

I set my alarm for 4:40 am but the sound of the pouring rain wakes me up instead.  Not the ideal weather conditions I was hoping for.  I plug in the coffee pot, grab a pb & j and a banana and pull on my swimsuit and a pair of shorts.   It is time to go.

When we arrive at the site of the triathlon, it is still dark and raining.  I wander through the maze of racks until I find the one for my number, 329.  I hook up my bike and grab my sweatshirt, leaving everything else in the waterproof bag.  Normally, people lay out everything they need for easy access but I wanted to keep my stuff dry as long as possible. 

“Bodymarking!”  a volunteer calls, holding a big fat Sharpie marker.

“Here!” I say.  He writes 329 down the sides of both arms and on both my thighs.  Then he draws a 42 on the back of my calf to show my age. 

Properly marked, I head over to the line to pick up my timing chip.  It is incased in a waterproof shell that I secure to my ankle with Velcro. 

Last stop, the bathroom.  “If I ever do this again, I’m getting a two piece,” I think, as I peel off all my layers to pee.

The transition area closes and by 6:45 am, 500 women are gathered by the edge of the pool, ready for our first event.  We stand for The Star Spangled Banner and the race begins.   Obviously, 500 women cannot jump into the pool and start swimming laps all together.  So we are seeded by our estimated swim time.  The faster swimmers start first and then every 15 seconds a new triathlete begins.  By estimating my swim at about 12 minutes, I am one of the slower swimmers and will be the 329^th person in the pool.  I have a while to wait. 

While we are waiting and watching, I see a woman I had met in the bathroom line.  She had just learned how to swim and was really nervous about getting in the pool.  “You’ve got this,” I told her.  “If you panic, just put your feet down.  It is a pool.”  Now she is in the water and she is panicking.  There are too many swimmers—feet kicking, water splashing.  She stands up looking like she is going to cry.  “You’ve got this,” I yell to her.  She starts to move forward-not swimming but jogging in the pool.  Other spectators begin to cheer. 

“You can do it!”  Slowly she makes her way up and down the lanes.  By the last lane we are all cheering for her and she is grinning so wide and proud.  That’s the kind of triathlon this is—more supportive than competitive. 

Finally it is my turn.  “Ready, go.” I push off the wall and begin freestyle down my first lap.  I swim up and down the first lane, then duck under the lane line and swim up and back again.  This is called a snake swim.  I swim 8 laps for a total of 400 meters.  Done!  I push my body out of the pool and run down to the transition area.  Thankfully the pouring rain stopped but there is still a gentle mist falling. 

I try not to worry too much as I dry off, pull on my sneakers and shorts, and buckle my helmet.  The bike is usually my easy leg but I have never biked in the rain.  I walk my bike to the mounting line and hop on.   I worry about my tire traction.  I worry about skidding.  I worry about visibility.  Because I am being extra cautious, the first few miles are slower than normal.   At some point, though, I forget to worry and start to enjoy it all—the water dripping off my helmet onto my nose, my burning muscles as I push up the hills, the spectators waving and cheering.    I ride 11 miles and return to the transition area, rack my bike and switch my biking helmet for a baseball hat.

Now it is time for the run.  If you have never felt the sensation of riding a bike and then trying to run, try it sometime.  Your legs feel like bricks.  After struggling with my hip for the last few months, I wasn’t even sure if I would be able to run.  I started jogging, slow and easy, trying to loosen up the legs.  “Slow and easy,” I kept telling myself.  “Walk if you need to.”  The rain was picking up again as I crossed the street to run around the lake.  Slowly I made my way around.  One mile, slow and easy.  Two miles, slow and easy.  I’m doing it!  I’m almost there! 

The third mile ends with a long incline.  I lean into the hill, slow and easy.  I look up to the top and there is my cheering section!  They are decked out in pink, holding a poster and calling my name

This is it!  I push up the hill and around the field to the finish.  I start to sprint but the field is like a giant marsh from all the rain.   I run as fast as I can to cross the finish line.   I did it, despite the rain, despite the worry, despite my injury.  I did it and I am glad.

 

Dreaming of a Never Ending Summer

In my dream, it is recess on the first day of school.  “I heard you got Muffled Name,” another teacher says.  “How is it going?”

“I haven’t even learned all their names yet,” I reply.  “Which one is he?" We scan the playground, our eyes both coming to rest at the same time on a little dark haired boy in a red shirt who has removed his shoes and is now scaling the chain link fence behind home plate. 

“That one,” she says.

enjoying July in Asheville

My friend Katie compares the summer months for teachers to the days of the weekend.  June is like a Friday.  You have to work through most of it but the mood is lighter and you know the weekend is coming.  July is summer’s Saturday.  The whole month is yours for adventure!  Saturday is a trip to the park, a hike by a waterfall and a cookout with friends.  But then you wake up and it is Sunday.  Even though it is a part of the weekend, Sunday just doesn’t have the same feel.   Sunday is for going to the grocery store, or doing laundry.  Sunday is when you eye the “guilty bag” you brought home and think of lessons to plan, papers to grade. 

To teachers, August feels like one big Sunday.  We know the end is in sight.  And even though I won’t meet my new class until September, my mind and body have to report back much sooner.  I’ll go in the 3^rd week in August for some meetings and planning sessions with my team.  If I’m lucky, I’ll have my room assigned so I can get a head start unpacking boxes and figuring out how to set up my classroom.  By the 4^th week, we are all back full time, up to our ears in SIP goals and Epipen trainings, trying to master the new Master Schedule and beautify our bulletin boards. 

So, it is no surprise to me that I have already started dreaming about the new school year.   I remember in my dream—watching my little guy climb—I felt very calm.  Like, “OK, I’ve got some work to do with that one but I think we’ll get along just fine.”  When September comes, I’ll be ready.

In the mean time, I want to make the most of my dwindling summer.   Dinner with friends, a baseball game, a movie, a play and my triathlon are all on the schedule.  I have three books in my pool bag.  Maybe, just maybe, August won’t fly by.  Well, I can dream, can’t I?

 

More pictures from our July vacation to Asheville...

See Mom, we're not always bickering!

 



Long climb to the top but views of the Smokies are worth it.

Snuggling with Reed's pet rabbit.

It's a big job, but someone has to hold up the Biltmore.

 

Blossom

It's cool to watch Uncle Bobby work.

 

 

Fit for Photos

Busy, busy, busy.  That’s our mantra sometimes, isn’t it?  Busy working full time.  Busy volunteering.  Busy cooking meals, walking the dog, carpooling the kids, keeping up with the house, keeping up with the Jones. 

Since we really can’t do it all, some things slide.  For me, this year, it was a regular exercise routine and healthy eating habits.  Lots of days I didn’t have time to pack a lunch and I would just buy the school lunch.  So many days, I was too tired to exercise.  To unwind, I substituted a glass of wine on the comfy couch instead.  And way too many days of birthday cupcakes (darn those third graders!) started to add up.

Cupcakes weren’t the only thing adding up, however.  So were the pounds.  Remember the time I wrote about eating peanut M & M’s at work when the button popped off my jeans?  That happened not once, but twice!   In total, I had gained 8 lbs since September.  Now, you wouldn’t look at me and say I was fat.  It was the way I felt.  I felt out of shape.  I felt tired.  I felt out of control with my lack of discipline.  And none of my clothes fit. 

I tried to change my habits.  I gave up sweets for Lent.  It went well for the first few weeks.  Then one day I asked God to forgive me and ate an entire box of Girl Scout cookies.   I know, horrible.  Sorry, God. 

“This summer I will get in shape,” I finally declared.  It became my new mantra.  “When summer comes, I’ll have time to exercise.  When summer comes, I will cook healthy foods.”  That said, I initially ignored the Facebook post that my friend Michelle wrote about a 35 day fitness program she was doing in May.  But something pulled me back to it.  Maybe it was God, still not happy about those Samoas. 

The 5 week diet and exercise program promised results.  Michelle had done it before and highly recommended it.  It was a huge commitment to healthy eating and challenging workouts.  Hmmm.  Instead of waiting until summer to get into shape, what if I was in shape BY summer?  I went to the website to get more information.  The program is called Fit for Photos and it promised to get me looking “hot” for a photo shoot in just five weeks.  I didn’t really want to look hot for a photo shoot, I just wanted to feel better about myself and stop popping the buttons off my pants.    I signed up.

The program began the day after Memorial Day and ended July 1.  Now that I’m finished, I can tell you that it absolutely was challenging and difficult.  I didn’t drink any alcohol for 35 days.  I had to keep a food log which restricted my sugar, dairy and carbohydrates.  Sometimes, I had to fit 2 workouts in one day.  It was also an amazing, positive experience.  I was assigned to a team of 4 women.  In 5 short weeks, we became so close.  We asked questions, shared advice, laughed together and supported each other.   In addition to my team, the entire FFP group was encouraging and supportive.  

My family was so supportive of me too.  “You are inspiring all of us, Mom,” Katherine told me.  Paul started increasing his exercise too.  Jack even got up at 5:00 am once to do a workout with me.   By the end of the five weeks I lost 10 lbs, gained strength and fit in my clothes again.  I also gained new friendships, and the realization that, if I make a healthy lifestyle a priority, I can find time for it. 
 

Now it was time for those pictures.  The program is called Fit for Photos, after all.   I had been dreading it—after all, I’m a 42 year old mother of 2 kids, not a supermodel!   Luckily Meredith and Christy Jenkins Photography were an amazing team!  Meredith welcomed me into her home for a makeup session, making me look gorgeous.  Then, pampered and pretty, I headed off with Christy, her head brimming with creative photo shoot ideas.  She must have snapped hundreds of pictures of “the new me” at three different locations.    I actually felt like a model by the end of it all. 

I know the photos reflect my growing outer strength.  Jack saw one and said, “Wow, my mom’s got a 6 pack!”  I hope my smile in the pictures reflects a little pride from finding my inner strength.  One thing this program taught me: It was there all along.

 

Ouch!

Oh my aching hip.

 I don’t want to become one of those aging people who complains about all their ailments.  I want to focus on all the things I can do—swim, bike, lift weights, walk the dog…really, anything I want except running.  When I run, bad things happen.  My piriformis muscle goes all crazy on me.  Sometimes the sciatic nerve feels left out and wants in on the party.  Together they are trouble. 

Only, I miss running.  I am too young to be too old to run.  I am too young to be falling apart.  So, first I try yoga.  I love yoga, actually.  I feel all stretched out and happy after yoga.  But, I hate the balance poses because when I try to balance on my left side, my hip hurts.  I wobble.  I weeble.  And then I fall down. 

Next, I try a chiropractor.  I have a friend, see, and she swears by her chiropractor.  I love my chiropractor.  First he sends all these amazing jolts of electric current into my lower back to encourage blood flow to the hip.  Then he stretches out my spine and decompresses me.  I feel great when I leave the chiropractor.  I feel taller, somehow.  But, my hip still hurts. 

“Try a heating pad,” a friend suggests.  “You need to ice it,” another recommends.  “Are you doing your stretches?” All this advice overwhelms me.  Should I be taking ibuprofen to reduce the inflammation?  My personal trainer thinks I need a foam roller. 

So far the best suggestion to help my hip has been this: “Try putting your feet up and drinking a beer.”  Resting the body can definitely help the healing.  So, for now, I’ve got my sneakers unlaced and my heels on a pillow.  

There. 

So comfy.

Isn’t this relaxing?

Maybe I’ll just check WebMD for some tips while I’m resting.

A Complicated Solution to a Simple Problem

How many teenagers does it take to turn off the light?  That was the problem that needed solving in my basement this weekend.  Jack had a group project for Science--he and two of his friends needed to create a Rube Goldberg machine.  If you are not familiar with Rube Goldberg, he was famous for drawing cartoons that explained very complicated solutions to simple problems.

For their science project, the machine had to include different types of simple machines, be at least 15 steps, and actually have to DO something. The boys worked all afternoon weaving a maze of ramps and dominos, homemade pulleys and rolling balls.  Finally they had built a machine that started at the top of the  steps and ended with the basement light turning on.  All they had left to do was film it in action.

The key, however, was to iron out the glitches so that all 15 steps would work consecutively without stopping.  Their first attempt was unsuccessful, as was their second, and third...and 25th.

"Maybe you could splice a few of these films together so you can see the whole effect," I suggested.  After all, it was getting late.  The afternoon playdate had turned into a sleepover.  I headed to the grocery store for emergency rations of Doritos and root beer.

"It's going to work this time, I can feel it," P.J. said.  The ball rolled down the steps to hit the table.  The impact knocked the weight to activate the pulley, which pushed the toy car down into the dominoes.  The last domino in the row stayed standing.

"Noooo!" all the boys yelled.  Take 35 unsuccessful.

"Why don't you go to bed," I suggested--mainly because I was tired.  Am I allowed to go to sleep when I have 3 teenage boys awake in my basement?  What is the parenting protocol on this? 

I finally did doze off, until I was awakenened by screaming at 1:30 am.  I stumbled down to the basement to find the three boys jumping up and down ecstatically.  "We did it!  It worked!" 

What started out as a homework assignment for these boys turned into something more.  It was a challenge.  They spent the entire day together brainstorming, compromising, laughing, sharing and working.  Like engineers, they revised their design and had countless trial runs.  They designed a machine and they weren't going to quit until they got it to work.

Now, next question.  How many teenagers does it take to clean up that basement?

The Irony of May



Girl Scouts host the Mother Daughter Tea

Ironic that May is my busiest month yet I told you nothing about it.   May is chock full of activity--let's start with the kids: Katherine's dance classes are ramping up for a recital, her active Girl Scout troop is in full swing hosting the Mother Daughter Tea and her service learning project was due while Jack is busy with baseball and soccer.  Whew.  I took Katherine to her first concert to see Taylor Swift at the Verizon Center too.



And don't get me started on the homework.  Virginia's standardized tests are in May.  Ironically they are called the SOLs  (Standards of Learning).   Just when we think the end of the year might mean a reprieve on homework, the review packets start pouring in. 



Paul knows the kind of Mother's Day Flowers that make me smile.



Meanwhile, Paul's commitment to the Pastor's search committee is more frequent as they whittle down the list of candidates to find our new senior pastor.  He traveled to Las Vegas for work to speak at a conference and, wonderful man that he is, spends his spare time battling weeds in our garden.  We snuck out on a school night for a date this month--had to make time to see an Australian singer named Paul Kelly in concert. 

I have been wrapped up in school too.  Just 12 days of school yet and I know that in the next two weeks somehow it will all get done--end of year evaluation portfolio, end of year math assessment, packing up my room, report cards, parties, field day, graduation...I signed up for a triathlon in August and I've started a new exercise routine to (hopefully!) get in shape by then.

So that's May in a nutshell.  In life's paradoxical way, the periods when my life is most full of activity and adventure are the times when I don't seem make time to reflect on my days and record my memories.