trash can of shame

I have a white plastic garbage can in my garage just outside the back door. It’s where I throw my shame. All of the crap I collect in my car during the days – gum wrapper, abandoned goldfish crackers, random receipts, empty mint containers. Okay, sometimes it’s weeks, maybe months worth of crap goes in this garbage can. And my fast food wrappers. Yep. It’s true. I may be a half-marathoner and a triathlete (haha), a Cooking Light subscriber who actually likes vegetables and fruit, and a relatively healthy person but I’ll admit that I likes me a little Chik-Fil-A. 

About once every week or so, I save cows by eating more chik’n. I do love the 3D billboards and will admit they influenced my original dining behavior. Now I think they put some addictive substance in the chicken, like Coke does, so you just have to have it. Plus, Chik-Fil-A has bendy straws and waffle fries. I mean, come on. I am also hooked on McDonald’s diet coke. I don’t know if the rumors are true that they have a secret formula but it wouldn’t shock me. The line there is also much faster than Starbucks and you can get a super big Diet Coke for a buck when a venti latte is like 5 (plus I have to tip – you really should, poor baristas stuck at the drive up make waaay less in tips) and since I’m usually late for work and sorta broke, that kind of makes a difference. And if I’ve managed to run out of time for a healthy, homemade breakfast, I can get an Egg McMuffin which is on the Zone diet so it must be okay for me and my eternal diet, right? And I can eat it on the way to work! But then…I have to hide the evidence. Yellow wrappers, empty Chik-Fil-A box of nuggets, 32 oz drink cups. So where do they go? The trash can of shame of course.

And then there’s the drinking. If we drink during the week (which, let’s face it, does happen) and kill a bottle of wine, where does the bottle go? Not in the kitchen trash where the nanny can see we’ve been boozing it up on a weeknight. No, no, no.  If there are a few beers downed in an evening, what to do with the cans? They can’t go in the recycling bin with the magazines and cardboard organic pasta boxes. Nope. Out to the trash can of shame they go. Usually with some kind of camouflage on top…like a paper bag or a newspaper. Oh, the trash can of shame. I’m starting to think I might put some of my too-tight jeans and trashy romance novels in there too. Just for good measure.

13.1 x 10

I ran my 10th half-marathon yesterday. It was a total last-minute, impulse, insane thing. I was supposed to have run 13 miles last weekend, and 11 this weekend in preparation for the Napa Half Marathon next weekend - what was to have been my 10th memorial half. That's a good one, right? Wine country, a killer medal, free vino at the end.

But since we got back from Mexico, I've been having a tough time getting motivated to run. So on Wednesday, my sister sends me a newsletter from South Jordan about soccer and swim lessons and stuff and - boop! - there it is. There's a half marathon on Saturday and it's only 40 bucks. Boo-yah! My motivation is right here! In email! Sign me up! But not until I've convinced my equally-crazy friend, Natalie, to off-the-couch this half marathon with me. And, of course, she says...hell yah! Sometimes I really hate her. Can't I have one friend who is the voice of reason? So we sign up on Wednesday for a half-marathon on Saturday. Christi says...you have the biggest balls of any chick I know. Big balls or little brains. It's one or the other!

Luckily (or not, depending on how you look at it), we didn't look at the course before we signed up. Or picked up our race packets. Quote from the race director the night before the race: "Be ready for hills, hills, and more hills!!  And just when you think it is clear running...there is 1 more hill!" Oh shit. Natalie and I haven't run more than a couple of miles at a time in 3 weeks. Mayday.

So we show up for the run, and there's literally no one there. Hi, little teenage sullen volunteer girl, how many people are running? "Uh...there are 67 registered." SIXTY-SEVEN? Are you kidding me?! Huntington has like 13,000. 67?! Like less than 100? Judging by the little pod of people clustered at the "start line" (it gets quotes because the obligatory balloon arch was absent), this might not really count as a race after all.

I struggled through the run. No lie. I felt under-fueled, it was hot, it was a headwind no matter what direction we were headed, that dude was not lying about the hills, and with no people-watching to distract you thirteen miles is like a fucking eternity.

But we finished. In two hours and 45 minutes (exactly what we guessed, for the record). We weren't last. We think we beat at least 5 or 6 people, although they may have been ill or had nice friends who picked them up in a car and took them to breakfast. So we were congratulating ourselves on making our guess-timated time, and finishing the highest place in any race ever (must have been like 54th and 55th although this race apparently does not publish results). And then the race director came over and asked us if we got LOST. Seriously, dude? Seriously!

But my favorite part of the whole run was Natalie. Not only is she a ball to run with, even when I'm pussing out and walking more than I should but as we're gingerly folding our sore, salt-lick bodies into the car afterwards, she hands me this medal (the 40-dollar registration fee apparently did not include medals for back-of-the-pack participants). "In honor of your 10th half-marathon, you deserve a medal. We both do!" She got these fabulous runner medals engraved with "OFF THE COUCH SOJO HALF 2011". Super cool. That girl is, as always, one of the coolest chicks I know.

So, good training run. Glad it's done. Not sure about signing up for that one again although I am kind of determined to actually run up those hills, not walk them. I do love a challenge. Apparently that's what happens when you have balls.

spoon me!

I love watching kids learn to eat. Shoving food in their mouths - even yogurt - by the fistful. Spaghetti sauce from ear to ear. Oatmeal becomes a hair product. And every meal requires a bath immediately after. The dogs love it too but for different reasons.

So we just got rid of the last of the formula and the baby bottles, which was kind of a sad moment for me, and now baby girl has decided she's ready to use her spoon. Judging by the amount of yogurt on her face (Tagg calls it a yogurt goatee) and chest, I'll get to savor the food discovery dining disaster era for a little bit longer.

craft day

It was a hot, rainy, humid day today so Tagg spent a lot of time making stuff. First off? Raiding mommy's jewelry-making stash (back in the day, before I had kids, I used to make these really cool rings with wire and beads. They were awesome.) He decided he wanted to make some necklaces for mommy (how cute is that?!) so he picked out the beads and actually threaded them all on the wire by himself. Pretty amazing. Just had to help him wire the ends together to close them.

He was so excited to show me his creations, and insisted on putting them on my wrist himself. One is Lightning McQueen (the red one, duh) and the other one is "bwack beads." They're both a little more bracelet size than necklace size and a little big at that. If I ever gain a buttload of weight they'll be perfect! But they are, by far, the best jewelry I've ever received in my whole life next to my wedding ring.

His other project? Painting. I have always loved Tagg's paintings. There are a lot that I've kept because I want to frame them. Someday when I have a bigger house where the walls aren't full of family photos and stuff. His pictures always seems to have some deeper meaning than a sub-three-year-old should be creating. When he finished this one, I was like what is it buddy? "It's the ocean, mommy. It's water." Of course it is. And it's gorgeous.

I figured since it was technically a present for us, we'd put one of our anniversary pictures in it and let him keep it in his room. Although I'm kind of bummed. I LOVE this frame!

i like myself

I picked up a book for Tagg the other day at Barnes & Noble - I Like Myself by Karen Beaumont. I liked the title. The illustration was darling. And I like to shop at real bookstores. I'm old fashioned that way.

I read it to Tagg tonight and it was such a lovely story. A happy rhyming tale of accepting and celebrating yourself - when you're fast or when you're slow, no matter how you look or what you do, regardless of what others think of you. Obviously a great message for children, especially when they enter school and have to deal with all of the challenges of social acceptance, bullies, cliques, names. How did we ever survive?

I heard a singer on a kids' radio program the other day. He was doing a sing-a-long with parents and children and he asked, "How many of you can sing?" Every single child's hand shot up in the air, and not one adult raised their hand. "How funny," he mused. "How is that every kid in the room can sing and not one parent can." I think it's sad, but I know my hand would have been firmly glued to my side.

And then I started thinking about adult me, and how I wish someone would tell me all of these great things about myself every day. That I wish I really and truly liked myself. That when I look in the mirror I didn't wish I had a smaller butt, perfect skin, better legs, different hair. I wish I didn't think I should be a better friend, a better wife, a better parent, a better employee, a faster runner. I should get involved with a charity, clean that storage room, finish my book, dust under the fridge, plant my own garden, paint the hallway, detail the car, hand-make some toys for the kids...seriously! When does it end? When did this begin?

I would love to celebrate all of the things that make me, well...me. I want to enjoy all of my features, flaws, quirks and cool shit, not wish them away. I think I'm going to read this book a lot. As much for me as for Tagg and Sloane. And it might become my new favorite birthday present for my girls. Seems like the perfect gift.

green thumb

About a month ago, Tagg and I decided we were going to grow some stuff. I had all these empty planters sitting beside the garage in the driveway, a sad tribute to the plethora of plants I've managed to kill over the years. It seemed like they needed a purpose again. So off we went to Home Depot and picked out some plants and seeds. Let me just tell you. If you haven't ever taken a 2 1/2 year old to a rack of seed packages and said "let's pick out some things to plant," you're in for a treat. Based on his choices we'd have little planters growing corn on the cob (can you picture a big ol' corn stalk in this pot?!), pumpkins, and chamomile. I did not know he was a tea aficionado. I, on the other hand, was determined to finally grow a functional herb garden so we also had oregano, basil, tarragon, thyme and coriander. Plus a couple of tomato and pepper plants, and a few strawberry plants.

We got our plants tucked happily into their new homes. Tagg was a big help with the dirt and the shovel. He was trying to bury the plants more than anything but hey...that's kind of the point, right? A few days later he planted the herb seeds and a couple of zucchini plants with Nana and Papa. We water the plants almost every day and check their progress. No plant fatalities yet, I'm happy to report.

Tagg is always genuinely amazed every time we peek under the leaves at our tomatoes he says, "Look Mommy!! They growed! They growed!" Thanks to Tagg's green thumb, it actually looks like we might have some fresh tomatoes this summer.

4th of july

For the first time in almost 15 years, Scott and I didn't spend the 4th of July in Lake Powell. Very strange. That place has a vibe that is addictive and when you can't be there, you get a little twitchy. We made do with a boating day at Jordanelle. The water was 55 so we did a quick jump in and out. Tagg thought that was pretty funny so he made Scott do it 3 times. Poor guy. He might finally be recovered! Sloane still doesn't like her life jacket but she finally succumbed to the soothing vibrations of the boat and napped for awhile under a homemade tent of sarongs, beach towels and a lifejacket.

We went to a fabulous small-town parade in Park City on Monday. Any time you can wrap a truck in blue tarps, stick a sculling boat on top with a few bored 15 year olds "rowing" and call it a float, I think you're set. Tagg really liked the horses, the fire trucks and the skier, snow boarders who were doing tricks on a trampoline.

Our friends Jen and Chris have a friend with this amazing place right on Main Street. It was huge! Like huge, huge. We had expected this little, bitty yard and were treated to a place that was practically a park. There must have been a coupe of hundred people there over the course of the parade.

Cookies! Cupcakes! Anything with red, white and blue sprinkles? Tagg was all over it! Treats and water balloons make a three year old pretty happy...even without a nap!