Thirteen

Dear Son,

Last week, you turned thirteen. The two of us spent the long weekend in Seattle, and it was a trip that I will never forget. I hope it's a trip you won't forget, either; the Experience Music Project, skateboarding in Ballard and at Seattle Center, going to Jazz Alley with your great uncle and grandma to see Mindi Abair play Heart's Barracuda on saxophone, and exploring Pike Place Market: 

I am mostly okay with you becoming a teenager - that is, until I remember that you are my youngest child. In five years, you will leave for college and move on to adulthood. Likely, this will be harder on me than you; I have spent much of my adult life child-rearing, while you've spent all of your life working on the business of growing up. Moving forward will be no stranger to you, and I know you will be successful in anything you set your mind to.

One of the things about parenting that I always looked forward to was sharing my favorite music with you and your sister; I took great pride in taking you to see The Black Keys in concert, as well as listening to the new Black Sabbath album together. What I didn't anticipate was that you would reciprocate and share your favorite music with me: Let Her Go by Passenger and Disclosure's When A Fire Starts To Burn are all kinds of awesome. 

My hope is that your life will always involve music. I have seen your enormous musical talent solidify in the last year. Part of the reason is that in addition to your weekly drum lesson, you started studying jazz this year. You have gone from being a novelty as the youngest drummer in your music academy to a solid onstage presence in five short years. It is no exaggeration to say that when you performed last month, it was one of the best days of your father's life. 

It is a joy watching you perform with your sister. Speaking of which, you are an excellent brother. One of my proudest moments was the time you stepped in and told your sister's then-boyfriend, who was being an idiot and gloating over beating her in a board game, that he needed to 'let your girlfriend win'. 

Happy birthday, son. I love you always.

I love that I know what 'rock to fakie' means, but mostly...I love you.

xoxo

Mom 

Ambassador

So, you remember the post about my girl-crush? As if Danielle wasn't busy enough writing clever ditties about her travels while running a marathon in each state across the country, she and and her business partner Natalie recently started a website called Ramblen. 

Well, they have invited me to be an ambassador on their website! I'm thrilled to be a small part of their organization and their dynamic concept. I also get swag: a ramblen t-shirt, plus the coveted T-Rex technical tee:

That's Danielle. Sorry she's not sorry.

Dude! I'm so excited! Designed for the athlete who is looking to stay on top of their training and nutrition while traveling, the website offers a search-by-city of the best running trails, gyms, lap-pools, healthy restaurants, athletic-apparel stores...or spin instructors worth the drop-in fee. *cough* 

It's brilliant!

Boom. Stephen Colbert knows *exactly* how I feel about all this.

Yabba Dabba Doo

The first car I can remember my mom driving was a little orange Honda 600Z Coupe:

This is exactly what 'Z-Car' looked like, right down to the racing stripe!

A friend said it reminded her of Fred Flintstone's car. Our car was so small, it wasn't out of the realm of possibility that two or three adult men could have lifted the car and moved it: 

"You could poke your feet through the bottom and run,
just like Fred Flintstone!'

We were a bit of a spectacle. People would frequently stop my mom in a parking lot just to get a look at our car. The most common question people asked her was how many miles to the gallon it got. According to the factory specifications, the car got 40 mpg. However, just by the simple physics of drafting, my mom could get almost 50 mpg out of ours. 

"See? The truck in front of us pushes the air around it, creating a sort of tunnel. Can you feel how we are just pulled along in the draft of this semi?' she'd explain. 

To be honest, I couldn't feel any difference. Although, as an adult with almost 30 years of driving experience and a parent of two kids, seeing her explanation written out like that makes me think of two words: death trap. Regardless, I always felt perfectly safe. But our tiny car wasn't just for the sake of novelty; at $1,500 it was a small fortune for us. Even though we always managed, I was too young to really understand how poor we were. 

For example, our favorite brand of peanut butter was Skippy. I preferred mine creamy, and my mom preferred crunchy. In the 80's, there was a drought that affected the peanut crop and created a shortage of peanut butter. It was a splurge at almost $3 per jar, so my mom couldn't afford to buy more than one jar at a time. There were frequent disputes in the grocery aisle over whose turn it was for 'their' favorite style of peanut butter.   

We spent many summers traveling across the country in our orange car, camping along the way. Not only was it an inexpensive way to travel, it was a lot of fun. My mom could efficiently pack an impressive amount of gear in our little orange car, and we would make our way across the state visiting relatives and staying overnight at various campsites. 

One summer, we were halfway through our trip when our tiny orange car broke down. My mom managed to get someone to tow it to a mechanic, but the cost of repairs was more than she could afford. To settle our bill, she agreed to sign the title of our car over to the mechanic. And then she sat down on the curb and cried. It was one of only a handful of times I've ever seen my mom cry.

In hindsight, I have puzzled over this scenario: What kind of person would take advantage of a woman traveling alone with her daughter in this way? I cannot get over how anyone would be so heartless. My only hope is that karma was swift.

After my grandma refused to come get us, my mom called 'Uncle' Lenny, one of her oldest and dearest friends, and asked if he could pick us up. Lenny drove over 300 miles straight to get us, and another 120 miles to take us home. That was the day I learned the real meaning of friendship. 

Oh, we ain't got plenty of money

Maybe we're ragged and funny

But we're rolling along, singing our song

Side by side!

A Few Photos From A Long List Of Things Our Puppy Has Eaten

1. Plants

Silly me for thinking my
baby-proofing days were over. 

2. Toys

Oh, Hello Kitty. I am so very sorry.

 3. Pens

Where did I just set my pen? Oh.

4. The Last Straw

This chewed piece of plastic used to be my
coveted Millennium Falcon window ornament.
So basically, my dog ate Star Wars.

One

Today is Cooper's first birthday! 

But first, let's show everyone what he looked like at 10 weeks old. There is no other word for this photo except 'adorable', obviously:

Here is what the strapping young man looks like today, although his head looks freakishly Gigantor in proportion to the rest of his body in this photo:

We had a party...with doggie ice cream, naturally. Also, notice the excellent socks that Girldoll wore for the occasion: 

Exhibit A: Cooper tries his first lick of Frosty Paws:

Exhibit B: Taste tested...and approved. 'The Browns' love it! And no, you're not seeing double. The top brown dog is Riley:

Notice Cooper's dilated pupils, intense stare and how his whiskers seems to stand on end? Let this be a PSA to dogs everywhere: we've determined Frosty Paws is actually crack for dogs. Just say no, right? 

"Crack is whack, yo!"

Happy birthday, Cooper. We love you, baby chocodile!

Contrary Action

It's taken me over 6 months, but I managed to lose 25 lbs since July by eating tons of veggies, avoiding sugar and all processed foods and staying accountable for my food choices by emailing my food journal daily to a friend. I looked good and felt great. 

Awesome sauce, right? Right. Except that I've fallen back into some bad habits (not drinking enough water or eating enough vegetables, eating sweets, and frequently getting take-out food). I stopped emailing my food journal to my friend, because 1) it was a hassle, and 2) I felt like I couldn't email her forever. 

I have gained back 5 pounds over the last month. Not only are my clothes tighter, all I want to do is eat the house down. It was so hard to lose weight the first time. And trying to give up sugar again totally sucks it.  

I want to eat what I want to eat. WHICH IS ALL THE THINGS. Right, Scooby?

A lot of the weight gain also has to do with my erratic exercise schedule. In my last race, my training consisted of running only a handful of times over three months. I do not recommend this. It doesn't make for an ideal half marathon experience.



I decided to get out of my comfort zone and I joined my first running club this week with the goal of training and running a half marathon* in May. Although I've run two full marathons and 15 half marathons (I think? I'll have to go back and tally those up), I have never worked with a coach. We will run each Saturday as a group, gradually adding more mileage each week - and then run on our own for 30-45 minutes twice during the week.

And then, I decided that I would register for a shit ton of races:

April 5 - Warrior Dash (San Dimas, CA)

May 18 - Bay to Breakers 10k (San Francisco, CA)

May 25 - Mountains 2 Beach* half marathon (Ojai/Ventura, CA)

July 3-7 - hiking the Grand Canyon (down and out, approx 26 miles round-trip)

August 31 - Disney Half Marathon (Anaheim, CA)

What was I just saying about getting out of my comfort zone? Jebus.

My trip to the Grand Canyon (which will be a whole other post of it's own) is not a race. Regardless, I am going to have to train for that like nobody's business.  

The first and last races on my schedule will be with Girldoll. I am so excited to run these events with her, especially the half marathon in August! It will be her first half marathon...and I know it will be the highlight of all of mine.

ETA: Is it obvious that I am suddenly obsessed with GIFs? I would like to acknowledge Danielle at The T-Rex Runner for all of her help with the nifty GIFs you see in this post. I can't thank her enough for her kindness or support! 

Space Case

This morning I was about to add lunch money to my kids' accounts online...yeah, it's all wild up in here...when I realized my credit card wasn't in my wallet. I wracked my brain trying to retrace my steps from the day before and recall the last place I had used it.

The post office? No. I didn't actually get a chance to use my credit card there. After waiting for 15 minutes, I was still the fifth person in line. I mean, seriously - who even uses parcel post anymore? *sigh*

The beauty supply? No. I didn't leave my credit card there, either. But, to answer your question: Yes, I was picking up hair color. Again.

Then it had to be at the grocery store, right? After looking all over my car, I managed to find the receipt that included the time I was at the store, and the name of the clerk who helped me. I called the store, but no dice. They didn't have my card either. Hopefully I didn't drop it in the parking lot on the way back to my car.

It's more than just an inconvenience; we use the one credit card for almost all of our purchases. I rarely write checks and seldom handle cash anymore. Since we pay off the balance each month, it's more of a glorified debit card. Plus, it's a mileage credit card and I am obsessed with earning travel points. Just when I was getting ready to take the dreaded next step and call our credit card company to cancel the card, a small nagging thought stopped me. 

I looked next to the computer...and there was my credit card, quietly waiting for me to make my purchase next to the mouse pad. I had taken the card out of my wallet and got distracted, and then forgot I had taken it out of my wallet only ten minutes earlier. What the heck?! There went 25 minutes of my life that I will never get back again. I mean, I'm stoked I found it - but, jeez. What a space case!

The good news is that there was a time in my life that I would have totally lost my nut behind something like that. Even though it was annoying, I remained calm and retraced my steps, instead of frantically tearing the whole house apart and getting myself all bunged up.