In Vino Veritas

Yesterday I put on my magic pants (aka compression tights) for the first time. Which led to a second 'first' for me; going commando. The only time I don't regularly wear underwear is to bed. I know that the majority of people don't wear them when they run, but I was not sad to be a minority in this matter. Why the sudden change of heart? Because when you stuff sausage into casing, there's often not room for foundation pieces.

After yesterday's run, I could be convinced that it's a better way to go. I'm just glad that I take care of that 'situation' or it may not have been as comfortable.

On the running note, I've officially registered for my first full marathon. It's not the same one I talked about before, but it will be a great fit because Jared will be there to cheer my on, and my best friend is running with me. I think my sister-in-law who ran with the two of us at the Fine Wine half-marathon in July is going to run as well. My friend and I are marathon virgins, while my sister-in-law has birthed this baby before, so it will be interesting to see how our experiences differ. June 4th, 2011 in Newport, Oregon. I'm equally excited and nauseated, but I'm willing to apply the same suspended disbelief that I did while training for the marathon and only focus on the mileage for the week.

Last night J and I went to a fun holiday party. A good time was had by all and the vino was flowing freely. A little too freely, actually. It was my day off in the game, so I relished my glass five glasses of cabernet and a cab/syrah/merlot blend and had a great time meeting some of the people with whom Jared spends those long days and nights.

I was feeling nice and toasty, but not bad, as we paid and thanked the sitter, went through the nightly routine and the enjoyed the rest of all that date night entails. (see C.D. I do talk about sex sometimes!) Okay Dad, you may want to stop reading now.

Anywho, the fear of all parents became a reality for us as I heard the pitter patter of little feet, about a fraction of a second later than I normally do and voila; coitus interruptus. Awesome. As I lay mortified in the bed, J ushered a sleepy and seemingly unaware H back to bed. Within about 30 seconds both kids were awake and crying for their Mama.

Rocking them both in the La-Z-Boy, I was starting to drift off when I felt that unforgettable hot and flushed feeling. I called out for J trying not to wake the sixty plus pounds of dead weight that was pressing on my guts and exaccerbating the urge to purge. J to the rescue and kiddos were extracted from my grasp just in time for me to rush to the bathroom and tango with the gods of drinking. I'm so glad I left the lights off because I can only imagine I would forget what I'd drunk and think I had stomach cancer.

Teeth brushed, clean shirt slogged over my head (does anyone successfully avoid splash-back?), water swish-swish-swished and then a glass downed and I welcomed the surrender to my bed. Thanks to a caring spouse who's been there, done that a cold cloth was pressed to my forehead and I was out like a light, but only after I murmured 'Seriously, how old am I? Nineteen?!'

This morning brought two pre-schoolers who don't really care to know about what you did while they were sleeping, and raring to go with zero sensitivity to noise, action or speed of movement.  The show must go on so rally I did with a bowl of oatmeal fortified with greek yogurt, peanut butter and some ibuprofen. Opening the Advent Cubicle for the day's activity and found the rest of my cure, watching my kids decorate gingerbread cookies (well, mainly eat candy and frosting.)

Dawning of the Ages

Today J and I attended our first ever parent-teacher conference, or 'goal setting meeting' as they're now called. We were talking about Henry's test scores and how he's adjusting well now (which was not the case in the beginning of the year...there were a lot of tears that first month, and they weren't all his.) When we were almost finished, his teacher asked J if he had any questions since she and I talk almost daily, and he said that he felt like I'd kept him pretty up to speed on what the teacher and I planned to help H adjust.

As I was watching him talk, it was one of those moments when you realize; we're really parents. This is our child we're talking about! I felt so adult, yet so surreal all at once. It's not as if it escapes me that I'm ten years out of college and responsible for helping to shape these people's lives, but you just get so swept up in the day to day and time flies by and for the most part, I still think of myself as that silly undergrad with a flaming crush on that cute older guy in my 8am Philosophy class. (It should also be noted that said older boy is the whole reason I started getting my bratty behind to that class every single day without fail.) He was prompt and consistent that one.

Fast forward eleven years and steady he remains; I couldn't ask for a better partner, or role model for my kids. Earlier this summer we planned to train for the Walla Walla Half-Marathon together...then I decided I'd just do the 10k because getting out and getting in the miles has been really hard for me this time around. A couple weeks ago, I downgraded myself to loving cheerleader, since I get to do the Barber to Boise the following weekend, oh yeah, and because I hadn't really trained yet.

I have nothing to blame it on, really, because I was crazy busy in Massachusetts as well, but I found the time. I have great running routes right out my front door and I invested in the double BOB stroller, which I love. I really miss my running group, they were amazingly supportive and motivating. But alas, they're gone (or rather I am) so in the last week I've started to get into a routine again and I joined the Y today as well. Yesterday, H said to me, 'Mom, let's go for a little run.' All this time searching for a running partner, and they were right here all along.

Mr. J, on the other hand, has been lacing up the sneaks and heading out the door from the moment he said he would. His steadfastness is one of my favorite things about him.  Well, almost my favorite...but that's for another post.

Barefoot in My Kitchen and Not Pregnant

I had my backyard dream come true today. The kids had a morning playdate outside. I left the window open and listened for any cries that seemed to indicate loss of life or limb and made dinner, cleaned up, and had it prepped in the fridge for baking that evening. All before 11am. I am in love with my new home.

Our worldly possessions arrived on Friday. Well, most of them anyhow, and I unpacked the kitchen that first night. I loved knowing that I would wake up the next morning and push past the mass of boxes in my bedoom and closet to a box-free world of main living space. I could open any cabinet and find my flour, sugar, olive oil, wine glasses...and a lot of room to spare. Unpacking was like Christmas and grocery shopping all in one.

Our new furniture arrived just minutes before the moving truck so in one fell swoop, our house was becoming a home. As I try to decide where to place all my favorite prints and artwork, I'm realizing that the scale of these walls is totally different. I see a fun lets-have-the-kids-do-a-giant-art-project-in-the-yard post coming up. Hopefully it turns out that I can actually hang the result on our gynormous living room wall!

Taking a shower this morning, I realized that the only hitch is that the sparkly clean house we moved into would eventually have to be cleaned, and for the bathrooms, that eventuality is now. Ah well, the bliss of sparkly white porcelain couldn't last forever without intervention, right?

I haven't run since the half-marathon. Yikes. However, J and I have decided to train for, and run, the first annual Walla Walla half-marathon. I love how strong I feel when I'm running consistently, and have not yet gotten to the point of no return for the land of the in-shape, so tomorrow morning I have a date with the black top.

I got J's blessing to order the double Bob so that there are no excuses if we both want to go running and the kiddos aren't otherwise occupied. I can't wait for it to arrive! I had initially felt myself very small town minded when I decided to order the stroller from the local bike shop. Alas, they called this morning and said that their distributor was out of them until the end of August. Boo!

As for feeling powerful when running, there have been lots of other fun benefits as well. There are many aspects of your life that are more fun when you're in shape and feel more confident about your body...but one is especially fun.

Speaking of fun activities. With plans for a Baby #3 in the works around spring time, I started asking around about local OB's that will do a VBAC. To my horror, I found that the hospital here has a no VBAC policy. I was incensed, and immediately watched The Business of Being Born again, because instant play on Netflix is the best course of action, right?

I am only semi-joking when I say that a home birth is not far off my radar, as I can't imagine having surgery for no reason. I contacted my Massachusetts OB, whom I love and respect very much, and he said that a home-birth was actually not a bad option if the midwife I use has rights and back-up at the hospital. My husband is a doctor, after all! He also, however, encouraged me to be very proactive in talking with the hospital and advocating for my wishes. Now, this is all assuming that once I actually talk to my OB and explain that I've already had a successful VBAC and that doesn't change everything.

Get ready for one hi-larious birth story post if this wailing mama goes au naturel at home. Maybe we'd even use my sweet soaker tub and have the ultimate low-tone moaning experience of water birth. I am not making fun of home birth, or water birth for that matter. But, I know that those who know and love me are laughing at the thought.

On that note, I better go drink another fabulous crisp, cool glass of local Viognier (Cougar Crest, yummy!) as my oven timer is about to beckon.

Victoria's Secret Children's Department

On Valentine's Day, I was pleasantly surprised to find that when I fired up the old crackberry, there was an email from my friend Vicky, letting me know that my husband had sent me an eGiftcard. He also cryptically asked if we'd be going anywhere that day before he left for work.

I love getting gifts. Does that make me shallow? Maybe, but I really appreciate when someone takes the time to show me that they thought about me. It doesn't have to be anything expensive, I really do hold to the 'thought that counts' addage as long as it's something the person truly thought I'd enjoy.

I say all this because the main reason that he was so Johnny on the Spot was that a few months ago while we were dining with friends and I was a little tipsy, I accidentally-on-purpose brought up the hospital gift shop leftovers arrangement of carnations I'd gotten the previous year. Really, that's just as bad as stopping and getting the droopy crap from the grocery store on he way home because as you were at work and everyone talked about it, you realized what day it was.

J and I just have very different values that we place on gifts; call them 'love languages' or whatever you want, but we have always felt differently about it. I know that he was not intending to hurt my feelings, but tell that to my emotional self.

What he didn't/tried but couldn't understand was that this was not so much about him being thoughtless as it was about me feeling like an afterthought. Yes, he worked that entire day...but did he also work so much during the week leading up to it that he couldn't have entered his information in a website, get me a coffee card, or even make a card for me out of the billion pieces of construction paper we have at home? I would have been happy with any of these. Unfortunately, there's just no way to come out of that conversation without sounding like a total spoiled brat and ungrateful bitch.

He left for work after my glistening eyed, surprised thank you (I truly was not expecting anything) and I busted out the laptop and started perusing the mom-approved section of Victoria's Secret which, for me, was a pretty large selection of very pretty, comfortable-with-a-hint-of-the-sexual nighties. I didn't look at the selection of what's become my uniform of pants and tops, I'm not that bad, but to be realistic, when you have a 4 year old who still climbs into bed with you more nights than not at some point, you can't be wearing a dominatrix boustier with matching thong to bed. Well, you could, but a call to Children's Services may be in order. I understand that that above-described outfit is not actually worn for very long when it is utilized, but I'm making the most of my lingerie dollars, so mom-approved section it is.

H came out from his bedroom as I was flipping through some of the pictures and he instructed me that I could not wear this selection because it was 'way too long!'
Um, excuse me? Who are you?

You want to know what he did think would be 'so beautiful' on me?

Yep, that's right. I wasn't sure whether to be incredibly flattered or stunned that even a four year old would pick a ridiculously impractical piece of fly-away gauze. Um, sweetie, the belly and thighs aren't mommy's best features right now, but thank you for thinking I'd be pretty in that! Oh boy, I've got my work cut out for me.

In the end, I picked this one; much more Madonna, (as in Madonna/Whore complex; thank you Sex and the City) but as we enter the Season of Lent, also much more appropriate.

When J came home, H had stayed up to give J his Valentine...the decorating session which resulted in not a card but a sticker-bedazzled face, because 'these stickers are wicked cool, Mom!' After I thanked J for the flower arrangement that had been delivered to my door while he was at work, H presented me with a Lego creation that he then pronounced 'cost four and-a-half hundred of thousands of dollars!'

I quickly corrected him, saying that presents don't have to cost a lot, they just have to be thoughtful, and I loved the Lego fighter plane he built for me. I felt very smug in my 'life lessons taught' moment, until J smugly quipped from the corner 'Unless you think about flowers from a hospital gift shop, H. Don't ever do that, or you'll never hear the end of it.'

Okay, okay, mea culpa.