Runner

Early morning sky

I’ve always been an early riser. I especially love when I’m awake early enough to see the sky come to life.

Lately I’ve been going outside a few mornings a week to run. I gave up running over a year ago because I just couldn’t figure out what it was that I was supposed to like about it. It certainly wasn’t the lack of stamina or the side aches. And that runner’s high thing? Never felt it. So I quit. Recently I began feeling that I wanted to give running another try, but I didn’t know if I’d be any more successful this time around than the last time I tried to be a runner. It’s been a couple of weeks now and I’m doing it. I’ve found a route that I like with an even mix of uphill, downhill and level stretches. I’m not fast and I haven’t conquered great distances, but there is no doubt. I am running!

I checked the pedometer after the last run I did and it said I went three and a half miles. I’m happy with that. I haven’t mentioned the running much to anyone, mostly because I was afraid I would only be reminded again that I just couldn’t do it. But I talk to Joe at work about it. Joe finished the Twin Cities Marathon last year and he inspires me. Joe says he runs simply because he enjoys the physical act of running. I found that intriguing at first, but am starting to get what he means. Joe is very encouraging too. He suggested I read a book he just read and loved, Born to Run. He said it is sure motivate me to run even more. I’m putting it on my to-read list.

Another coworker who is an avid runner overheard Joe and me talking one day. I was telling him that I’d run enough times and with enough success that I thought it justified buying a new pair of shoes.  Our coworker asked what we were talking about. Joe hitched his thumb toward me and with a big smile on his face, simply said to her, “Runner!”

I was sort of surprised and wanted to argue with him, but I realized that if Joe thought I was a runner, maybe it was true.

So I guess I can admit that I’m a runner. And I look forward to going out while it’s still dark outside, with just a hint of dawn on the horizon. And by the time I get back home, I can take a few minutes to sit out on my deck and enjoy the exhilaration of the run I’ve just finished while watching the sky bring on another day.

The Week in Cell Phone Photos (and some video!)

It’s been an eventful week!

Miss Lucy Pie got herself a new pool. The story behind this is that I wanted to give her a bath one day when she came in with muddy paws. I tried to put her in the bath tub but she was having nothing to do with it. She leaped out of my arms before I could get her in and took off running as far away as she could get. Later, I had the idea that maybe a kiddie pool was the answer. And it was. On Sunday, after this video was taken, Lucy willingly let Kacey give her a bath in the pool.

Mothers Day and Kacey’s birthday fell on the same day. I’ve pretty much fallen off the cooking bandwagon, but wanted to make a birthday dinner that I knew my baby girl would enjoy. And she did!

Cheese-Stuffed Shells

Yum!

My kids gave me the coolest gift for Mothers Day! A customized cell phone cover. I’ve been looking for a new cover, but couldn’t find one I liked. This one? I love!

Lucy has laid claim to the area under the pine tree in the back yard. She loves to hang out there. It seemed a fitting place to put the garden stone my nephew, Matthew made her for Christmas. (He made one of these for all of the family dogs! Isn’t he creative?)

Lucy Pie’s Lounge

Belinda and I ventured out of the office Tuesday at lunch time. The food trucks travel around downtown St. Paul in the summertime and we walked to Mear’s Park to see what was good to eat. We found Lamb Gyro wraps – basically a gyro in a wrap instead of in flat bread. And they were delicious!

The Cave Cafe – I highly recommend!

And after work on Tuesday, B and I enjoyed a little happy hour with some current and former coworkers! FUN!

Mmmmm…. BEER!

File this one under the not really funny, except it is category. My mom broke her toe and ended up having to wear one of these boots. How did she break her toe? She was helping my dad put on the boot that he’s required to wear for his own foot injury. (Dad’s boot is much bigger than this one.)

The fashion at my parents’ house

And the happiest ending possible to my week … Kacey is home from college for the summer!

Now to figure out where to put it all until next fall!

Happy Friday, everyone!

Celebrating Moms and Daughters

On my mom’s side of the family, the “boy” cousins outnumber the “girl” cousins ten to six. Growing up, I didn’t get to know most of my cousins all that well, except for Becky. Becky is a month older than me and she’s the “oops” baby of her family. My mom was herself an “oops” baby, which meant by the time she had  us kids, there was enough of an age gap between us and our cousins that we were never all that close.

One of the benefits of growing older is that such age gaps begin to close. For the past several years, each time there is a family gathering, the bond between the cousins seems to grow stronger. My oldest cousin is fifteen or more years older than me and he’s been a grandpa for several years. “Oops” babies seem to be a trend in this family. My oldest cousin’s youngest child is just a year older than my youngest child. And I love that because having children of similar ages is a one of the things that ties us all closer together.

Lately, the girl cousins have been proposing that we start a tradition of girl-cousin get-togethers. It always seems like a great idea when we’re together, but when we go our separate ways, life gets in the way and these girl-cousin parties never seem to transpire; that is, until this past weekend. Well over a month ago, my cousin, Jean emailed all of us girls and proposed not just a girl-cousin party, but a moms and daughters and daughters-in-law and granddaughters party in honor of Mothers Day. Last Saturday was the day it all came together.

It was a gorgeous, warm day and we all gathered at Jean’s house for brunch. Everyone contributed a salad or dessert. There was much hugging and talking, laughing and reminiscing. There was plenty of picture-taking and story-swapping. My mom was feeling well and it was great to see her together with all three of her sisters, enjoying her family who she doesn’t see often enough. It was one of those beautiful times that reminded me what a  precious gift family can be.

Moms, daughters, granddaughters, great-granddaughters and one great-grandson!

My beautiful mom and her beautiful granddaughters

Mom with all of her daughters, daughters-in-law and granddaughters

My beautiful Kacey and me

Me and my favorite (and only) sister!

Dad’s Surgery

My parents stopped over one evening last week. They paid the appropriate amount of attention to the dog first, then got to the point of the visit. Mom asked if I was busy at work.

“Yes,” I said. “I mean, sometimes. One week I’m overwhelmed and the next, not so much.”

Then it occurred to me to be suspicious. “Why?”

“Dad’s having surgery on Friday.”

I looked at my dad. I looked at his foot. He’s been wearing one of those boots for foot injuries lately. (Long story.)

“Not on his foot,” my mom said. “He’s having a parathyroid gland removed.” (Believe it or not, this is related to the foot. Another long story.)

“So,” my dad said, “we were wondering if you could take us to the hospital on Friday for my surgery.”

Details were then shared. It was actually considered a minor surgery. Shouldn’t take long. I could probably be back to work by lunch time. I would have to reschedule a conference call to make it work, but I said I thought I could manage it. My dad said if I couldn’t get out of work, they could ask my brother. Apparently he only works until 10:30 on Friday mornings.

I promised to do my best to work things out and would call them from work the next day. As they left, I wondered two things. Why did they ask me to drive? My mom can drive and she’s familiar with the hospital. And if my brother only works a few hours on Friday anyway, why hadn’t they asked him? But I didn’t ask. My parents had asked me. They must have had their reasons.

I was able to rearrange my work day. Promised my boss I’d be in as soon as I could get my parents back home again and I’d work half a day. I called my parents to let them know. They were happy.

Friday morning, I picked up my parents and we headed downtown, earlier than I usually leave for work. We checked my dad in at 6:45 a.m. Then the checker-inner person said that my dad should go to pre-op and my mom should accompany him. I should go to the surgical waiting room and expect to see my mom in a half hour or so.

Two hours later, my mom joined me and my dad was taken in for surgery. She said they had to do all kinds of things related to all of his various heart and diabetic and kidney conditions. They had to ask him all kinds of questions before he was finally ready for surgery. We didn’t expect it to be very long, but two more hours passed before the surgeon came out to tell my mom that all went well and my dad was in recovery. He said Dad would be in recovery about an hour. The pager they’d assigned us would flash when my dad was moved to a room and it was okay to go join him.

An hour passed and we were not paged. My mom went to check in with the checker-inner desk people. A man there said they were very busy and that my dad had not yet been moved to a room. He said my dad was in line behind one other person, but neither could be moved until some other people were moved out for surgery. I asked if he thought it might be a half hour? An hour? More? He really had no idea. He promised our pager would flash as soon as we could see my dad. I sensed a case of serious surgical over-booking. I emailed work and told them I might not be in at all.

Two and a half hours passed. We were hungry, but avoided going to the cafeteria because we kept thinking, “Any minute now…” We spent the time talking about this, that and everything.

My mom mentioned that she had planned to just take my dad to the hospital on her own, but that Dad had insisted they should ask one of their kids to accompany them. My dad said he wanted to ask me. My mild annoyance at having to rearrange my work schedule melted when I learned this. I half smiled at the realization that Dad had insisted on me. My mom had been perfectly willing to manage this on her own, but my dad had been telling others that Mom wasn’t comfortable driving downtown and that was why they had asked me to drive them. Mom wasn’t thrilled, but I thought it was kind of cute.

“Dad’s always been a sucker when it comes to you,” Mom said.

“Well, he has to be,” I said. “I gave him a body part.”

“Yes, but even before that,” Mom said.

“Has not!“

“Yes he has. You were always his little darling.”

I had trouble swallowing this. I guess when I think back to childhood, I tend to remember the tough times, the teenage years when I couldn’t seem to do anything right and when doing wrong meant suffering through one of Dad’s interminable lectures in the kitchen. And believe me, I got my share of lectures. But once I began to think past those times, I told my mom that I did remember Dad giving “horsey” rides on his leg while he sat at the kitchen table. I remember climbing up on his lap and asking for a sip of his beer. He always said yes. I remember him stretched out on the living room couch in the evenings and letting me snuggle up next to him, resting in the crook of his arm while we watched Adam 12 or Emergency!

Maybe he did have a soft-spot for me. Funny how I never believed it. And about this time, it occurred to me to start worrying. My dad’s minor procedure had now taken us long past the point of when we expected to be going home. Mom checked on him again at 2:30 and they finally told us that Dad was in a room and we could go see him.

He didn’t look like he’d just had a minor procedure. He looked like he was in pain. He looked slightly out of it. And he was very nauseous and vomiting frequently. I was worried, but there was a nice nurse there who helped him get comfortable.

At 3:30, it was clear that my dad was not leaving soon. Having eaten only a half a granola bar and a fun-size candy bar all day, I was hungry. I asked my mom if she wanted something to eat. She admitted she was hungry too, so I went to the cafeteria to get us some sandwiches and chips. We left the room again for a bit while the nurse took care of my dad. We ate at a leisurely pace and talked some more. She said she was glad that Dad had insisted on me taking them to the hospital. It would have been a very long day had she been all alone all that time. We saw Dad’s surgeon leaving for the day and he waved goodbye to us as he headed for the elevators. Finally, after 5:00, my dad was released. And while I was happy we could finally go home, I was nervous. My dad insisted on bringing his barf-bag along for the car ride and I prayed all the way home through rush hour traffic that he wouldn’t have to use it because if anyone barfs in my presence, there’s a pretty good chance I’ll be joining in the festivities.

Luck was on our side. We got home barf-free and my dad was feeling better by the next day. And I never did make it in to work, but it didn’t really matter to me anymore.

Raindrops and Birdsong

Last evening, it rained. And then the birds sang a symphony. I’d forgotten how pretty the world can be when you stop to notice it.

Raindrops on the canopy frame

Coming Home to Lucy

She sleeps at the foot of the bed most nights or on Mark’s side if he happens to be working third shift. Sometimes when we’re both there, she climbs up in between us and lays right in the middle. She lies on her back like a baby, paws up in the air, turning her head from side to side trying to sneak in one of those big wet doggy kisses. Most nights, she stays on the bed all night long, only getting up in the morning after I’ve snoozed my alarm clock a few times and she senses that I’m finally going to get out of bed too.

Once we’ve left the bedroom, she dances and prances all around me, desperate for attention, so happy to “see” me, as if she hasn’t been half-laying on me all night long.

When I come home from work, she does the wiggle-butt dance. Sometimes she can barely refrain from jumping up on me. She tries to help me get my shoes off, even though I’ve told her countless times that I don’t appreciate the help, nor do I need it.

When people come to visit, she brings one of her toys to show off while she wiggles and dances around them in a show of welcome.

In the evenings, she mellows out. And when I go to the gym for an hour or so, she makes herself comfy on one of the love seats in the family room in the lower level. And when I return, I call out to her from the entryway, but she doesn’t come. I go look for her, and there she is, still in her comfy spot, debating, “Do I want to leave my cozy spot, or no?”

As you can see, she debated getting down to come see me. She just stretched herself over to the ottoman and hung out for a while. Eventually, she slid from her little perch and strolled over me as if to say, “Oh, hey. We’re you gone? I hadn’t noticed.”

No worries. When I get home from work again tomorrow, I’ll be greeted as if I’ve returned from long and distant journeys. Doggy love is a wonderful thing!

Good Weekend

I had a good weekend. I had a nice, contented feeling that’s been lacking in recent weeks. This weekend wasn’t particularly special, but it was busy. And Mark and Jake were actually around some. I get in a rut when no one is home and there’s nothing in particular to do.

I attempted running again on Saturday morning, and that turned out pretty nicely.

After my run, Mark and I attended a funeral for the mother of a friend. Her death wasn’t entirely unexpected, but still understandably difficult for our friend.

After the funeral, we started in on the normal weekend chores – cleaning, laundry and such. I can’t say as I have ever enjoyed such chores, but I used to feel some satisfaction at completing them. Lately, I just don’t seem to care as much. I still always do my chores, but lately it’s been with a definite sense of drudgery. This weekend, my motivation returned. I turned on some music and tackled the to-do list.

It certainly wasn’t the weather that boosted my mood. I’m usually energized by the sun, but there was little of it the past two days. And there was rain! Lots of it! While I was doing chores on Saturday afternoon, I would periodically take a break in the living room to watch Friday Night Lights with Jake. (I’ve seen the movie plenty of times, but it’s one that I can watch over and over.) During one such break, Jake and I were watching the movie and Lucy was busy on the living room floor, chomping on a new bone I’d bought for her. The skies had grown very dark and suddenly there was  blinding flash of light followed by a deafening boom that sounded like it happened right outside the windows. Lucy bolted upright and started barking. She was trying to be brave, but within seconds she was plastered between my legs, gazing warily out the windows. And then the rain came down… big, heavy drops of rain in showers so heavy it made the world outside the window go out of focus. The worst of it let up within a half hour or so, but rain continued to fall off and on all weekend long.

Saturday evening brought some fun! It was the end-of-season banquet for our Saturday bowling league. We met up early with several of our bowling friends at the restaurant and ordered drinks. Then we went to the banquet room and had a great meal. I was reelected as vice president of the league, which only means that I’ll be responsible for planning fun night again, a job that I really enjoy. I earned several awards for various bowling accomplishments, which means that in spite of the ups and downs of my bowling abilities, I’ve improved over the last year.

After the banquet, we went back out to the bar and lounge where a local band was playing. They played a lot of music from the sixties and seventies. Most of the guys weren’t too interested in dancing, as guys tend not to be. But a few of them were not only willing, but very able to dance. Those guys took turns hauling each of us women out onto the dance floor and in spite of some of the music and dance styles being not quite my speed, I had a great time! We didn’t get home until well after midnight.

Sunday morning, I was “gently” awakened by Lucy. She decided to cozy up right in the middle of the bed between Mark and me. I love that my dog does such cute, loving things, but I wasn’t ready to be awake. Still, there was no falling back to sleep at that point.

Sunday turned out to be a mellow day. I was in a fog, feeling my age after a night out “partying” and feeling some previously unused muscles protesting after an unexpected run the day before. I finished up a few chores, did some grocery shopping and otherwise allowed myself to relax and do nothing. At one point, Mark caught me curled up in the recliner under my fleece blanket, watching Gilmore Girls. 

“Really,” he asked? “Is this what you’re doing with your day?”

“Shut up,” I teased. “Yes it is. It’s my weekend and I can do nothing if I want to.”

I don’t like too much nothing, but sometimes nothing is just what I need. And nothing was just the perfect wind-down to this weekend.

And I Ran

While at the gym on Thursday, I overheard someone say that the Saturday classes were going to be cancelled. I was disappointed. I’ve fallen into a good workout routine and I especially love the Body Works class. It’s a nice mix of weight training with some cardio thrown in, not to mention the abs. I hate doing abs and can’t be counted on to work on them on my own. I go to Body Works several times a week and always on Saturdays.

So I awoke early on Saturday debating what to do. I wanted to do something to stay in routine. It’s too easy to get lazy. I looked out the windows and the sky was overcast with a good promise of rain. I decided I was willing to risk it.

There are a handful of people I know who are runners. And these same people regularly ask me if I’m still running. My answer is always the same. “I gave it up. There’s just not a runner inside of me.”

I’m not sure why, but this answer never sits well with my runner friends. It’s as if they think they know something about me that I don’t. But I know it. I tried to be a runner for more than a year and I was just really bad at it. I just couldn’t seem to develop the stamina to run a good run. Ever. Eventually I admitted defeat and accepted the fact that I am not a runner. I’m at peace with it for the most part, except for an occasional nagging little feeling that as bad as I am at running, I still might like to do it. And this is the feeling that overtook me as I stepped outside for a “walk” yesterday morning.

I did start out walking, but after about two blocks, without much conscious thought, I began to run.

And I ran. I told myself to just go as far as I could go. No expectations. It was peaceful outside except for the occasional car passing. There’s been enough rain recently to make the grass thick and lush. Trees are getting full with leaves. Lilac bushes are blooming and fragrant! I locked eyes with a rabbit as he watched me pass him by. I kept putting one foot in front of the other.  I slowed to a walk only a couple of times, but picked right back up again soon after. I ran the last mile for sure without stopping to walk.

Time flew by, not dragging like it used to when I was trying to learn to be a runner. I found my pace, albeit a slow one. I was running. I recognized that I was in a good sort of place in my head and I was careful to stay in it.

When I got back home, I saw that I’d only gone just over two and a half miles. But I think I ran more solidly than I ever did before. And two and a half miles isn’t bad for someone who hasn’t really run for more than a year. Maybe the fitness classes have helped. True, I’m stronger because of them, but bigger than that, I think it’s a psychological thing. Those classes have helped me believe I can do this stuff. I can get stronger. I can push myself. Maybe there is a runner inside of me after all.

New Rooms, Old Rooms

Signs of summer are emerging. The little patch of Hyacinth in the back yard and the Flowering Crab Apple tree in the front have bloomed and dropped their blossoms already. The Irises by the shed have sprouted and the Hostas under the deck are beginning to stretch up and outward.

Kacey sends text messages from school to work out plans to come home over Mother’s Day weekend. It will be her birthday and she wants to spend time with friends who will be going to prom that weekend. She won’t be done quite yet but wants to move some of the bigger stuff out of her dorm and spend a few days at home before going back mid-week to take her finals and finish up her freshman year of college. When she goes back that last week, she’ll be saying goodbye to friends she’s made during her first year of school, a more permanent goodbye than you might expect. She’s transferring to a new school next fall. It’s only slightly farther away from home than she is now, and she’ll be happier there. I can already tell. Story for another time, maybe.

Brad isn’t coming home this summer. It will be the first summer since he started college that he won’t be back home. He’s got a good job where he is, and summer classes to tackle so he can graduate by this fall. He has a new apartment, and a girlfriend and dog who love him and who make him very happy. That makes it easier for me to accept that his life becomes more his own every day. But it’s a bittersweet feeling.

Of course, Jake is still home, not that I see him very often. I sometimes go entire days without seeing him. And even when he’s not working, he’s gone, usually off somewhere with his buddies, playing football or working on cars.

We’re at a strange phase in life, not quite past the parenting phase but far from fully immersed in it. I enjoy the freedom of this stage of life, but still find myself quite often reminiscing wistfully about the past. I wonder if that wistful feeling will pass someday and I’ll fully embrace the empty nest.

Regardless, we’re going to take advantage of our extra space and freedom this summer. I have a shoulder that’s screaming out for a new memory-foam mattress. Our new bed will be the catalyst for improvements in the kids’ bedrooms. Jake will move to Brad’s bedroom, which is smaller than his, but in better shape. He’s perfectly willing to make the switch and will get a new bed out of the deal. His six-foot-something frame has rather outgrown his twin bed.

Jake’s current room needs an overhaul – new flooring, new window coverings and new paint. I’ve always decorated the kids rooms in colors of their choosing. The last time we painted Jake’s room, he was in an orange phase. It’s time to cover up the orange with something a little more subtle, I think. Our queen size bed will move to that room, which will now become the guest/Brad’s room.

Kacey’s room – now that’s another story. Her walls were painted several years ago in a patchwork of oranges, deep pinks and reds. I dread the thought of painting over it all. I’m sure it’s going to take several coats of primer to cover it up.

With so much new in the works, I think we’ll just leave Kacey’s room alone for the time being. Besides, I like the fact that the “crazy” room reminds me that my baby girl will continue to come home to me, at least for another summer or two. I like the fact that there is something so full of life with her personality written all over it, something that fills me with smiles and anticipation, something to welcome her home as long as she wants to come back.

No, I really don’t want to change that room at all. Not yet.

Baby Days

I walked into a family gathering yesterday afternoon and my attention was immediately drawn to my sister-in-law. She was holding her seven week old grandson. She looked at me and asked, “Do you want to hold him?”

“Of course,” I said, reaching for the little guy. I gathered him up on my shoulder and secured him against me with one hand against his back and the other under his butt. He scootched his little legs up underneath himself and took a moment to settle. I’m sure he was wondering who was this person who did not smell at all like Mom. He squeaked and tried to decide which way to lay his head. With my palm against his back and my fingers splayed behind his neck and head, I immediately fell into the bouncy-sway that always settled my own kids when they were babies. The little guy soon grew heavy. I checked him out in a nearby mirror and saw that he had fallen asleep.

We were both as content as could be, the little guy and me. I don’t know that there’s a much better feeling in this world than cuddling a sleeping baby, his fists bunched up against you and his cheek nestled into your neck.

I looked at his mom, our niece, and smiled, finding it hard to believe that this new mother was one of the flower girls in our wedding just a few years ago … or twenty-four years ago today, to be exact. We stood talking while little guy slept against me. My niece said she’d have to go back to work in a week and I frowned and told her I was sorry. I remember being a new mom and the way I suddenly saw the world through new eyes, the way I suddenly became a different person. Becoming a mom makes you infinitely more aware, conscious of the world in a way you’ve never been before. A protector. I remember moments after giving birth, feeling a love so strong I could never have imagined it before.

Several times, my niece and my sister-in-law offered to take the baby off my hands. I told them to eat. I was more than happy to hold the little guy while they enjoyed their meal. I really was. In fact, were it not for a sense of guilt that I was monopolizing him when there were others who wanted to hold him, I would have been happy to hang out with him all afternoon.

It doesn’t seem so long ago that I was the one wondering when I’d enjoy a full night’s sleep again, when I’d get to eat a hot meal, or when I could sit and read a book uninterrupted. Now that little girl who walked down the aisle at my wedding is wondering the same things, while I sit in a quiet house and wonder what my “babies” are doing as they are off living their own lives.

So what do you do when you reach this point in your life, when your babies have grown up and don’t need you like they used to? You sit back and enjoy watching others enjoy the parenthood adventure. You marvel at how things have changed and you remember all the fun you had raising babies. You remember too how it wasn’t always all rainbows and sunshine and are glad that gone are the days of four year-olds flooding the bathroom while your husband is away at work and unavailable to help clean up the mess.

And…

You take advantage of the fact that those in the midst of their child-rearing days are more than happy to let you entertain their kids for a while. You take advantage of the fact that you don’t have to be the parent, the disciplinarian. You can just be the goofball auntie who gets down on the floor and plays silly games with a kid who is craving some attention.

Nephew Ryan is always more than happy to pose for the camera…

And at the end of the day, you can fall into bed with little doubt that a full night’s sleep awaits you.