Apparently, I Can't Streak

I started the Runner's World Run Streak #RWrunstreak on Memorial Day. I've run at least a mile every day since, and I plan to continue running until July 4th at the Peachtree Road Race. My legs feel stronger than they ever have, and I really enjoy the challenge. Maybe I'll keep going. Maybe I'll streak for a year. Maybe I shouldn't get too far ahead of myself.

Anyway, whenever I feel the need to plan and conquer something, I develop an overambitious, challenge hungry mentality. Pretty much "I'm gonna do this and that and maybe this and oooo, that too." Then I take on more than I can handle and fall flat on my face. When I fall flat on my face I switch from "I can conquer anything" to "I suck and will never accomplish anything, I may as well just crawl in bed and never come out."

Yeah, so after my run streak started off so well, I decided to blog every day I was streaking. I even thought I would start a new blog all about running because I have so much to say about it that it might be cool if the whole purpose of the blog was talking about running (forgetting that you need to have something to say that people actually want to read, or you should at least try to). Then the process got out of hand, and I just decided I would post something on my current blog every day. Then I didn't. Yesterday was kind of a blur. I got my run in, but the blog post was forgotten.

So, this morning I wake up and say to myself, "awwww, I was only like 4 posts in. Apparently, I can't streak." Then I decided that I would turn this glitch into a post, and attempt to salvage my streak rather than completely give up and make it another epic fail.

This is me trying to accept failure as part of the process. I'm trying not to crawl back into bed and say forget it all. I missed 1 day. Maybe I can still make it the rest of the way. Although, most of me is still thinking, "you stink at this and should just stop."

Well, I might stink at it, but I'm not going to stop. On to another day, and maybe another post. :-)

The Integrity of the Dress

Last night at my son's baseball game, I was talking to another mom.

Pause for a second for me to share one of my favorite things about baseball, adult conversation. Most games, I try to pay attention to the game as much as I can, but part of enjoying the game is enjoying the ball park and the families that are right there along side you. Plus, this season, we've had such a great group of boys and families, that I'm really sad to see it end. Anyway....

I was talking to another mom at the game last night and she mentioned that she and her daughter dress up together for fun and play (go ahead and say it, awwwwww), and she will put on her wedding dress when they do. Wait. What? My first thought when she said that was, "you can still wear your wedding dress?" I completely forgot about how sweet it is that she plays dress up with her daughter and could only focus on one thing. She can still wear her wedding dress. I'm 35 pounds heavier than I was when I got married almost twelve years ago, and I run marathons (ok, one marathon, but I'm doing more soon). I kept thinking I probably couldn't even get it over my head, for sure not my hips, and there's NO way I could fasten it. The game went on, and we talked about other things. Did I mention how much I really enjoy talking to other moms at the baseball field. Yeah, anyway, I kept thinking about the fact that she can still wear her wedding dress. For real, I kept thinking about it. I couldn't get it out of my head. So, you know what I did? This morning after I got back from my run and got done showering, washing off the sweat left after the rain, [I always feel so hardcore when I run in the rain. Even though it was really just a drizzle, my shoes were wet and squishy when we got done, and that made me feel even more hardcore. Back to the dress thing...] I decided to put mine on. Everyone else was still asleep, so no one would see me, and I HAD to know if I could fit in it. I probably should have just allowed myself to wonder.

Here's how this whole thing went down. I couldn't get it over my shoulders. Not really sure why that is. My bone structure hasn't changed, at least not up there. I guess since I had zero body fat back then, getting it over my hips wasn't an issue. I probably never tried to put it on over my head. It's a strapless dress. So, I'm pretty sure I stepped into it the four times I wore it, once at the bridal store, twice for the fittings and once on my wedding day. Here's the thing, though, I'm almost positive I gained all 35 pounds in my hips and thighs. Stepping into dresses no longer happens for me, but with a little wiggle, I did it. I got it over my hips and almost squealed! Shhh. Don't wake the kids. Then all those darn buttons, and the zipper. Yeah, NONE of that was happening. My rib cage has grown. No for real. I'm not trying to say that when I should really say I've gained weight. It really has. That happens when you have kids, right? They stretch out your rib cage. Seems like I read that somewhere. Anyway, it really has. I sucked in like an inverted tornado and got the first part of the thing fastened around my waist, but once I got to my ribs, it became clear, I was NOT fitting into my wedding dress. It was actually ok, and I had a really good laugh at myself, sat on the floor, and took a selfie. I'm Gen Y, of course I took a selfie.

I'm not good at selfies.
I'm even worse at all the filters and junk.
Which is sad since I'm a graphic designer.

In the process of all this craziness, thinking about how much bigger I am now in nearly every way but one, I remembered something the woman told me during my first fitting. There are two cup sizes of padding in the chest of that dress. Two cup sizes. Why? Well, there was only so much she could take in due to the way the dress was made. All the beading and detail made it hard for her to do too much with it. She told me, "too much alteration would ruin the integrity of the dress." Apparently all super skinny women wearing a size 2 wedding dress have giant Barbie chests, right? Sounds like the integrity of the designer should be questioned, or maybe I should have just found a different dress. It was so pretty, though. Anyway, that was ages ago, and it's not important now.

Things got deep sitting on the floor of my closet which also happens to be my favorite place to pray.

I got to thinking about what else has changed about me since that day nearly twelve years ago. Honestly, besides the things that usually come with marriage like kids and bills and stress and the effects of long term sleep deprivation, not much. At my core, I'm still me. Still got all the goofy awkwardness I was born with. It's just packaged a little differently now. What has changed, though, is my desire to fit a mold I wasn't designed to fit. The standard must retain it's integrity. It can not be altered, or it ceases to be. I tried to fit. Pushed and squeezed and worked SO hard, ignoring the pain and the obvious signs that I would never make it happen. The more I squeezed, the more brokenness and imperfection I found. At one point or another, I couldn't deny my failure anymore. I don't handle failure well. It isn't natural for me to let broken things BE broken. It isn't natural for me to just let things be, to let me be me. I have to fix it. Make it right. I have to be the good girl, the good mom, the good wife, the best me, or at least I did. When I figured out that wasn't gonna happen, I kind of slipped into a private rebellion. If I can't be that girl, then I'll be this one. No wild partying or open rebellion, no abandonment of my family, just giving up and trying not to care. You know what changed? My desire to fit that mold, and when I realized that mold wasn't for me, a revelation of another kind came to me.

There is no mold.

I'm sorry. I couldn't help it.

I spent many wonderful childhood summer days forming little pots and figures out of the beautiful blue clay we had at our creek. I also took a sculpting class in college where we used a special rubber material to make molds of our originals so we could make copies out of resin. To make a mold, you must first have an original. The mold never comes first. See, there is no mold for me to fit into because I am the original sculpture, carved and formed by the hands of God. Now, he's not done yet. There is still a lot of work to do, but forcing me into a mold made by someone else isn't part of the plan. I was never meant to be a copy. He doesn't make copies, and his plan involves molding me into the image of his Son, sometimes with his hands, sometimes carving with tools and sometimes cutting away the excess. When he's done, though, when I stand complete, I'll be the best me, the me he meant me to be, more perfect than the image of the mold I wanted so much to fit myself into.

I get impatient very often. I struggle with no longer having that vision of perfection, that standard to live up to, but I like not trying so hard. I like feeling like I'm already enough. I like knowing all the molding is up to my Savior. I like letting the broken be broken, and knowing that healing will come. Maybe not now, but before God puts his signature on his creation and calls it good, healing will come. I will be whole. Someday.

The trick today is being ok with a dirty kitchen and laundry overflowing the room it should be confined to. I've enjoyed the day with my kids, though, and I've enjoyed writing. Here's to someday and the awe I know I'll feel when I see my Creator's handiwork complete and whole from the inside out.

The Accomplished List

This isn't me or my kitchen.

It's 8:30ish in the morning here. I've already run 4.5 miles, fed my kids breakfast, and mopped up a gigantic disgusting mess in the garage. Don't ask. It's just not share worthy. I am now sitting at my computer with my homemade latte that tastes nothing like the Starbucks latte I love so much trying to get a blogging streak going to match my running streak, 10 consecutive days and about 30 miles. How cool is that? AND, I'm typing stuff on my blog, the third post in two days. I feel so accomplished right now, I'm going to revel in it since this is probably the most I'll get done all day. Ask me what I've accomplished again at about 8:30 tonight, and I'll more than likely have the same list having only added "kept the kids alive" and "managed not to run away."

Oh, wait, we have baseball tonight. The list grows on baseball nights. So, tonight if you asked me what I accomplished I will probably say that I got two unwilling spectators ready to watch their brother play baseball. I packed a bag with a bazillion tricks and snacks to keep said unwilling spectators happy at the game. Then repacked the bag after a five year old in a panic to find the ONE toy she MUST have for the game or she just CAN'T survive dumps it all over the floor. I can say I fought over the reasons why sparkly princess shoes are not the kind of thing you wear to the ball park, and searched the house top to bottom for the socks I JUST handed my eight year old and decided to just get him fresh socks that may or may not match because at this point we're so late it just doesn't matter. (We'll probably find them as soon as we get home. Like yesterday we found them on his bathroom counter next to his tooth brush.). I will have traveled to the game, probably arriving late due to toy and sock issues, and I will arrive with a nagging headache having listened to the Frozen soundtrack AGAIN, and also having listened to my eight year old son beg me to never play those songs again, EVER, "plllleeeeeeeease!" I will more than likely have fed them something from a drive through as we are traveling to the game because in all the chaos of getting to the game, cooking is just not an option, even in the summer. Then I will probably have resolved to never feed my children fast food again hearing my eight year old, Jackson, the one with the food allergies and autism, ask me when I'm going to cook again, "I love when you cook, and I miss your yummy food." I will have gone through a dozen healthy snacks offering each one to my children who just ate fast food eventually caving in to the lure of the concession stand. AND, I will have attempted to have adult conversation with the other baseball moms while watching said unwilling spectators and also paying attention to my super star BJ Upton/Freddie Freeman/Mike Minor combo kid (I'm not biased or anything) play the game he loves so much so that when he asks me later, "did you see that, Mom. Did you see that?" I can reply, "yes, baby and it was awesome!"

So, tonight when I say, "I managed to keep the kids alive and not run away." It will mean so much more than say, yesterday when the most I accomplished was dishes, grocery shopping and boxed pizza for dinner (it was Kashi and Amy's organic). Now, grocery shopping WITH my kids is kind of like attempting to climb Mount Everest in a bikini. Ok. I'll take that back so I don't offend those super fit, crazy people who have actually accomplished that nearly inhuman feat — the climbing Mount Everest thing not the bikini thing, 'cause that would just be dumb. Grocery shopping WITH my kids is more like running a half marathon on a trail on hills that feel like you're climbing a mountain in 80 degrees and 80% humidity with the sun glaring through every opening in the canopy above knowing your super fast friend you've been chasing your whole running life is probably up ahead singing her way through the race and crossing the finish with a PR. That will be on my list of accomplishments for next Saturday, should I survive, anyway.

If I don't, then you can say, I died doing something I love trying to be better than the woman I was yesterday. If I do survive, though, you should probably know that I'm really just running this race because there are some awesome women running it that asked if I would join them. I like running for me, but I like running for others more. Well, that and it will help me keep my running streak alive, AND I have ten pounds I gained training for that darn marathon I need to get rid of. Plus, my daughter is super proud of me when I get home from a race. I want to inspire her to do things that are uncomfortable and difficult, to push herself outside the box so she has a nice fat mental file of accomplishments to draw on when she's facing a mountain she doesn't know if she can climb. And, running is awesome. It just is.

So, now I'm going to go clean my house, make sure a certain uniform is clean, and attempt to prepare ahead of time so maybe I can be on time and forego some of those 'issues' I listed in the second paragraph. Then maybe I can add "finished the day with low stress and fell asleep quickly without any worry over the permanent damage I've caused my children with my overwhelmed craziness." We'll see. It's still early.

Losing my Spoons

So, it's been a while since I've blogged. Life is hard these days. I keep looking forward to the next stage of development like it will bring with it more freedom for both me and the kids, but with each new season, I'm finding the job doesn't really get easier or less time consuming. It's just different. There are so many things you don't think about with new life stages, even when you have older ones that have gone through it before. My oldest is neurotypical. My middle is autistic, and my youngest is a girl. They don't do anything alike. It's all new. Every day.

I could write a book about the differences and how I'm always being caught off guard and off my game, but that would take time. That's not a luxury I have these days. There's something else missing in my house, though, something I'm a little more curious about at the moment. Over twelve years of marriage, five places of residence, three kids and a bazillion changes in our lives, I have lost my spoons. You know, the things you eat soup and stir your latte with, I've lost them. ALL of them. I know you're probably thinking, "how do you lose something like that and not notice the loss sooner?" It's a terrible thing really. I'm a little afraid of the green police arresting me after I publish this post, but here goes. I...I have an addiction to disposable silverware, and plates and cups and bowls. I know. It's terrible, but it has made my life so much easier. Do you know how many dishes a family of five goes through in the course of a day? I do. About three dish washer loads, and that's on normal days, not the days I bake or cook something complicated. Those days, it's worse, and I can't handle the overload. I know I'm filling up our landfills and poisoning the planet, but I can't spend my days washing dishes, the same dishes, over and over and over. I just can't. I buy organic, try to cook dinner at home as much as my schedule allows, and I recycle EVERYTHING I can, but I can't give up my disposables. I just can't. Can you hear the panic in my voice? Please don't judge me. I need them, and I'll quit as soon as this whole mommy things gets easier and I have time for extra dishes. Promise. ;-) Anyway, back to the spoon thing.

So, when you use disposable silverware, and you run out before getting more, there's a gap. That's when you go to the drawer looking for the real stuff and after the first load of dishes when you have no room for all the silverware in your dishwasher's silverware basket, resolve to buy disposable again as soon as possible. I think I may have noticed the depletion happening a while ago, when there seemed to be fewer spoons than there should be, fewer in the drawer and fewer in the dishwasher, but in all the chaos that is my life, it got put on the back burner. You know, that burner, the one in the back, yeah, it rarely gets lit. Most things sit there for ages, often forever. It's kind of a graveyard, really. Anyway, this last 'gap' we went through, there were none. NONE. Well, there were baby spoons that I can't really explain still having since my youngest is five. That morning, I ate my whole wheat cereal with a purple baby spoon. It took me twice as long as it usually does, and I made a bigger mess. My daughter who usually chooses those adorable leftovers from her childhood whenever she has a chance, even said, "Mom, I need a real spoon. Where did they go?"

Where did they go? Seriously. I want to know. Have my sock gremlins gotten bored and switched to stealing spoons? Are they building little spoon/sock forts with all their lifted merchandise? What about the forks? Why not the forks? Is there something wrong with them? Are they too sharp and dangerous? Are they rude and divisive? Come to think of it, I'm missing a lot of butter knives, too. They're sharp, kind of. Maybe the dish didn't run away with the spoon. Maybe the knife did. Maybe the knife stole the spoon away from the dish. Gasp! What kind of babies do knives and spoons make? What kind of question was that? I spend too much time with children under ten. I could continue to speculate and cause real concern over the loss of more than my spoons, but I'll cut this short.

I don't know what happened to all my spoons, but I do know that I must do something about it. I might choose to use disposable, but what kind of mother expects her children to eat their cereal with baby spoons during a 'gap'? Not this one. So, I am planning to go buy eight to twelve place settings of silverware, real silverware. This will be the first time since I registered for my wedding that I've even gone into that part of the store. This could be dangerous. I will NOT be taking my kids, and I might remember how much I like pretty real silverware and get lost in visions of dinner parties and entertaining. It might be enough to break me of my disposable silverware addiction, or maybe not. Just typing those sentences sent me off into nostalgic memories of picking out dishes and silverware and dreaming of my new life with my fiancé. Oh, to be young again. Do you ever think about what you would tell your younger self about your future life? I was just thinking that if I could go back, I would warn my younger self that sock gremlins eventually turn into spoon-nappers, and action must be taken to prevent the theft. So, if you come over and find a trap set in the silverware drawer, I'm sorry. It's not for you. It's for the gremlins.

We're talking about the loss of innocent spoons, and maybe a little more of my mind than I'm currently equipped to function without. But, see that's not a mystery. I know exactly where that went. My children took it! And, one day, I get to sit back and watch as my grandchildren take theirs. I imagine it will be very fulfilling, just like I imagine that life will be easier in the next stage of their development. Only, will I have enough of my mind left to take pleasure in what I see? I don't know. Such are the mysteries of life. The loss of my spoons and my mind.

If You Take a Five Year Old to the Grocery Store...

If you take a five year old to the grocery store, she may fight you about what to wear, and if she fights you about what to wear, you might compromise and let her do her own hair and pick out her own shoes. If she does her own hair and picks out her own shoes, she might go to the store looking like her hair has never seen a brush and her shoes might not match.

Even though her shoes don't match and her hair is a mess, she'll probably walk into the store like she owns the place and twirl and dance like she's covered in gold and diamonds, and if she twirls and dances like she's covered in gold and diamonds, she might realize she has to potty just after you've put a few things in the cart.

If she realizes she has to potty after you've put a few things in the cart, you might get frustrated and ask why she didn't go before leaving the house, and if you ask her why she didn't go before leaving the house, she'll probably reply that she didn't have to go then. Since she didn't have to go then, she has to go NOW, and since she has to go NOW, you have two options. 1. To leave the cart of groceries, take her to the bathroom and start over, or 2. Push the cart to the door of the restroom, stand by the door with your 8 year old and send your 9 year old in to make sure she is safe.

If you choose to send your 9 year old in with her, you might have visions of childhood scars and therapy visits he might need as an adult to get over the terrible things you made him do when he was 9. If you start having visions of childhood scars and therapy visits for your child, you will probably finish your shopping trip with Mommy guilt, and if you are finishing your shopping trip with mommy guilt, you will likely end up with an overloaded cart and a larger bill at the register. But, first you have to finish your shopping trip.

As you attempt to finish your shopping trip in a store extra crowded with all the families home for summer, your younger son with autism will probably say something inappropriate loud enough for the next isles over to hear clearly, and if your younger son says something inappropriate loud enough for other isles to hear, your older son will probably get tickled and/or embarrassed for him and try to fix the problem but only make it worse. If your older son makes it worse, you'll probably be even more embarrassed and forget what you were even on that isle for anyway, and if you can't remember why you were on that isle you will probably have to go back to it after you think you are finished.

If you have to revisit isles you will probably get overwhelmed and forget a lot, and if you forget a lot, you'll have to go back the next day. If you have to go back the next day, you'll probably have to take your five year old with you, and if you take your five year old with you, she'll probably fight you over what to wear. If she fights you over what to wear, you'll probably just let her wear whatever she wants even if it's pajamas or a princess costume complete with "glass" slippers.

Happy Summer! Is it Fall yet?