Yes He Can Braid Hair - It's Not Weird

There's a lot of articles zinging around cyberspace right now about "10 things never to say to parents of an only child" and "... to multi-child families", etc.  Cultural insensitivity is rampant, and we all (myself included) say and do stupid things when faced with other people's life choices.  Sometimes we don't even mean to be malicious - some stereotypes are woven into the fabric of our society, to the point that our reactions are almost involuntary.

As most of my readers know, I work full time (plus extra), and my husband stays home full time with the children.  Like many families in recent years, this was a conscious choice.  With two advanced degrees and a well established career in a [relatively] stable industry, my earning potential trumps his.  Furthermore, with several younger siblings and growing up in a home daycare run by his mother, my husband had much more experience with children when we became parents.  Add to the mix that his temperament is better suited to not working, and that the cost of daycare can easily swallow one parent's entire salary - it was an easy choice.

A choice that twice as many fathers are making in the last decade.  The number of stay at home dads has doubled in the last 15 years.  (Excellent summary here).  The number of male primary caregivers is now 16%, compared to 10% only 10 years ago.  Furthermore, while this increase has been partially fueled by job loss in the recession of 2008-2010, the ranks of stay at home dads are being disproportionally swelled by college-educated dads that choose to stay home, rather than are forced to by unemployment.

I would imagine that most people are nodding at this point (if you're still reading).  All makes sense, right? Especially where we live in a relatively liberal part of the country, the Jedi isn't the only dad on the playground.  I rarely ever get comments made to me about my choice to work outside the home (like I did even five years ago).  I don't often get accused of being an unnatural mother for working, nor does my husband feel particularly judged as less of a man for not bringing home the bacon.  Yet we still feel the bias against our family situation.

When my children were babies, my husband got a huge amount of unsolicited advice from people whenever he went out shopping, who (wrongly) assumed that he was a lost and confused dad sent out to the grocery store by his exhausted wife.  Now that the kids are older, he gets comments from moms who, after seeing him braid our daughter's waist-long blonde hair, tell him that its amazing he can do her hair because their husbands can't even do a ponytail.  Really?  Is the bar for fatherhood so low that the ability to do a simple braid elevates a man to praise-worthy status?  Such that it warrants comments from strangers?

My husband likens this particular variety of condescension to the discrimination women face in the workplace.  The parenting abilities of stay at home fathers (or fathers in general!) are often assumed to be less than their female counterparts, simply by virtue of their gender.  Even when it is their primary profession.  

Maybe they were right.  Look what happened to them....

Overall though, the biggest obstacle we feel as a family is "the weirdness factor".  Although the movie When Harry Met Sally clearly states that a man and a woman can be friends if they are both married, my husband does not feel comfortable soliciting plans for playdates or other social situations from the moms of my kids friends, if I'm not there to chaperone.  Not because he is some sort of predator looking to seduce the Wisteria Lane housewives, but "it just feels weird to ask".  Likewise, my female friends confirm that it would "feel weird" to have the Jedi and my kids over in my absence.  I can't blame them, though I wish it were different.  It does, however, leave me in the awkward role of social coordinator - squeezing in events with certain friends only on weekends, when I can take vacation, or worse - never.  Which is too bad, because it ends up being the kids that miss out on seeing their friends.

So what about the other stay at home dad families, you ask?  Good question.  Unfortunately, another social stereotype proves true in this case - men generally aren't as gregarious as women.  I'm very sure that in most cases, my husband's included, the gene to plan social events resided firmly on that second X chromosome.  The Jedi is fabulous about taking the kids out for events and activities in the area.  By virtue of a small town and my kids being in preschool and elementary, it's almost inevitable that they run into some kid they know from somewhere.  Thus a playdate coalesces, with no planning required.  That works fine.

As I sit my computer screen at work, the summer pastimes roll by in my newsfeed.  Pool dates, trips to berry pick, beach afternoons and hiking outings.  I'm often painfully conscious of what I miss.  (Just as my husband, like any stay at home parent, is painfully jealous of my quiet cube with free coffee).  I wonder if it occurred to my friends to include my kids, or if it was dismissed because I work and thus my kids are unavailable, even as they sit at home during the day.  I wistfully think that I'll have to try to get the kids out to X location on the weekend.  Or I think that I should make my husband a Facebook account and somehow manually connect him to the other couple of SAHDs I know are out there in our area.  Sadly, forcing anything in a social situation rarely works.  This is a no-fault situation. 

Maybe When Harry Met Sally will have a sequel that will show our culture how to be more modern on our thinking and our reactions about "reverse-breadwinner" families.  That would help alleviate the "weirdness" factor.  I hope so.  Realistically, cultural acceptance of gender roles is woven deep into all of us, and it's not likely to change before my kids are too old to need parent-supervised playdates.  So we'll keep on looking for friends at the library and the grocery store, on the playground and at the park.  The beauty of kids is that they makes friends wherever they go.

But don't be that impressed if you see my husband braid hair.  Or if you are, imagine what you'd feel like as mom if someone remarked on your ability to do so.  It's not weird.  It's being a parent.

Triathlon Becomes Decathlon - Sock Bun Breakdown

Sometimes triathlon is more than three sports.  It is three sports, a job, two young kids with all the associated homework and activities, a mortgage, the weather, injuries, bills, and two cats that, despite my multiple attempts to convince otherwise, still feel that the bed is their territory and that their food bowls need filling at 5 am.

Triathlon becomes Decathlon.

Who set this bar so darn high????

In actuality, the word decathlon refers to a 10-part track and field event originating in the Olympics.  Your daily Wiki trivia.  But I think that it should also apply to a working parent / aspiring triathlete as well.  Because there are days... ok there are weeks and months, where it feel like the daily juggling act pushes me to the very limits of my mental, emotional, and physical endurance.

I'm in one of those sets of days.  

In addition to the usual, we're heading toward the end of the school year, with all the various assemblies and reminders.  The kids schedules aren't that nutty for each of them individually, but adding their schedules into the family's schedule and my work/training schedule.... it all starts to look like this:

I used to get frustrated at my husband for calling me at work to verify their various appointments and practices.  After all, he is the stay at home parent, and I have my own work schedule and training schedule to contend with.  I have recently come to the realization that it is simply more than any human mind can comprehend and keep straight.  This is clearly why man invented the IPhone.  On any given day I have at least ten different email and pop-up reminders for tasks, appointments (both mine and the family's), and which workouts I'm supposed to do when.  My google calendar is no less than 4 calendars merged together.  Side note - I've changed my workout schedule so furiously the last few days that I'm pretty sure my coach is just hunkering down and wait for the storm to pass.  He's good like that).  

Introducing disruption into this particular vat of insanity can have dire consequences.  I felt like I was teetering on the edge yesterday, and then I got the email from my daughter's dance studio detailing what each girl was to wear for accessories (the expensive outfit already having been purchased) and how to do their hair.  There are about 20+ classes in her studio, so I scrolled down the list through "High ponytail", "Two pigtails","Braided bun", "Side ponytail"..... then down to my daughter's class.

Sock bun.

What?  What IS that??  How did my kid end up in the complicated hair style class?  I spent a few minutes googling and watching YouTube tutorials.  I decided that there was no way my husband could conquer this hairstyle solo in time for her pictures.  Heck, I'm not sure I can.  I went through several mental scenarios involving him taking her over to a [more hairstyle competent] friend's house to be coiffed before practice, doing her hair in the parking lot (what if there is wind?), asking to leave work early to do it myself (even my boss isn't that tolerant!).  Furious texting with another dance mom friend (her kid is in the ponytail class.  Lucky duck).  Finally figured out pictures aren't until later in the evening.  Thank god.

They gang up on me

Exhausted from this and many other mental battles, I decided the best way to de-stress would be to go to bed after drinking far too much wine.  But my coach and my husband weren't behind that approach, so I took second best.  Excessive exercise.   Since there was only so much time I could spend obsessing about sock buns and career paths, I looked up the courses and previous times from my upcoming Oly and obsessed about that instead.  (Triathlon is so good for transference....)  I decided it was imperative that I utterly exhaust myself with a 1000 meter time trial in the pool.

Actually, I decided to do 1500 meters, but my coach told me 1000 would be fine.  Phew.  At least someone has some sense.  I've never done a time trial and really didn't know what to expect in terms of how fast (or horribly slow) I am since finishing Total Immersion class.  I hit the pool at a quiet time of day, warmed up, and had a nice conversation with my lane-mate, an older woman who told me I was "a beautiful swimmer".  Oh heck yeah, I'm beautiful.  I will crush this!  21:40 later my trial was over and I was feeling pretty darn good about my swimming and my prospects for my Oly.  At least one part of my life is in order....

Safe zone

Headed home to wage the Sock Bun Battle Part II: Implementation.  

Which consisted of the Jedi and I cutting up 3 different socks, rolling them, watching several more videos, and a few attempts with my very patient little girl sitting on the bathroom stool while I brushed and rolled and pinned, swore unrolled brushed again and repeated the process.  With her golden thick straight hair down to the middle of her back, my little girl is dead ringer for Rapunzel.  She is actually growing it out to her ankles to see if it will turn magic (I'll cross that bridge when we get there).  My husband helped by holding sections of her hair.  Every so often she'd ask, "Mommy do you know what you are doing?"  No honey, Mommy does not know what she is doing.  Really at anything in life, so if you haven't figured that out in your six years of life, you're in for some more disappointments down the road....  "Is this supposed to be a two person job?"  Yes lovey, all of parenting is a two-person job.  Even dance recitals...

The result.  Sock bun achieved.  Good enough....

For all reasons related to sock buns, time trials, work stress, and a full brain... the alarm went off this morning at 5:15 and I just did not have it in me to get up.  I've been tracking my resting heart rate for the last 2 weeks with my Sleep Cycle app.  On a good day it's in the mid 60s when I wake up.  A regular day, the low 70s.  Yesterday it was 80 bpm and this morning was 85 bpm.  Your resting heart rate can be a good monitor of how well your body is recovering between workouts (or other stress).  Anything over an increase of 5 bpm or so might indicate overtraining or some other stress. Clearly a resting heart rate more than ten beats higher is a sign I'm burning out a bit.....

I think today will be a full rest day.  I'm also trying to look through my various lists and to-dos and decide which I can safely ignore for a while.  Or at least a day or so.  Prioritize.  Triage.  Wine now?

Have you ever had something silly push you over the edge?  I want to hear about it!

Pot of Gold - Celtic 5K Race Recap

At the starting line

Warning - the majority of this post is going to be shameless bragging about my daughter.  I can't help it.  I am so unbelievable, over-the-top, giddy proud of her.  If I completely bonk, break something or fall in the ocean next week at the New Bedford half marathon, I will still consider my brief running career a success, because it introduced my daughter to running.

And boy does she love to run.  

Training.  I stay next to her at all times.

A few weeks ago, Natalie asked if she could do a race with Mommy.  We often run together in warmer weather, but this unending winter has meant that our favorite rail trail isn't passable for little feet or the jogging stroller (where she takes her breaks on longer runs), so she's been feeling left out.  I hadn't planned on running the Celtic 5K this year, mostly because it's a little expensive, and because it's a week before my half marathon.  What was the point?  Well, the point started training on the treadmill - about 20 minutes every other day, and was determined to have a great race with mom.

Meanwhile I worked on creating the perfect leprechaun costume.  No small feat, when I wasn't sure what the weather would be like.  I got a clearance green sweater at Old Navy, pinned on some black and gold felt to make a belt.  A bowler hat from Target, some striped legwarmers on Amazon, and her existing white turtleneck and leggings finished off the look.  We tried her costume on for fit the other night and she was very happy with it.  Score one Mom!

We got a rocky start this morning - bleary from a late date night of babysitting and the time change.  Nat was also worried that I'd ditch her, since I DNFed my training run yesterday due to some tummy issues.  No chance honey.  The plan was that we'd all go.  Nat and I would run the race while Jedi and the little man found a spot to watch the parade.  Parking is tough so we got there early.  Got our bib (only one number so I pinned it on her back) and then had a lot of time to kill.  Which, when it's 25 degrees out and your kids are already tired, can be tough.  Luckily the Irish band was already playing, so we danced and jogged and shot some photos.

Dancing!

Brother is ready to make some noise!
The same plastic trumpet I bought them
at the race last year after one too many celebratory beers.
Might as well use it again!

Finally it was almost race time, so we sent to boys off to play photographer, and started jostling our way into the crowd.  By some amazing fortune, we saw our friend Dawn.  We know Dawn well from the farmer's market where we sell our cupcakes, and her gluten-free business has fed my children dinner on many a market night.  Nat gave her a big hug right away, and I had someone to visit with while we waited for the gun to go off.

Finding a good friend in a crowd of 3,000 is great!!!

Once the race got underway, we shuffled toward the starting line.  Dawn help me body block Natalie from the big crowd for the first few hundred yards (thank you Dawn!) and then we started getting some breathing space.  The course is an out-and-back.  Slightly downhill the first half, and slightly uphill the second (obviously).  I'd talked to Natalie before the race about pacing, as she (like many runners, even those older than 6) has a tendency to go out too fast and burn out.  She told me her plan was to do bursts of speed and then back off.  Good plan.  The first half mile or so she did great - she was running a little fast (around 10:30) so I told her to back off.  She took a few walking breaks, and then would start up again.  All the way we soaked in the comments of "Oh she is so cute!" and "how old is she?" and "You're doing great sweetie!!!!".  Both from the spectators and other runners.  She also interjection her own adorable-isms, telling me that "Running makes everything better" and "I hope I always race with you mommy" and many many "I love you so much mommy!"s.

I will admit it - it was really cool being the mom of the cutest, fastest little leprechaun on the course.

Around the turnaround she was starting to tire.  Pacing around 13:00.  But the cheers continued, and Natalie was starting to enjoy the feeling of "picking off" some of the walkers.  There were many joked comments about being beaten by a six year old.  That's my six year old!!!  I taught her how to focus on a landmark up ahead and just think about running to that (like a telephone pole).  We played shadow tag (where she tried to catch up to and jump on my shadow).  I whispered to her how much fun it is to find a racer ahead of you and "pick them off".  She started picking her targets - the girl in the striped socks.  The sparkle skirt lady.  You are going down sparkle skirt lady!  She was still doing great but I knew she was tired.

Nat's little running friend is in between us

Then she ran into the perfect motivation.  A buddy.  Just her size.  As we started to pass a little girl jogging on the side, she said "hey you're my age!!!"  While exchanging life stories (what grade are you in, how old are you, what's your name, I'm a leprechaun... I'm not I'm just wearing green stickers on my cheeks) the two little girls were unwilling to let each other get ahead of the other.

Perfect mini-running friends.  Best buddies, and yet determined to beat each other.

I wondered a bit if Nat's new friend had a parent around, but she assured me her mom was walking and her dad was waiting at the finish line.  Ok.  Go girls go!!  There were no more walking breaks as the girls ran the last mile together.  At one point I yelled at then to slow down - they were running faster than 10 minute miles!!  Just as we started to enter the chute Nat told me she wanted a break.  I said no no no now is when you give it all you have!!!  She took off and finished strong, sprinting ahead of mommy.  I'm pretty sure she tied with her little friend (who's father was indeed, right there to get her).

Sprinting the finish.  Perfect form!!

We crossed just before 40 minutes.  Official time 39:48.

To put that in perspective, when I ran this race solo last year (my first 5K in a long time) my time was 36 something.  That is fast for a little girl!  I hoisted her onto my shoulders and took her to get water, coconut water (not sure she likes that), and pizza.    We met up with the boys.  Tucked an exhausted but jubilant little girl into the stroller for some well deserved rest.

Post race tired and sweaty.

The rest of the parade passed pleasantly.  We were cold and the kids were tired. There weren't enough snacks, so I ran to the grocery store (literally - not an expression) for cheese sticks, blueberries and cookies.  Little guy told me all about the double fire truck I missed while I was at the store.   The mom next to us ended up also being a triathlete so we chatted amiably about which races we had done and what courses were our favorites.  Triathlete moms are everywhere.  For real.  

Bagpipes!!

Finally the kids had had enough so we headed home.  The kids are playing quietly, but Natalie refuses to take off her leprechaun costume.  I think she may sleep in it....

Post-run hair is tough

I have no idea where my daughter gets her energy, her love of running, and her talent.  Certainly not from me.  Not from the Jedi, who will likely only run if being chased by some sort of large carnivore.  At my swim class yesterday a group of us were talking about just why I (we) run if we don't always enjoy it.  I have my answer.

I will always run, to make sure I'm always there to race with my daughter.  For as long as she wants me to.

Happy St. Patrick's Day to everyone!

Great Expectations

“We need never be ashamed of our tears.” 

― Charles Dickens, Great Expectations

Pysch.  Total literary ignoramus here.  I have never read this book.  I was a science major, skipped freshman writing (can't you tell?) and have only vague memories of being forced to read Where the Red Fern Grows and Death Be Not Proud in high school.  But I can google with the best of them.  And today I'm thinking about expectations.

Specifically, what sort of expectations are realistic for myself as an athlete, and as a mother and wife.  In general, I am the last person on earth that should ever complain about her work schedule.  However, this week I was informed that I'd be shifting my working hours significantly later on alternate weeks.  What counts as significant?  60 to 90 minutes.  Which isn't a lot, and is certainly reasonable given the business need.  But that change shaves 60 to 90 minutes off of the (already too little) time I get to spend with my kiddos before they go to bed.  I handled the news with faint grace, grumbling and sulking until today my boss finally told me to go beat up a fax machine and be done with it.

I, like many working mothers (working parents?  parents in general?) feel extremely guilty for all the time away from the home I spend.  I know the statistics - working mothers today spend fewer hours with their children than their stay-at-home counterparts, however spend significantly more time with their children than homemakers in 1965 did.  (Confession - I've watched 2 reruns of Mad Men this week just to try to make myself feel better).  Furthermore, my children are home with their father.  We are extraordinarily blessed to be able to have the Jedi at home with the kids until they are both old enough to be safely stashed in full-time (free!) public school.  It's not like my kids are sewing buttons in a Hong Kong sweat shop or locked in a dark basement smelling of cat urine until I get home from work.  So what is my deal?  

Little leprechaun ready to run.
DIY costume = Mommy SCORE!  Right?

Yesterday was my one work-from-home day per week.  I worked 9 hours (in my pajamas), squeezed in an almost 5 mile run, and still had time to spend the evening working on my daughter's leprechaun costume for the 5k we are running together this Sunday.  I built Lego creator sets with my son.  I read stories.  I cuddled at bedtime.  Then I stayed up until 10:30 dipping over 200 purple cake pops for this week's custom order.  It was by all rights, a good day.  A day I should be proud of.  Yet, as my kids laid the guilt on as thick as Nutella on graham crackers this morning when I told them I had to leave for the office, I drove away feeling bereft and guilty.  Again.  I suppose my kids have the right to expect the world of me.  What do I expect of me?  Organic dinner cooked by me every night?  Two hours of focused, quality playtime with the kids per day, regardless of how tired I/they are?  Working enough to pay the bills and trusting that my children know they are loved even if they don't see mom all the time? Still working on that answer....

We also built a leprechaun trap.
Anyone know where I can
get a toy leprechaun to put in it??

Another set of expectations on my mind are my goals once this half-marathon is over, a week from now.  I'm quite clear I'm all done running long distances for now.  So... get faster running?  Add in some strength training?  Keep working on my swim stroke (definitely, once this shoulder un-sticks).  What should I expect from myself heading into this triathlon season?  How often, how much, how far?  Sometime I envy the simplicity of goals for folks training for only one sport.  Though even then it can be rocky.  Chatted today with a friend who's husband started running less than a year ago.  He's now heading into his first marathon at paces that she, after 4 years of running, still only dreams about.  Not fair?  Sometimes not.  

I am very familiar with pace envy.  Despite confusing the heck out of my coach by running my last two runs at unprecedentedly fast paces for me (side note - having your coach write "what the heck is going on?" in your training log is always good for a giggle), I am still woefully slower than I'd like to be.  In the perfect, svelte, gazelle-like fantasies I have about my running career. Honestly I have no idea what paces/times I should be hoping for or expecting for any of the legs of this summer's races.  I have no benchmark.  But I do have a coach, and I bet he has some ideas.  I should probably discuss with him....  

Side plug - if you haven't entered our coaching giveaway yet please do - four more days!

So long as I'm throwing the world "expect" around... when can we expect an end to all this white stuff?  Yesterday's run was not at all warm, despite my husband telling me to shed a layer before I left the house (I must stop listening to him).  We set the clocks forward this weekend - a double edged sword of more difficulty getting up, but more daylight to play in after the work day ends.  Last year I distinctly remember Easter Egg hunts in two feet of snow.  I suppose this year is likely to be similar.....

Can't come soon enough

On that note, I invite you to enjoy the spring makeover I gave this blog page, and I'll leave you with another quote pillaged from the internet (thinking Charles Dickens lived in New England - no Mom not really):

“Spring is the time of year when it is summer in the sun and winter in the shade.” 
― Charles Dickens, Great Expectations

What are you looking forward to the most about spring?
Clocks forward - welcome change or evil waiting to happen?

Deep Satisfaction

For many, the moments of deep satisfaction - where we know down to our toes that "we did good" are few.  The hectic pace of life doesn't let appreciate them properly.  Our inner "guilt" voices don't allow us to soak them up without judgment.  But on the rare occasions that these moments do come our way, grab and hold in your heart for as long as you can.

Blowing out Olaf's campfire

This weekend my beautiful daughter turned six years old.  She is funny, smart, sweet, opinionated, and my biggest fan and #1 cheerleader.  She knows just what she wants, and makes her thoughts known when she doesn't get it (usually pretty politely, but with no ambiguity).  Just the revelation that that night in the hospital when I fought for hours to bring her into this world was six years ago is amazing.  I have a six year old.  Crazy.  The tiny little bundle has become an articulate not-so-tiny blur of constant energy and chatter.  "I love her" is inadequate.  There aren't the right words.

This is the first year that we haven't thrown a big party for her.  We took her, her brother, and her bestie to a trampoline park for an hour of open bouncing, then to her favorite burrito joint for lunch.  Grandpa & Grandma came over for lunch the next day.  I took her swimming.  No lavish presents.  No fuss.  A small cake, with gluten-free cupcakes and cake pops for me and her brother (Frozen, of course).  I had a lot of fun making Olaf the Snowman.  A very relaxed, low stress birthday.  She loved it.  As I tucked her into bed, she told me, "Mommy this really was the best birthday ever".

Deep satisfaction in making my girl so happy.  Also in being her mom.  I am not perfect, but I'm a pretty good mom.  There's no way my girl would be turning out so well if I wasn't.  Jedi and I are doing this Mom & Dad thing pretty well.  That feels good.

Jedi in midair!  The aerial skills...

Bounce!!

In the midst of the birthday celebrations, I had this pesky long run to deal with.  My foot felt good - I was equal parts chomping at the bit to get running again after a few days off, and terrified of taking on nine miles.  Come Sunday morning I had 3 options:

a) Run all 9 miles inside on the treadmill in the morning before my parents came for lunch
b) Run 5 miles inside in the morning, then another 4 in the evening (in case my foot was having trouble).  Twice in one day.  Oof.
c) throw all caution to the wind and run outside, despite the cold and snowfall.

I agonized a bit a lot, and chose option 3.  It was nine degrees out.  Not counting the wind chill.  But it was also absolutely beautiful out - clear blue skies and a coat of crystal white over the landscape.  If I was gonna suffer for nearly 2 hours, I was not going to do it staring at the unfinished wall of my basement.

I ran a route that I'd mapped out on MapMyRide, and that was one of my bike routes.  Let me say that again - I ran a route that I used to train on my bike.  The footing was a little tough - mostly slush and loosely packed snow.  My pace wasn't awesome.  I stopped to take pictures, to drink, to fiddle with my phone.  To put on and take off my gloves and scarf at least five times.  The wind was brutal.  The hills became brutal.  I ran into the next town and back...

Town line

The worst moment came when I realized that my carefully planned route was EIGHT miles, not nine.  Just when I wanted to quit more than anything, I had to run past my own house, beckoning with its warmth, and to the end of the road and back to get the last mile in.  I feel this deserves extra perseverance points.

9 miles, 1:46:01

In the end, I did good.  I was a bit nervous to report my time to my coach, but his response made me laugh out loud:

"With this workout completed you could have pretty much said anything other than " I was attacked by wolves or eaten by a bear" and I would have been deliriously happy. This is uncharted territory and completing this distance period, regardless or pace or snapping some pics, is epic especially with an injury scare earlier. Again we are simply working on endurance and getting your body used to distances like these. Not trying to lock in paces or score PRs. I know you just took a rest day but you get another tomorrow as reward. I forbid cardio. But yoga/stretching/smacking the kids around is cool. Congrats!"

Did I mention I love my Sheriff?  Deep satisfaction in pushing through this workout.  In doing something hard.  In not taking the easy way out (not that I think there's really any way to run nine miles).

Today I am tired, I am sore.  I am really, really, really sore.  But I feel peaceful and proud.  Loved and valuable.  I'm going to hold onto the feeling.

Go ahead and brag.  Tell me what you've done that you feel deeply satisfied by?

Spaghetti-Os Night - Perfect Imperfection

Like nearly every other mother I know, this is my favorite word.  If we work, we feel guilty for leaving our kids at home.  If we stay home, we feel guilty for not using our degrees and earning potential.  If we grab an extra handful of M&Ms it can cause shame spirals for hours afterwards.  Marriage.  Career.  Children.  Fitness.  Oh my goodness where to begin?  Because at the end of the day, the reality is that you can only be addressing one aspect of your life at any given moment, meaning that you are neglecting everything else.

This has been a tough guilt week for me.  To start out, I am sick.  I took a sick day on Monday.  Which in my industry means that I worked from home in a cold-medicine fog for about 6 hours and got nothing done before giving up and falling asleep in my chair.  Discussing this with Legos (who also works) - neither of us remember the last time we took an actual sick day.  Like, where we just rested instead of continuing to work for most of the day.  Meanwhile, I was physically home, which to my children meant that I should be playing with them.  By the grace of God (or meal planning) I did manage to shove dinner in the crock pot that morning, so the family was fed.  And it was a rest day.  So nothing lost there.  In that same later conversation with Legos, I said that the best part of having so many roles in your life (mother, athlete, employee, wife, daughter) is that when you are sick, you get to disappoint multiple people at the same time.  

The work week did not improve upon my return to the office.  Mistakes were made, mistakes were uncovered, and the usual crucifixion for them ensued.  Not the first or last time I've made errors at work, but it never feels good.  Meanwhile my cold has persisted, causing me to blow off a workout with Hummingbird and rearranging my Training Peaks schedule so many times that I'm pretty sure Sheriff has just given up at this point.

Side note: I'm still getting used to having another person in my life to report to about how I'm doing on a daily basis.  Some days Sheriff knows more than my husband does.  Coaching is weird - very happy that I love my coach so much and that he seems to not want to block my communications yet.

There's a lot of ways I could react.  In reality, I think I've gone through all of them.  Guilt, anger, zen-like moments of meditation, swearing, deep breaths.. the gauntlet.  But I'm settling on this one:

I am ONE PERSON.  No more, and no less.  

I cannot be everywhere.  I cannot please everyone.  I will make mistakes.  I will disappoint my kids - they will get over it.  I cannot do everything.  When I am sick, I might miss a workout or two during the week.  That's ok.   It is up to me to choose how I will react when life gets messy.  In reality, at least 90% of the pressure I feel, I put on myself.  The kids don't really care what's for dinner.  Sheriff tells me to rest.  In a month the current work snafu will be fixed and will blow over.  The cat will forgive me for not giving her enough lap time.  It's all okay.... 

GF waffles - oh so yummy

I was reminded that others think I'm okay as I am by small kindnesses this week.  One friend texted me a photo of my daughter's dance recital outfit that I'd missed seeing, because I work during when she has class.  Hummingbird and Sheriff did not mind my gym shuffles.  I had a good vent session with Gypsy on the phone coming home the other day.  Jedi went to the store for me and got gluten-free waffle mix, and then stayed up late making them.  Those things matter a lot.

So tonight, after work we took the kids to the gym to swim.  Jedi took the kids in the water first so that I could get in my tempo run for the week, and then we all swam together.  It was really nice.  We came home to a late dinner of Spaghetti-Os.  The non-organic, HFCS filled, mystery-meat meatballs alphabet kind.  The kids loved them.  (Clean Eating police - I had brown rice and quinoa pasta with Cara's meatballs and sauce, so shush).  On Tuesday I made it to my son's skating lesson, but then missed their bedtime for my speed run for the week.  They got over it, and were even proud of mommy for running so fast!  I was pretty proud too, as I PRed my 5k time during that workout by a good margin.  

Last weekend, mother runner Meg Cross Menzies was killed by a drunk driver on her morning run.  She leaves behind a husband and three small children.  While I did not know her personally, this story tears at my heart.  I can only imagine the pain that family must be going through.  I don't want to waste the time I have to feeling guilty.  I will be dedicating my long run this week to Meg's Miles.  Meg's Miles asks us to:  

Take in the fresh air, be aware of your surroundings, keep your headphones on low, feel the heaviness in your lungs, the soreness in your legs, and be grateful for it -- for all of it.  The sweat, the pain, the wind, the cold... everything.  Be grateful for that moment. 

Tonight as I was putting my son to bed, he told me, "Mommy I think you're perfect".  I think we all are too, kiddo.  Perfectly imperfect.

This is all you really need to do for your kids.
Hold them.  And rest.  When you need to.

Those Who Can't Run..... Register!

Pass the tissues, pass the cold medicine.  I have the plague.  I started to feel it on Tuesday, and tried to beat it into submission with a running workout in the nice warm gym (instead of outside in the freezing cold as originally planned).  No dice.  So yesterday and today I've done my best to rest.  Which, for a working mom, means pulling a 10 hour workday online from home while simultaneously juggling the kids, making dinner, and staying up until past 11 just to enjoy some peace and quiet and put off having to wake up and do it all again.

I wish I could say this to everyone....

To me feel that much more like Parent of the Year, we forgot to take our daughter to dance class.  Just completely escaped our minds.  Now she doesn't have it again for 2 weeks because of the holiday.  Parent.  Fail.

So today, as I am still working (and attending my son's preschool Thanksgiving celebration, picking up daughter at school, making dinner, and working on Christmas card), I decided that since I'm not up for anything athletic, and since my credit card is already smoking from all the online Christmas shopping I've done, that I would go ahead and plan/register for my 2014 race season.

First up is the Sterling Freezer 5 Road Race on New Year's Day.  Jedi and I have a tradition going back even to before we had kids where we go to bed early on New Years Eve, and then get up early on January 1st to do something that reflects how we want to coming year to be.  We've done hiking, snowshoeing, skiing, and on years where I was 9 months pregnant or had small kids, smaller outings like lunch and a museum or similar.  So I after this fall's injury, I really want to start 2014 with a race.  I will likely still be walking parts, having not quite finished my Cast25K program by then, but at least I'll be out there.Several friends are doing it as well, and the Jedi has kindly agreed to come scrape me off the pavement if needed, since it is close by.

Next on my dance ticket is the Raleigh Rock -n- Roll Half Marathon with Rio in April 2014, but that is already booked.

My first triathlon of the season is the brand new Greendale Triathlon, hosted by my home gym and in the very lake that I learned to open water swim.  Seems appropriate.  It's also four weeks before my first Oly, the New England Trifest up in Fairlee VT which I'll be doing with or in the company of my brother and sister-in-law.  This one fills up early, so I registered for it as well.

I plan on my last Oly in the year being SunMultisports Cranberry Trifest, but registration isn't open on that one yet.  Thank goodness.  I might be running out of credit card space.....

With all these races, I also stepped up and bought an annual USAT membership.  Boo yeah.  I feel official now....

How do you get over colds quickly?

Have you ever forgotten to deliver/pick up your kid somewhere?

What's on your 2014 race schedule?

We All Hate Mommy

Hate is a bad word in my house.  A few days ago in a fit of temper I said, "I hate my crutches" and my son looked at me, all seriousness, and said, "Mommy, that is not a nice word".  But I am going to go ahead and use it here.  In a society where personal achievement is considered paramount, our culture hates successful women.

There are more example of this phenomenon than I can list.  One of the most compelling is the Heidi/Howard study, in which a two professors wrote up a case study about real-life entrepreneur Heidi Roizen, describing her success as a venture capitalist by relying on her outgoing personality and huge personal and professional network.  The case study was described to a group of subjects.  They were then asked to rate Heidi on likability, competence, etc.  The exact same description was given to a second group of subjects, with one change.  The name was changed to Howard- she was male.  Using the same rating system, the subjects perceived Heidi as selfish, not likable, and unfeminine, while gave Howard high marks across the board. Clearly, if a woman achieves a certain level of success in her career, she is breaking the cultural rule of self-promotion, and therefore we don't like her anymore.

The latest iteration of this is Maria Kang's controversial photo, in which she shows off her fit physique with her three sons, and asks "What's Your Excuse"?  Her intentions in posting this picture to her blog and Facebook page were to encourage others to break through their hesitations and work towards personal health.  Instead, this woman has endured a backlash of hatred from a group that should be supporting her achievements.  Other women.  They call her a bad mother, a bully, that she is "fat-shaming".  That she is lucky genetically or must have a coach and be paid thousands of dollars to look that way.  When in actuality, she works full time as the breadwinner to support her family and injured Vet husband.  But she broke The Code, which says that a woman, especially a mother, should not flaunt their successes.  Her level of physical fitness as a mother of three young children is an accomplishment.  There is no way that it comes easy.  Nothing worthwhile does.  Blogger Matt Walsh does a fabulous job of addressing the public hate reaction to the photograph.  I will not reiterate everything he says, other than to say that you cannot take someone else achievements away from them by hating.  When you judge someone, that judgment is not about them - it is a mirror of your own insecurities.

Women and mothers have a tough road to walk.  The feminist assertions that we can "have it all" have been largely debunked.  We are offered an endless series of choices, compromises, and decisions about our life paths, and each one comes with its own cultural negative judgment.  Get married young?  Wasting your youth. Don't get married until your mid thirties?  Spinster. Pursue your career?  Un-natural ambition.  Stay at home to raise your children?  Waste of a college education.  Keep working?  Bad mother letting someone else raise your kids.  Make time for physical fitness or a hobby you enjoy?  You must be neglecting your children.  Tina Fey, in her autobiography "Bossypants" says that the most insulting question you can ask a woman is "How do you do it all?", because the implication is always that you must be neglecting something.  I 100% agree, and I get asked this question a lot.  Most of the time I manage to quip, "Oh you know, I just don't sleep" (which isn't true, but is a satisfactory answer).  When I'm feeling more touchy, I say "I'm a bad employee" or "I neglect my children".  Because that's what the asker really meant in the first place.  Mature?  No, but we don't always have to be.

Motherhood is challenging.  No doubt.  My house isn't always clean, my kids aren't always wearing matching socks, and I don't always feel rested.  Ok, just about never.  However, as true as it is that woman can't "have it all", it is equally true that they can have fulfilling, successful lives that they should be proud of.  In her widely controversial book Lean In, Facebook CFO Sheryl Sandberg encourages women to lean into their careers and speak up on issues of women's rights, in order to enact overall positive change for women, both working and nonworking.  One of the most poignant portions of her book is when she points out that there are almost no positive portrayals of working women in popular media.  Working moms are almost always portrayed as frazzled, unhappy, and generally slipping away from their dreams.  True?  Maybe.  The bigger issue though is that with no role models to the contrary, the implicit cultural acceptance is that this is how it should be.  

Postcards like this one, while funny, are a subtle jab against those that do make their own crafts and reindeer treats.  Or any other fulfilling activity that falls outside the stereotype of the frazzled exhausted mom.  We all feel like this on some days.  I'm not condemning those that post these at all, but how about some postcards thrown up on our Facebook pages about the GOOD stuff, too?  Much harder to find....

Last night I was watching Grey's Anatomy (go ahead and judge if you must - there's that word again!).  In last night's episode, new mom Meredith Grey returns to work full time, only to miss an important surgery because her daughter fell in daycare and needed stitches.  Something I can relate to given recent events around here.  Her best friend Cristina Yang then tells her in a very well written speech that, while they started out walking down the same path, Meredith has made the choice to become a mother along the way, has stepped back from her career, and is therefore no longer as a good a surgeon as Cristina.  Cristina's character has actively chosen her career over parenthood many times, and is subsequently still the top of her game.

Were my choices the right ones?

Meredith then goes home and has an epic freak out to her husband that the tea party she planned for her child didn't happen, and that she missed her surgery because her husband didn't answer his phone when their daughter was hurt.  Her husband yells back that he never asked her to give up her career for parenthood, which is of course bull*t because his actions forced her into the choice.

I have mixed feelings about this plotline for Meredith.  Katrina Alcorn, who wrote the counterpoint of Lean In, "Maxed Out - American Moms on the Brink" and www.workingmomsbreak.com, would probably say that this is a truthful, realistic portrayal of the character's life.  Alcorn encourages mothers to "push back" in their careers and lives, and to reject the cultural pressures of perfection that are placed on motherhood.  However, where realistically more young women are watching Grey's than the evening news, it would have been nice to show Meredith continuing to succeed instead of taking a fall.  Instead, the writers chose to reinforce the idea that mothers have to give up their dreams in order to be good parents.

In summary, I'd ask mothers to do two things.  First, ditch the hating.  Every mother parents differently, lives differently, and has a different set of challenges than you do.  So stop the judging, the gossip, and the constant measuring of how you perceive someone else's life against your own.  It's time mothers celebrated each others accomplishments and their own, instead of tearing each other down for them.  And for the love, please stop asking people, "How do you do it all?"

Second, be the best role model you can for your children.  Boys and girls.  Pursue that which makes you happy, whatever it is.  Let them see you as a happy, fulfilled, complete and multi-faceted person, rather than "just a mom" (a horrible phrase that should be removed from our vocabulary).  Make the time for yourself to do the things you love.  Take care of your body.  Take care of your spirit.  If you work, know that you are setting an example to your children on how to be self sufficient.  If you stay home, know you are teaching self sacrifice and nurturing to your children.  Be proud of what you do, whatever it is.  Be the woman that you hope your daughter will grow up to be, or that your son might want to marry.  Your life did not end when you pushed out those bundles of joy - it became deeper, more complex, but no less meaningful.  You did not become less worthy of success in whatever form that takes for you.  So celebrate yourself and go out and encourage others to do the same. Changing society's perception of successful mothers starts from the ground up - from mothers themselves.

Lost in the Woods - Literally and Figuratively

It's fall.  The season that always the most like starting over.  Big changes in our house - daughter started kindergarten six days ago.  We already have a mountain of paperwork, a couple of fundraisers, and ice cream social, and something called "curriculum night" to go to.  Both kids start soccer, swim classes, and daughter starts dance.  I am four days from my last triathlon of the season.  My "A" race that I'm hoping to to the best on.  Major town fair, two wedding cakes as well as a dream cake for a seriously ill child for Icing Smiles (no pressure there!).

All good things.  EXCEPT that when you add it all together, I've been experiencing levels of anxiety that are off the chart.  And my chart has one heck of a tall y-axis!!  I've been alternating between manic levels of activity (scrubbing the house, making 3 weeks worth of freezer meals, training like a crazy person) and being so lethargic I don't want to get out of bed.  Having fantasies of taking the cat and moving to a cottage in the woods somewhere Thoreau-style.  (Why the cat?  Because sometimes I think she's the only one that loves me unconditionally.  And she's warm, which would help in an unheated shack).

Pet my tummy.  You know you want to.

On Tuesday I tried to relieve some stress with about four of our cupcakes (2 of which were the stale ones we take back from our coffee shop once they've expired.  Nasty - I'm not proud of that moment) washed down with a couple glasses of wine.  Needless to say, that actually made me more of a stressed evil harpy, which was unfortunate as it was my long-suffering husband's birthday.  So yesterday I resolved to do better.  Good night's sleep, good breakfast, and a run at lunch.  I'm tapering for Sunday's race, so my max goal was about 2-3 miles.  Just enough to take the edge off.  I much prefer to run loops than out-and-backs, so I plotted out a loop that went on a different road than usual.  Lo and behold, and what to my wondering eyes did appear but....

HIKING TRAILS!!!!

I love trail running

You don't always get a "this is the way" sign in life.....

A nice little parking lot that I'd never noticed before, with a small white sign that said "2.6 miles to Hudson St.".  As I've really been digging my run-away-into-the-woods fantasy, I abandoned my earlier plan faster than it takes me to pull on my elastic laced running shoes.  

It was glorious.  I had no idea where I was going.  I had no idea what the trail layout was.  I just ran.

I like running on trails about 5000 time more than on roads.  I love the woods. I love the challenge of watching for every next foot placement.  It's like a video game.  I love that I don't have to sweat my pace as much, because everyone is always slower on trails.  It lets me stop starting at my Garmin and stare at nature instead.  I started having deep thoughts, like.... "this the universe giving you just what you need just when you need it" and "this path in the woods is like your life - you don't know where it is going, but you're having a great time now that you've stopped checking your watch".

This is the universe telling you that your path is not this way.....

Then, just to drive the point home, the universe got me good and lost.  (Or maybe I got myself lost.  Whatever).  In a field of razorgrass, where I couldn't find the trail again for a good 15 minutes.  While wondering just how long I could be away from my desk before someone noticed, and if I'd have to call our director to come get me once I finally got out because at that point I'd ran 4 miles and wasn't sure I could make the 4 miles back the way I came.

Lost in the grass.  Somewhere in this photo there is a Great Blue Heron lifting off from the marsh.  Beautiful!

Long story short, I did get myself out and sprinted my little butt the 2 or so miles back to my desk before I was missed.  My little 2-3 mile run turned into a blissful 5.5 mile trail run.  Even kept a good pace during the miles I wasn't lost!  My legs were cut to ribbons, but I felt better than I had in weeks....

Collateral damage - must trail run in tights from now on

___________________________________________________

All the Zen feeling was gonna be needed, because the next challenge was my daughter's first dance class.  I did NOT do dance as a child.  In fact, I am so ungraceful by nature that I was put in remedial gym class in the first grade.  (Really - that's a real thing.  These days you probably couldn't call it "remedial" for fear of harming the child's spirit or incensing her helicopter parents, but back then they call a spade a spade).

This was an event that I'd already invested hours in, researching classes, registering, and then getting her kitted out with what I thought was a decent approximation of  dance outfit.  Leotard, tights, tap shoes (one size too big, per other dance moms) and ballet shoes (also one size up, and so delayed in their arrival from Amazon that I was near panicked).  My husband started texting me at work an hour before class that her slippers didn't have a right or left and what to do?  Besides the obvious (put on feet), I put a call out on Facebook to confirm that yes that was normal.  Good.  So I packed up work a smidge early (bad employee!) to meet husband and son at her dance studio.

What I found was a waiting room the approximate size of my walk-in closet packed with at least 25 moms and their assorted children.  Hot, chaotic, and loud do not properly describe.  First day of class.  God help us all!  To add to that, my husband had settled on a look for our daughter that can only be described as "Flashdance Extra"

She's a maniac, MANIAC on the floor!!!

In the throngs of children, she was literally the only one with no tutu.  Her tap shoes have ribbons that tie, requiring the teacher to help her.  I didn't even bother to ask about the socks, but when at the end of class I told her to try on a smaller pair of ballet shoes I'd found in the hand-me-down bin, she said, "But Daddy told me I have to wear socks over my tights!".  I think my response was something along of the lines of "Well Daddy's a dummyhead" or something equally politic and mature.

Tying on her tap shoes

Last evening my husband after class my husband and I would have a fight about whether tutus "were stupid" (he says yes categorically, I maintain that it matters what the daughter thinks), if tutu, what level of "poofiness" was acceptable, etc.  All the while the voice in my head is telling me that this is by far the STUPIDEST thing that I have ever worried about and definitely that I've argued about in my life.

My insanity continued unchecked through work this morning, physical therapy (cleared for the race whoot!).  Through scouring a consignment shop for more leotards and the beginnings of their Halloween costumes, because clearly two months in advance is the reasonable timeframe for obsession to start.  Through a thousand other hysterical suggestions of what I was missing or messing up on.

Then one of my favorite bloggers, Meredith Atwood (aka. Swim Bike Mom) posted an entry entitled "The Real Business of Not Being Good Enough".  She spoke to her constant life-long tendency to keep piling her plate with more and more to do in an effort to feel "good enough" until she is in a constant state of breathless insanity (only she said it better than that).  I quite honestly felt like I had been kicked in the stomach.  I am the first to speak on women's inequality in the workplace, to repost articles from the Huffington Post about the stupidity of the Mommy Wars, but I am GUILTY of this.  SO guilty.  So guilty that if sentenced I'd be locked away in prison for several consecutive life sentences.

My race?  Worried I'm gonna look silly in spandex and finish poorly.  Not good enough.  Halloween costumes?  Worried that if I don't sew them by hand to my children's exact specifications that they will think I don't love them because I'm too busy with work to do so.  Not good enough.  Dance class?  My daughter had a ball (notice how I didn't mention that until now?).  She couldn't have cared less what she was wearing.  I was worried that the other moms in that waiting room would think I was an idiot for her crazy outfit and showing up with her gear packed in an old Pearl Izumi headlamp bag.  Not Good Enough.  How had I let myself get this worked up???  SwimBikeMom has thrown out a challenge over the next 30 days to focus on believing you are good enough.  Challenge desperately needed.  Challenge accepted.  Stay tuned....