The Best Job In The World

Sometimes I can't believe how fortunate I am. I get to do THIS all day! Now, if someone could please give me my paycheck...

Poor Little Dragonfly

We have seen an unseasonably wet June here in Utah. On Sunday, I was downstairs when I heard repetitive banging over the baby monitor. At first, I thought the punk had found his rhythm in his sleep, but then I realized it was hailing. I went upstairs to watch the storm and noticed this poor little guy hanging on for dear life to the screen on our kitchen window.

I was so concerned for this little insect that I actually felt like crying. I stood there through the storm to make sure he didn't get hit by a giant ball of hail. I must be a mother. I never would have had this much sympathy for a bug a year ago.

So Let It Be Written

... So let it be done!

Apparently, when a person wears a phrase on his shirt, it comes true! I found a tiny bottom tooth poking through the punk's gums today. This was after I dressed him in this shirt.

He looks pretty happy to have his first tooth, don't you think?

We are mean parents. When the punk tries to tell us how he's feeling, we laugh. When he gets overexcited and fails to remain upright, we laugh. He has a rough life ahead.

P.S. My man took this video with his phone, and I don't know how to rotate it. If watching it gives you a crick in your neck, you may bill my insurance.

The Things I Think About

Dear Sally Hansen,

Here is a picture of your so-called "No Chip 10 Day" nail polish on day 5. I would like a refund. You may send the money, along with a Snickers bar, to me at home via next-day delivery. Thank you.

Everyone in Utah seems to have these mushrooms in their yards thanks to the awesome rainstorms that have visited us over the last week. My question is, why do they grow in a circle formation? It's a little freaky to me. It makes me think of aliens for some reason, perhaps because they remind me of crop circles? It may also have to do with my recent dream about UFOs that looked like bats descending in a circular flying pattern, but ended up being birthday cards that came in through my window.

This is my view from the driver's seat. Every once in a while, I glance back and see one eye looking back at me.

People Are Weird

A few days ago, I had another Mama Bear Moment. I walked into my friend Shanel's salon, carrying the punk in his baby carrier with a blanket over the top because I was hoping that he would stay asleep for the duration of my hair appointment. As I walked in the door, I passed a lady who looked like a wet cat. Small frame, big eyes, and with hair and skin the same color yellow. She immediately turned to me and said, "Make sure to give that baby some air! That's a heavy blanket." It's a good thing I hadn't followed through with my original plan of covering the carrier in plastic wrap!

I sat down to wait for Shanel, and Cat Lady sat down in the chair right next to me. I had only had time to blink when suddenly, she was reaching her paw out to lift the blanket. I almost slapped her hand away, but instead, I said, "He's taking a nap, and I'd like him to stay asleep." She looked as if I HAD slapped her, but I didn't care. I could even hear him making waking sounds, and feel his little feet start to kick, but I wasn't about to lift the blanket now and subject my little guy to Cat Lady. She would probably want to hold him and nurse him and take him to live with her in a van down by the river. So I rocked the still-covered baby seat while she babbled unceasingly until Shanel was ready for me.

She asked me how old he was, his name, where I grew up, where my husband grew up, how long we had been married ("Oh, you waited 6 years to have a baby?"), if we had traveled before having the baby, and how we had met. When I told her we had met on a blind date, she proceeded to tell me about the "50 couples" she had set up on successful blind dates and her theory that sometimes couples are destined to meet by the hand of someone else. By the time Shanel had finished her previous appointment, which only took about 3 1/2 minutes, Cat Lady was jabbering on about how Scotland and Ireland are her favorite European countries because she owns the keys to several castles where she can talk to ghosts.

Run Mei, Run!

Running is hard. It hurts. It beats me up and reminds me just how weak I am. I am not a fast runner, nor a graceful runner. My man does an unflattering impression of the way I run, and it's more like a scoot than a run. Think more penguin, less gazelle.

On December 26th, 2006, I suddenly decided to register and train for the SLC Half Marathon to be held in April 2007. I made a 4-month training schedule, with my long runs on Saturdays. I would map out my route, beginning and ending at my house. On the way out, I usually ran past a little golf course called Swan Lakes. As spring approached and the weather became warmer, my scheduled runs became longer, and thank goodness the club house was open because it became my emergency pit stop. There is nothing worse than finding oneself miles away from home with an anxious bowel. NOTHING! I would rather have shin splints (which I did). I would rather get a migraine (and I had many). I would rather have my foot gnawed off by the ferocious rabbit from Monty Python and have to limp home, dragging a bloody stub. (This did not happen.) Bad things happen to your body during a long run. I had moments, or entire workouts, when I felt like I was wearing lead platform shoes and my tummy was grumbly and my lungs felt like they were being held in a bear hug, and I struggled through every single step of every mile. There were times that I winced with every step due to those nasty shin splints, and there were times that I would start losing my vision during a run and know that a migraine was on its way.

So why do I put myself through the torture? Why are we psychos compelled to take off running and not stop when we get tired? Isn't that a bit contrary to natural human tendencies? Yes. The answer is yes. It is unnatural. It is masochistic and punishing and glorious.

The first time I made it past 4 miles, I cried. I was so darn proud of myself that I cried. Then later, when I told Tim how I was feeling about my 4-mile accomplishment, I cried again. And then I felt like a complete idiot because who cries for joy after running 4 miles? Crazy people, that's who. Crazy freaks who are training their bodies to run 13.1 miles. For fun!

 But I continue to run. Two years ago, I ran 13.1 miles WITH a migraine. Two months after that, I ran the Wasatch Back Relay for the second time, and after my first 3 miles, I looked like this:

And two years, 15 pounds, and a baby later, I ran 3.25 miles today and rejoiced. Running is full of ups and downs. 

One thing I loved about my long Saturday runs is the opportunity I had to view the rural community in which I live with new eyes; I saw things that I never would have noticed in a car. I often ran past these trees during my 5th mile, and I fell in love with them. I love that these three trees stand alone in a large field, and I love the way they look during each season. I ran by crowing roosters, red barns, and small farms selling asparagus. I've run in the crisp early morning hours when the sky is pink, the birds are chirping, and my neighbors are still sleeping. I've run under the noon sun when my sweat stung my hot cheeks. I've run alone in the middle of the Wasatch Mountains at 3:00 am, and seen glowing eyes looking at me from the tall grass on the side of the road, with a curious coyote on the road ahead. I have experienced disappointment, like when my teammate Blake had to run a mile for me during my third and last leg of my second Wasatch Back Relay because I was too wussy. Or when I began to lose my vision at the starting line of the SLC Half Marathon, signaling a quickly approaching migraine. But the triumphs have far outweighed the frustrations. Like when, with the support of my man, I decided to run the race I had worked so hard to train for, despite the migraine (with my cell phone in my sweaty hand, just in case). Or when I took over for Blake and finished my last torturous mile of the WBR on my own. Or when I ran two miles for the first time after having the baby.

Running kicks my arse. But when it's good, it's guuuuuuuuuuud.