Two Things Thursday ...

because I don't have time for three ...

Birthday - On Sunday, I will become the mother of a seven year-old. Seriously? How did that happen?

I remember my seventh birthday like it was yesterday. No lie. At my party, the cake was in the shape of a 7 and I had my own individual cake, as well. And now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure that's the exact moment when my cake obsession began.

Anyway, back to what I was saying. Dizzle is about to be seven. She thinks she's 17. And before I know it, she's going to be. Time moves too fast. It's blowing my mind. 

Craziest Weekend - For some reason, the third weekend in May is a historically crazy weekend for our family. And this year is no different, in addition to Dizzle's birthday, we've got a bajillion things going on.

• I have two runs and a bike on my training plan.
• My little sister Gina's 22nd birthday is Friday.
• My mom and Gina's BFF are coming to visit.
• Dizzle's birthday party is on Saturday afternoon.
• I'm working the Tough Chik booth at the Richmond Multisports Powersprint Weekend on Saturday and Sunday.
• Dizzle has cheer and Doodle has soccer (we probably won't make it to either of these).
• Dizzle and Doodle have dress rehearsal for their dance recital on Friday. At 4:30. In the city. 
• There are two dance recitals on Sunday. The first at 1 p.m. and the second at 5:30 p.m.
• I am working as the "Room Mom" for the second recital.
• And then there is all the prep work for the party, the expo, the recital and for having guests.

Needless to say, I'm going to need some crazy time management skills, my support team and a big slice of cake to get through it all.

calling it quits ...

Yesterday, my little sister said something that stuck with me. I was trying to convince her to join my running cult ... I mean, running hobby. We were talking about doing a half marathon when she said, "I could never do it." To which I replied, "I didn't think I could either. But now, I run marathons." And then she hit me with it.

"Yeah, but you get an idea in your head and you just do it. I'm not like that."

She's right. When I decide that I am going to shoot for something, I make sure that I accomplish it. Failure is not an option. I've always been that way. But, it got me thinking. Is a drive like that what differentiates runners from non-runners? Or the obsessive runner (like me) from the recreational runner?

I've mentioned it here before, G and I gave ourselves a tag line after a run where we let our drive to finish win out over our common sense.

G and I are "Runinspired: Runners first. Logical thinkers second." (Our shirts are in the works)

I ALWAYS finish the run. If the schedule calls for 10, I am running 10. Not 9.92. It's just how I roll.

My obsessive nature was proven yesterday during my six miler. I had just eaten a HUGE lunch (with dessert) and it was 90 degrees out. Feeling guilty about lunch and knowing I had to get my run in at some point, I headed out without really thinking about how my body was going to handle all that food.

I started running and was feeling fine. Until about mile 1.5. Then it hit me. I was going to vomit. So, I stopped. Sipped some water and composed myself. I started running again and made it another half mile before I was vomiting on the side of the road. This pattern continued until mile three, when I decided I was going to walk a tenth then run half a mile until I got home. It worked, but I was on the verge of vomiting the whole time. It was rough.

The kicker was that I was running a zig-zag course. And even at the three mile turn around point, I was less than a half mile from home. I could have cut the run short at any point. But I just couldn't. I just kept thinking about what my sister said to me. That I decide to do something and then do it, no questions asked. I knew I wasn't really sick. I knew that I had just eaten too much and tried to run too soon. And since I knew that finishing the run wasn't really detrimental, except maybe to the front yards I yakked on, I kept going. I didn't quit. And it will make me stronger. If I can run through vomiting, I can run through mental fatigue and self doubt. Getting through the tough spots is what makes you a champion. But, I'm sure to most people, I just looked like a lunatic puking on the side of the road ...

Like I said, I'm a runner first. A logical thinker second.

why my children are going to give me a heart attack ...

Yesterday morning, when I was trying to go to the bathroom ALONE, Dizzle and Doodle stormed in and declared that they needed to brush their teeth because the dentist told them to. Funny? We went to the dentist in May and you are just getting the memo now?

I looked at them and said, "Can't you see that I am going to the bathroom? Fine. Whatever. Go brush your teeth. Just get out of here." When I finished, I heard the girls in their bathroom down the hall. I told them to brush and then come downstairs as soon as they were done. And then I left. I went downstairs, sat down and tried to finish my coffee.

About two minutes later, I hear ear-piercing screams. Dizzle is yelling, "MOM! COME HERE! HURRY! IT'S AN EMERGENCY!" All I can think is someone is dead. They have found a razor and are bleeding to death or they drank all the toilet cleaner. I jump up and sprint up the stairs. When I get there both girls are crying and screaming. I look at Dizzle. And yell (so they can hear me over their screams), "What's wrong?"

"Doodle can't turn off the sink! She might waste water!"

Wait? What? Here I am thinking you are on the verge of death and you are just afraid that you're not being Eco-friendly? Seriously?

Yes, this is my life. Be jealous. Very jealous.

the procrastinator ...

I know it's totally not PC to stereotype or categorize people, but let's be honest (aren't I always?), some people just have certain characteristics they are known for.

Take me for instance, I have ALWAYS been known as "The Jock." This is evident by the fact that when Senior Superlatives were announced in high school, I won "Class Olympian." My jock status still manifests itself every now and then on Facebook when people tag me in one of those stupid pictures that lists a whole bunch of character traits and you have to scroll over the picture to see which one is you. (I NEVER have to look. I already know the answer.)

This is not to say that this classification is not correct. In fact, it's dead on. I have been an athlete in one form or another since I started playing soccer at age three. And as luck would have it, I was always pretty good at whatever sport I tried. I was a varsity athlete in soccer, basketball and track all four years of high school. I won two state titles in the shot put. I was a Division 1 track and field athlete in college. (Note: I always managed to play the position or compete in the event with the LEAST amount of running. Weird, right?)

I'm starting to notice that my children are also showing certain classifiable character traits. I'm already sure of what sports my children will excel at and which they won't. And I am pretty confident that I can pinpoint each of their "categories," (at least the ones they are demonstrating at this point in their young lives). Dilly is a "class clown." She's just plain silly and is always working the room. Doodle is a "tantrum queen". She has a fiery temper. She's quick to overreact and lets you know it. And Dizzle, well Dizzle is "The Procrastinator." That girl knows how to play anyone. And it is crazy annoying. Take last night for instance.

I put the girls to bed at 7 and told them that I was going to run on the treadmill, which meant that I would NOT be able to hear them if they screamed for me. So, don't waste your time. Just go to bed. They said OK and kissed me goodnight. Fast forward to the end of my run and guess who is screaming ... Dizzle. I proceed to go check on her and this is what happened:

Dizzle: "Mom, I was calling you because I really had to go to the bathroom."
Me: "You just went 40 minutes ago. Ugh! Whatever! Just go!"
Dizzle: (lets out two drops of urine) "OK. But now I need to wash my hands. And my face. And brush my teeth."
Me: "You already did all that."
Dizzle: "Um, I need to call Daddy and tell him goodnight and when is he going to come home."
Me: "He is at a work thing. He won't be home until Friday. I'll let him know you said goodnight."
Dizzle: "Oh, well, I had to borrow Doodle's slippers because my feet were cold. But now, I need to go get mine."
Me: "Why?"
Dizzle: "Well, what if Doodle needs hers back?"
Me: (obviously frustrated) "You don't sleep with your slippers on, so you don't need them. Just get back in bed!"
Dizzle: "Will you just tuck me in extra tight so that I don't get cold?"
Me: "Yes."
Dizzle: (now in bed) "Um, Doodle was up when I was screaming for you because I had to go to the bathroom. And then she fell asleep. I don't even know how she did that. She is SO CRAZY!"
(And I just walked away ...)

No, Dizzle. You are the crazy one. The crazy one who should have been asleep rather than thinking you could pull a quick one on your mom. When are you going to learn that I am the last person that is ever going to work on?

what I did on my rest day ...

So, you know how I am all matchy matchy with my outfits? Well, I just stepped it up a notch. Now the hair matches too. Check out my new fuchsia highlights.

I love it. But to be honest, the picture really doesn't do it justice. It is actually much brighter in person. Maybe it will actually be sunny here tomorrow and I can get a good shot it the sunlight.

And speaking of the sun, Anne tagged me with this Sunshine Award! And now it's my turn to pass this on to 12 wonderful bloggy friends and let them know with a comment. So here it goes,

Zoe at Run, Zoe, Run

Kerrie at Mom vs. Marathon

MCM Mama

ESH at Sweat Once A Day

Morgan at CAUTION: Redhead Running

Mel at Tall Mom on the Run

Casey at Running After Violet

Sarah at Brunette on the Run

Katye at Long Legs on the Loose

Marlene at Mission to a(nother) Marathon

Katie at One Run at a Time

X-Country2 at Cross Country Squared

am I crazy?

In case you haven't noticed, I am kind of competitive. Not only with myself, but with those around me. Even if they are not competitive in return. (Seriously, why don't some people get that EVERYTHING is a competition? So frustrating.) Anyway, I am constantly trying to one-up myself. Which is good. And bad. Sometimes I just take on too much. But worse than that, sometimes I don't know if it's too much until it's too late.

Here's my dilemma. I really want to earn Half Fanatic status. Thanks to G, I have become aware of a half in Williamsburg (about a 45 minute drive) that is on February 28. Exactly one week before Disney. This race would give me 3 half marathons in a 90 day window AND 2 half marathons in a 16 day window. So basically, I'd be set. The only problem (other than convincing J) is that I really think Disney is the race that could give me that 2 hour half I am looking for. And I'm not sure I want to risk that. My thought is to run Williamsburg at a controlled pace of 9:30-9:45 (which would still be a PR) as sort of a practice run for Disney. Am I totally nuts? Should I just find another half to run after Disney that falls in the same 90 day window? Should I just wait until next year for the Fanatic thing?

On a lighter note, I ran an awesome 12 miler this morning. Here I am looking super cute.

I started out on the treadmill, which I quite like. It's really nice being all toasty when you step outside. After about 6.5 miles I joined the Stroller Strides 10K training team, which I am helping out, for their long run. Once we got back, I picked up the pace and finished my run. It was one of those runs that you don't want to end (although I wouldn't have minded it being a tad warmer). I finished in 2:02 and considering we were running 12 minute miles with the training group, I was quite happy with the overall pace. I was really pushing it in the last two miles.

So, how was your long run?

illness and heart attacks ...

Everyone in my house is sick. I'll spare you all the details, but Boogie Wipes are in high demand. I haven't run in two days. I know that two days may not be that big of a deal. But it's killing me. I will run today. Even if it's only three miles and even if it's really slow. (I will note that I probably need a recovery week. I've been going hard since January 1 and it wouldn't be the worst thing if I took it a little bit easier this week. But it's SO HARD to do.)

So, like I said. Everyone is sick. Dilly knows this, but she still insisted on nearly giving me a heart attack this morning.

This is what she looked like when I sat her down for breakfast. As you can see, our table is bar height. Not your standard table.

And this is what she looked like when I returned from the pantry. And yes, she was buckled in.

Great job, Dilly. At 12 months old, you have figured out how to be completely dangerous. Fantastic! I've been waiting for this moment for so long ...

Oh, and on a different note, I got my bib number for the Disney Princess Half yesterday. It's 2287, which are the same 4 digits of my birthday, 2782 ... can you say good omen?

spider ...

My children are afraid of bugs. Sometimes. Well, usually only when they are being over dramatic. Like on Sunday. Dizzle got banished to her room for her less than stellar behavior. Once she got up there, she started screaming, "THERE'S A SPIDER IN MY ROOM. THERE'S A SPIDER IN MY ROOM."

Me, being the hard a** that I am, yelled back. "Stop screaming and get in your room!" But, the yells didn't end. They intensified. "THERE'S A SPIDER IN MY ROOM. IT'S FOLLOWING ME! (tears, tears, and more tears) IT'S FOLLOWING ME!"

By this point, I was laughing. I was picturing a GIANT spider running after her. Seriously, I'm not quite sure how I have such a wimp for a child. I am so not like that. Anyway, I told her to get back in her room and headed upstairs. She, being the defiant child that she is, continued to scream.

When I got to her room I asked where the spider was. "RIGHT THERE!"

Huh? I couldn't see anything. "Where Dizzle?"

"RIGHT THERE!"

Oh, wait, I see something. As I bent over to investigate, I spotted her spider friend. Which was not a spider at all, but a few strands of knotted hair that must have fallen off her brush and landed behind her bedroom door.

I left the room, slamming the door behind me. Laughing all the way downstairs ...

pancake flat ...

I have mentioned it before. But in case you missed it, I have no chest. I am pancake flat. Once, I went into Victoria's Secret and they told me that they didn't carry my size. When I was pregnant (and nursing) I was slightly more "blessed." But quickly after weaning Dilly, it was back to the status quo.

Recently, Dizzle has become more body aware. She is noting difference in people and is quite interested in why we are the way we are. Yesterday, (while sitting on my stomach) she looked down and said to me, "Mommy, did you have your boobies taken off?" I nearly choked from laughing so hard.

Once I could contain myself, I simply replied, "No, Dizzle. But now that I don't feed Dilly anymore, they don't need to be so big," But really, I wanted to give it to her straight and tell her that she and her sisters had sucked the life out of me. But I thought that might be too harsh.

firsts and lasts ...

Dilly - One Day Old

Dilly - One Year Old

Dear Dilly,

It's amazing, but somehow I blinked and my last baby is suddenly one. You'd think that after going through the first year with each of your sisters, I would have known exactly what to expect during yours. But, I'd be lying if I said that I did. Sure, some things were easier, some things less confusing, but almost nothing was what I expected. Which, if we are being honest, is exactly what I should have expected.

From day one, you were your own person. When people would ask me who you looked like, or who you reminded me of, I always answered, "I'm not sure. I guess she's most like Dilly." And that's still true. Sure, you share traits with each of your sisters, but you inject so much of your own personality in that you really don't resemble either.

There are a million things about you that make you the Dilly that I love. These are just a few of my favorites.

I love that you are the EASIEST child ever. You can ask anyone. You never cry. OK, maybe you cry, but it's usually only when you hurt yourself. Like last week when you fell down, bashed your head and instantly looked like you were growing a horn. (No worries, you're fine.)

I love that you know how to play me. That when you want your way, you'll look up at me with those big brown eyes, in a way that is eerily similar to Puss-N-Boots from Shrek.

I love that you act so much older than you are. You have an immense amount of confidence. And truly believe that you can do anything you put your mind to, even if that means climbing the banister (seriously, I have caught you climbing the banister. You can't even walk yet. Give me a break.)

I love that you do everything on your own time. Prime example, drinking from a cup. You would rather dehydrate yourself than drink on my schedule. So, I weaned you. And you held your ground. Refusing to drink anything. I said, "Have it your way." And you did.

I love that you love kisses. There is nothing better than slobbery baby kisses and you are happy to serve them up to anyone who is interested.

I love that you admire your sisters. Sure, they might not always be the best examples, but I could sit for hours watching you watch them with such love. I hope that you feel the same way for the rest of your life.

I love that I can always calm you down or make you laugh by singing, "I Got A Feeling," by the Black Eyed Peas. It's your favorite and to watch you dance to it, is the best.

I love that you let me parent you the way I have. That you quickly adapted to everything I have thrown at you. In a way, I have never seen you as a baby. I've tried to treat you like I treat your older sisters. And I think it has worked. We've found our groove. You've helped me become a more confident and a more relaxed parent. And I thank you for that.

Dilly, watching you transition in your first year from a newborn to a toddler has been bittersweet for me. Most of your firsts were also my lasts. The first time you took a bath was the last time I would ever give a first bath. The first time you "cried it out" was the last time I would ever Ferberize a child. Your first meal, your first smile, your first attempts of everything are all my last experiences of babyhood. It makes me want to smile and cry, all at the same time.

I am excited for all that is in store for us. I can't wait to see how you will continue to grow and blossom. How you will mesh with your sisters. How you will grow up. But for now, I will relish in the fact that today my baby is one. No longer a baby, but not quite a big kid. Happy Birthday Dilly! I love you more than you will ever know.

xoxo,
Mom

heaven in washington?

Tonight at dinner, Dizzle told me that she wishes that dinosaurs lived with us. I told her that it wasn't possible for that to happen because dinosaurs are extinct. Simple enough, right? Well, she didn't know what extinct meant, which opened up a whole other can of worms.

Dizzle: "What does extinct mean?"

Me: "Well, extinct means that there are no more left of something and that there can never be anymore. Scientists believe that a meteor hit the earth a very long time ago. This caused a climate change that the dinosaurs couldn't adapt to. It was either too hot or too cold for them and they all died."

Dizzle: "OK, but where did they all go?"

Me: "Um, I don't know. Maybe heaven."

Dizzle: "Or Washington."

Me: "Why Washington?"

Dizzle: "Because that's where everyone goes when they die."

And I was left speechless. And laughing. But mostly speechless ...

now I get it ...

This past fall, during marathon training, G and I were completing mid-week eight milers. I thought they were agony. I hated the thought of getting up early to run them (so not an early morning runner) and squeezing an eight miler in while taking care of three little ones is not an easy task. But somehow, I logged the miles, rather begrudgingly.

G, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy these runs. She even said to me, "Once this training is over, I think I am going to keep doing these mid-week long runs." I looked at her like she was crazy. I just couldn't understand why anyone would want to or could manage doing that. Until yesterday.

You see, yesterday was the first day of preschool for Doodle (she and Dizzle are now in the same class). Which meant it was the first day that I only had one child to watch. For four hours. It was bliss. My house was quiet. I wasn't stressed.

Taking advantage of my lighter load, I put Dilly down for a nap and jumped on the treadmill. My plan had been to run three. But while I was running (and decompressing) I wanted to go further. So I did. And in that moment, I understood what G was talking about. I could picture a day where I had no kids to watch (or just one to push in the stroller). I could picture a long mid-week run with ease. It was magical. And I can't wait for it to happen ...

holy snow ...

It doesn't snow in Richmond. But somehow, it has snowed twice this calendar year. And last night, it snowed huge (10"). And more is expected this afternoon. This is a good and a bad thing. The girls LOVE the snow. I generally like the snow for a day or two, but then I am over it. That's pretty much the end of the good.

Since it NEVER snows here, everyone is ill-equipped. The snow doesn't really get plowed. And if it does, it's poorly. No one has snow clothes. AND NO ONE CAN DRIVE IN IT. It's sad. I used to live where there was lake-effect snow 345 days a year. I can drive in snow. This fact was proven last night when I was driving home during the first two hours of the storm. I was going 45 on a major interstate. The speed limit was 65. I was passing EVERYONE. It only got worse on the local roads. 15 mph was pushing it. I really think the best part of the night was when I stopped for gas. I had about 60 miles to empty so I stopped to fill up. It was a madhouse. Everyone of Wawa's 24 pumps had lines three cars deep. People were filling up gas containers. You would have thought it was the end of the world. All I could do was laugh and think, "Seriously?"

All joking aside, I think my least favorite part of the snow is that it puts a damper on my running plans. I really wanted to get outside and run this weekend. I was even thinking of going on a short run last night while the snow was falling just so I could say I was that hardcore. I didn't. My brain (which was too afraid I might hurt the ankle) won out and I ended up on the treadmill. For eight miles. At an 8:45 average pace. With negative splits. A minute and fifteen seconds faster than I averaged during marathon training. Hmmm ...

overloaded ...

If you haven't figured it out already, I am totally Type-A. I am uber-organized and ALWAYS take on more than I should - mainly because I am often afraid that if I let someone else handle things, it will probably turn out wrong and I will have to do it over again anyway. If I just do it myself, things are just less complicated (but usually more stressful).

This need to be in control has turned into quite the workload. On top of being a full-time stay at home mom to three kids, four and under, I work part-time as a fitness director for Stroller Strides. That job requires me to teach classes, train instructors, handle scheduling, and several other administrative tasks. I love it, but at times it can be a lot. Add to that the fact that I handle the bookkeeping for a friend's business, I started my own small business this year, I serve as the VP of Licensing at Dizzle's preschool and I am the Coordinator of our Luna Moms Club and you can see that I have a pretty full plate. Oh, and did I mention I run? Sometimes for hours on end?

I get asked a lot how I manage everything and honestly I don't know. Sometimes, I can't manage to get a single thing done and some days everything flows together so seamlessly. I live and die by a schedule (and speaking of schedules I need a good half training schedule - hint, hint). I rarely budge on anything. My kids don't know what it is like to be awake after 7 p.m.

Today is one of those days that I can't seem to get anything done. Time is ticking by so slowly, yet I feel like nothing is being accomplished. It's frustrating. And when I am frustrated, you really don't want to talk to me. I get rude and short and start thinking that everyone else in the room is a complete idiot. It's not pretty. Trust me.

stools ...

In our playroom, we have a table and chair set from IKEA. It's nothing fancy. A blue table with three stools, two pink and one green. (Yes, I realize that it was stupid to get a green one.) Anyway, this morning, I was watching G's youngest and the kids were fighting over who got the pink stools. Doodle lost out. This, of course, turned into a HUGE tantrum. Apparently, having the green stool is the END.OF.THE.WORLD.

Doodle's reaction went a little something like this:

"I NEEEEEED A PINK STOOL! (unrecognizable words) I NEED A PINK STOOL FOR MY BUTT! (more crying) I NEED A PINK STOOL! IT MATCHES MY OUTFIT!"

OH.MY.WORD Dizzle! It matches your outfit! I must remedy this situation RIGHT NOW! Here you go Doodle. Here's a new shirt. NOW the GREEN stool matches your outfit. Happy?

where are my capris?

On Sunday, I got a day off from child rearing while I attended a workshop. That meant that for the very first time, J had the girls all day. From 7:30-4:30. That's like a good 5 hours longer than he had ever had them before.

I tried to prepare him. Gave him a quick rundown before I left and as I walked out the door, I threw the girls' outfits for the day on the playroom floor. I knew the girls would be OK. I was a little afraid that J might panic (he didn't).

Feeling good about leaving them all day, I went to my training and didn't even think about them again until it was time to nurse Dilly. So, around 1:30 I called J and told him to come over with the girls sometime soon. When he arrived 40 minutes later, I took one look at them and I knew something was off, but I couldn't quite figure out what it was. I checked them all one by one. J was normal. Dilly was as cute as ever. Doodle had some CRAZY hair working, but she was fine. Dizzle also had that messed up hair, but there was something else. I just looked at her and thought, "Capris? I'm almost positive I didn't leave her capris to wear. Wait, Dizzle doesn't even own capris. (Dizzle lifts her shirt) Huh, those pants aren't even zipped or buttoned. OMG, she is wearing DILLY'S PANTS!!"

So there she was. My 45 pound, 43 inch tall, four year old wearing a nine month old's pants. It was hysterical. And what was even better was that J had no clue. And now I understand why he usually leaves them in their pajamas ...