Please Pardon the Imperfection – My Messy Beautiful

My hubbie and I watched a comedian the other night who said that as he gets older, his depression gets more creative. He'll look down at his beautiful daughter and think, 'I am a great dad, look at this awesome creature I made, that's so cool. I am OK.'

Then it will be 11 a.m. on a Tuesday and he's in the grocery store looking at Lean Cuisine, Toto comes on the Muzak system and it's all over. He developed his story and got inappropriate and morbid (and lots of laughs). It didn't bother me that he was joking about this - I mean, it's his bit but it's real. He was brave enough to go on the comedy channel in front of a live audience and lay it out there. That's brave. That's cool, that's uncomfortable. Good for him. When do you hear a man offering up his deep, dark stuff to a crowd of people? Hardly ever. Unless it's a Dateline special and his PR people have insisted he do it to squelch some sort of torrid tale.

There are two things I learned by watching his story unfold: 1) How true about our demons/insecurities/anxieties as we get older. We have more distractions, more experience, but sometimes, they sneak up on us and manifest through a microwave meal or song on the radio or something someone said. And snap. You were walking along, feeling OK and then wham - there is that voice in your head or a feeling that takes over your being. 2) Even though that comedian was performing, you could tell that his joke came from a place of truth. It was authentic. The self-deprecating style he's known for has made him famous. The honest way he shared it with the live and TV audience showed me that he needed to. It was his therapy.

In my life, I play the role of harried working mother trying to 'have it all'. (Yes, I know that this sitcom is often cancelled after the pilot... but I keep auditioning.) I was cast almost 10 years ago and perform my skit daily: get kids to school(s) - remember all of their required documents, projects and reports; get my self to work - remember all of the required items, clothing, watch, shoes that match, functioning brain... in front of my family, co-workers, friends, passers-by who think I'm a nut job... Much like the comedian, I'm cruising along, have made it through what feels like a full marathon having shopped and checked-out in Target... and bam - someone has dropped a $6 gallon of Tru-Moo Chocolate milk on the floor on our way out and it has splattered everywhere. Yep, there's that sneaky anxiety again. Don't yell, don't cry (I'm talking to everyone in the situation, including myself). And - if Oprah, Suze Orman, Dr. Oz, Jimmy Fallon, Dr. Dre, Rayna James from Nashville and Sheryl Sandberg were in this situation, what would they do? Exactly. Chill out. Step back. It's a-OK. I can berate myself about always being in a rush, moving the kids along too quickly - their little legs just don't move that fast - but I really just need to b-r-e-a-t-h-e. Slow down, de-stress. Target gave me another gallon and did not charge me for it by the way. Nice move, seeing as I am there three times a week.

The bit I like to try out on new audiences is this: 'Hi, I am Jennifer - I'm really accomplished, interesting, efficient, in-shape and healthy, happy and sweet all the time. My family is perfect, my career is amazing, my house is as organized as an HGTV editorial spread, I go to church every Sunday, cook full meals every evening and my kids get to practices on time.'

My icky-sticky truth is this: 'Hi, I'm Jen. I know we just met and should keep it to niceties and appropriately conservative conversation, but I'm so exhausted that I don't have the physical energy or brain power to make chit-chat. I really just want to close my eyes, nod and sip this latte while you tell me about all the crazy shit that happened in your week; (you're a stay-at-home-heroine and I am a working-mama-maven and we always want to play Freaky Friday) then tap me on the shoulder when your done and I will respond with a similar recap, we can give prompts and adulate, 'uh-huh', 'amen sister' and 'omg, that happened to me last Tuesday!' Then I'll confess my obsession with Mad Men and Downton Abbey, and talk about them for at least 20 minutes. You'll catch me up on all the Real Housewives shows since lately I am in bed lately when they come on and my DVR is full of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and bad Disney XD Movies and pre-teen sitcom specials. When you ask what/where my home church is, I'll tell you that both of my children went/go to church day cares and know more about God than I remember and teach me new lessons daily. I don't get to our local Methodist chapel anymore, but I miss the contemporary services where I could show up in jeans, nurse a Starbucks and rock out to the amazing band and pastor who spoke to our generation. My belief in God is strengthened every time I go for a nighttime or Sunday morning run where the mist is still hanging in the air and magically my mind is clear, I am humbled and grateful to be able to have that quiet time with Him. Or see Jesus in the big blue eyes of my boys when we are reading Skippy Jon Jones before bed and praying. My believe is never stronger when I melt into tears because my little one looks up at the night sky and points to the Northern Star - 'Look, mommy, there's Papa.' Precious family and girlfriend time is my therapy and my church and I don't apologize for it. It works for me. What about you? Next, we'll share work war stories, complain about sports practices cutting into homework time that neither of us know how to do any more. Core math, and state testing, wtf? And although our loving modern-day husbands are rock stars, dads who coach and clean, too, they contribute at least 50% to the household and parenting responsibilities but we think our half is the more difficult set of chores and are mad at them but don't know why.'

I read a post in the last few months where the blogger admitted that she too, had a tough time with the 'small talk' - weather, sports, vacations, etc... and wanted to dive right into deep issues with moms she just met that day at a kid's little league game. She was a premature, over-sharer. That's me. So I also hide behind my blog when I am chomping at the bit to share big, complicated stuff with new friends. Last week I met a new contact at a conference, they emailed when we returned and said, 'I enjoyed chatting with you, like your style, it's refreshing.' I knew it, I'm an over-sharer. Then then sane part of me said, 'Score! You were yourself and they did not run off.'

So that's it in a nut (job)-shell. I am a hot mess on the inside (my gooey center - everything can be compared to chocolate, OK?) I am usually over-caffeinated and sleep-deprived. I forgot about my older son's picture day a few weeks ago because now there are apparently two photo taking times during the year, fall and spring. When did that start happening? Big Kid was in his favorite college sports team shirt, his hair wasn't done and I fretted, but they turned out really nicely. Except that he looked 17 and my mind and heart flashed ahead to senior pictures - gah! I rebelled the system by only purchasing 1 sheet for $13. At least he wasn't the kid who's mom mixed up pajama day and picture day and sent him in a Sponge Bob sleep set... or something like that. It was on Facebook, so it must be true.

Gotta run. My next bit is in 20 minutes, lunchtime is over.

Messy Beautiful

Daycare Dress Code

Let's get caught up in the 3-1/2 year-old department.

My little beetle bug has been kinda bad lately. Bad is relative and not a word I like to use to describe my own flesh and blood, but ahem, he's been sorta rotten at school. It's daycare, but we call it school. Since we came back from Christmas break, things have been, well, 'rough' at old daycare. All of his teachers say the same thing: he is the sweetest little thing... but boy, is he stubborn.

I get daily reports in his tiny owl-print notebook that say stuff like this:

'Bug had an OK (usually written darker, as to emulate 'bold') day today. The morning was rough. We were not using gentle hands with our friends and we were ignoring our teachers. Our car was moved to Red for throwing a toy.'

It think that about sums it up. And when I arrive at daycare and get to the door of the closing room (it has one of those half-doors so you can look in and down on your little precious sweethearts, giving you a moment to decide if you want to let them out yet), I see his itty face staring up at me, usually fashioned in a silly smirk, frozen like a statue until he busts into a fit of giggles when I say... what on Earth is that face you're making? How was your day? I missed you so much! Let's help Miss Heather clean up and get your coat on.

Bug's daily reports in his tiny cartoon-character voice go something like this:

In the closing room doorway:
Me: 'How was your day?'
Bug: 'Dood!'
Me: 'Hmmm. Well, I read in your notebook that your car was on red today.'
Bug: 'Is dat wat miss sawah or miss mewanie said? Betuzz, my tar was on wed, but dat's otay, wight, mom, betuzz, well, I was ownwee a yittle bit bad (using his fingers to make a 'yittle' measurement), so I tan still have chocat milt and watch Mittee, wight?'
Me: 'Ummmm, well, I think that you... wait, what?'
Bug: 'Otay. I yov you, mom. I tan still pway Skywanders when we det home. You are da best mommy in da whole wuurrld. Yet me dive you a hud. I don't want my hat on, jus my hood. Otay, mom? Yet's go. Buyeeeee, miss hea-der.'
Me: (Sigh.) 'Let's talk about this more in the car.'

Car:
Me: 'Ok, bug, tell me why your car was on red.'
Bug: 'I don ra-membur (shrugs shoulders, raises teeny eyebrows and smirks). Do I have any dummies (gummies) in da car?'
Me: 'No, there are no gummies left in the ca, bug. Let's discuss your behavior at school today. We only use gentle hands with friends. If someone is not sharing, you walk away and play with something/someone else. And we always listen to our teachers, right?'
Bug: 'But... Otay...'
Me: 'What are we going to do tomorrow?'
Bug: '(Sigh) Mate betturrr deschizions...'

After several weeks of cars on red and some random great days in between (I have no idea how those suprisingly intersperse...) it culminated in this note last Tuesday: 'Bug had a rough morning and his car was moved to red for not following center rules*. (There was really an asterisk). At the bottom of the page, it read: *'Please see Mrs. Smith tomorrow when you drop bug off.'

Me: OH, sugar honey iced tea!!!!!

And, so I show up early to do the 'hold my hand-let me show you-I need another tiss-and a hud-wait-don't go to work-I want you to stay here' drop off dance. Then I'm able to sneak away into the director's office. Both the assistant and head director of the daycare center are present. I am nervous. (And if I spoke that it would be with a high-pitched voice for effect - NERRR-vous!).

They shut the door (never a good sign) and proceed to tell me both the most hysterical and comforting story I could have endured that morning. I was sweating, worrying if I'd have to switch centers and find a place to take him mid-year, where would that be? (Who wants an angel-faced, teacher-hugging, yet insubordinate toy-chucking, rough houser)? Would tuition be higher? But he'll miss his friends and teachers and I-am-getting-a-migraine! At last, they deliver the news:

Daycare Director's Office:
Director 1: 'Yesterday during circle time, around 9 a.m., when parents were droppiong off the half-day kids, we realized that Bug was sitting there without any pants on.'
Me: (GASP!) 'Oh. My. Goodness.'
Director 2: (chuckling)
Director 1: 'Yes, soooo, we were wondering if he ever does this at home? Because this was about the 4th time.'
Me: 'Oh, dear. Wow, yes, he likes to surprise us every few weeks and he'll just go streaking through the house. And just this weekend at his cousin's birthday party, actually. Heh-heh. Luckily, most everyone was gone by then.'
Director 2: (giggling)
Director 1: 'Ok, well, that makes us feel a lot better that it's not just here. And so, it's not a huge deal, but as he gets older, it will be, so if you could just talk to him and let him know that he needs to keep his clothes on.'
Me: 'Yes, yes. Of course, ummm, we will talk to him. That's important. Clothes. Yes.'
Director 2: 'Hee-hee.'
Me: 'Lately, he's been a little funny and freaky about socks being too tight on his toes, jeans being to scratchy or stiff...'
Director 2: 'That's what he said, maybe he's developing a sensory thing, where he doesn't like certain textures against his skin...? At least he had an answer. Most kids are like, 'I don't know...''
Director 1: 'All right, we appreciate you staying to talk about this. We know you are busy. Thanks very much.
Me: 'No problem, thank YOU. We will talk to him tonight and explain the importance of... clothes.'

Car:
To myself: Pwaaaah-heee-heee-haa-haa.... ooooh boy.
Hubbie: (on the phone) Is everything ok, what did they say?
Me: 'OMG... haaaa... you won't believe this one. Our... child... is... streaking... at... school! Yesterday, during story time... during parent drop off, they looked over and there he was, listening intently, with no pants on!'
Hubbie: 'Thank god. Gotta go. Love you, bye.'
To myself: 'Sigh... ahhh. Never. A. Dull. Moment. Priceless.'

Holiday Hangover

 

It's lingering.

The post-apocalyptic feeling that creeps into my bones after the Christmas buzz fades away. My friend thinks it's just too much coffee (we received 6 coffee shop gift cards this season - score!) or the dozens of desserts I ate over the last 6 weeks. My muffin top would agree on both counts.

The near below zero wind chills have kept me inside and out of my jogging sneakers, not to mention a possible broken foot bone (above the big toe, which acted as a door stop when Big Kid opened it on my foot two weeks ago) and Plantar fasciitis. So, for pure enjoyment in the new year, I've been attempting some real ballsy Pilate's and Yoga moves. Side note: I am no longer 22.

My sister and her friends are doing things like 'hot' yoga and 'power' yoga. I am trying to heave and ho my way through 'Yoga for Getting Rid of Your Late 30's After Two Kids Spare Tire.' I think I popped some c-section scar tissue trying the move where you have to roll from a laying position up to a standing position... real funny. Nice try, oh DVD princess of Pilate's punishment. You and your perfect pedi and coordinating outfit. I learned recently that there is a Pilate's garb section at some pf the sporting goods stores. I am lucky if I can find a sports tank without holes and t-shirt without stains to cover the bleach stains on my shrunken-legged yoga pants. Who is seeing this lovely ensemble? Judgey Pilate's instructor, that's who. You know I am not at all relaxed in my stuffy little basement den that houses the dog kennel (mmmm Febreeeeeze), while you exhale on a beach somewhere in St. Kitts, says me, Miss Saint-Stuck-in-This-Position.

Dr. Oz: I have to inform you that the deep inhales are not working! I ate some quinoa with lunch the other day and tried logging off of social media sites for a while during the Christmas holiday. But my brain and body is as scrambled as ever. I need a cleanse. I'm not quite brave enough to do a colonic. But if I were, I'd like to vent and then release the negative toxins. You know, accept, change, leave...?

1.  Mickey's Twice Upon a Christmas: still saved on the DVR. It brings much joy to Bug. It brings much eye rolling from me. And I ADORE Christmas. I love Disney Junior. Would it be so bad if the cable company sort of accidentally deleted it by mistake? For a mother's sanity? If I have to watch, rewind, pause and Donald's story about not getting to enjoy his hot chocolate during the bustling holiday season...  I had one measly half-cup lukewarm cocoa in early November. HOMEMADE by yours truly. The kids begged for it, then had two sips each and walked away. And it was DELICIOUS! So calm the heck down, duck.

2.  New Year's Sales. Taunting me with left-over junk at 60-75% off (with in-store credit card purchase), retailers. How dare you lure us broke, sun-deprived and bored people with coupons and one-day events and points and rewards? Just plain cruel. Wait, a promotion email just dinged my phone...

3.  Salt that is missing from my Salted Caramel Mocha. Why my beloved Starbucks would not  replace the salt after New Year's is beyond me. We are energized about the New Year. We are tired from our holiday hustle and bustle. We need more sodium in it's purest form, to adorn the top of coffee drinks.

4.  The scale in my head. The one that tells me that I am over here and lacking there. I don't even actually own a scale or have one lurking in the bathroom! My brain does all the tallying for me. How convenient of you, brain.

Half way through writing this post... it dawned on me that maybe I should try toning down the smart @$$ quotient. Although my rant list is definitely more pithy, and if spoken, would be delivered with expressive hand gestures (work in progress, OK?) here are some things that I need more of this year:

1.  My 3 year-old putting his hands on my face and singing me to sleep "Go to sleep, mommy..." during his nap time. And turning my face to meet his, nose-to-nose when he needs to tell me something important and says, "Mommy, THIS. IS. SEE-REE-UUUS. Now, listen to my words." And
my 9 year-old telling me that I am the best mom in the world - and still wanting to give me hugs. Because he's a 9 year-old boy who recites stats and watches ESPN instead of cartoons in the morning and has developed an affinity for potty humor. Ugh, heart sinking. And I'll take any remaining sweet moments I can get.

2. My husband. Generous. Loving. Funny. Messy. Caring. Kind. A wonderful father. Supportive. Dedicated. #Keeper.

3. Family and friends, new and old: the fuel for my spirit. My Rock of Gibraltar. I hope I am as solid for you as you have been for me. Oldies: has it been over 20 years since some of us first passed notes or carpooled to the roller rink? Newbies: thank you for helping me see things through fresh eyes.

4. Downton Abbey. I just tuned in this week. Cannot. Get. Enough. Yes, PBS! The costumes, the romance, the beautifully written story lines. So-so-so good, me lady! "There are different types of good mothers," says Granny, a.k.a. Countess Grantham to Lady Mary. What a relief!

4. The ideas and moments and gratefulness/gracefulness that comes over me when I am out for a run. And I don't mean how coordinated I am when I say gracefulness. I mean, how full of Grace I become when I am running. Because it fills up my tank, my heart, recharges my soul and releases the ick that has built up - that I have allowed to seep in. And as a friend explains her hobbies, her activities to her children: 'it fills up my bucket'. Thanks for that one, B.

My New Year's ReVolution? I shall revolt against the monsters under my bed and the voices in my head telling me I need to do this or look like that.

I will resolve to whine less about the types of things in the first list (note I did not say WINE less) -and I will resolve to count more blessings like I did in the second list.

Like Beetle Bug said after singing an impromptu version of Happy Birthday at First Watch the other morning - AMEN!

Happy New Year! I have a feeling that this is going to be a good one.

five minute friday - tree

My dad and I about 6 or 7 years ago.

Go.

These are trees that surround our home. We have only two of our own, but these neighboring trees shade and cover and hug our property.

This is a hug from my dad, who passed away two years ago tomorrow from brain cancer. Too quick. Only weeks. Not even a sapling. Like a lightning strike and a fallen timber.

Here is a daughter who held his hand and relished his hugs for as long as she can remember (and recalls the bark on those hands, the hardworking years that showed) until the day he died.

There is the smile of a man who knew his love was strong enough to carry them through the worst of it, but was as scared as them while he was enduring it. When he wanted to say it out loud, he couldn't. He had lost his words. But we knew. We saw it in his eyes. Reaching like branches. The admiration, the pride, the generosity, the eagerness, the face of a man who loved passionately and experienced life so exuberantly it made you want to see it and live it through his eyes and heart and soul. The man who's mother says that I am her son. My eyes, my mannerisms, the way I speak and live and love. A gift to a granddaughter, those words.

I am a woman who was lucky enough to be raised independently, with the support and guidance of a solid foundation. A root system. Stand tall, be heard, share your abundance, show your colors, be free to be me.

As the seasons change and the leaves fade to brown, I feel secure. He is not here in person, but he is there in the very nature that he loved. Birds tweeting when I stand outside at night or run on an early morning. He's there. In towering pine trees and falling snow. Crystal clear nights and bright stars.

Memories like rings around me. My dad, my Wild Fig tree.

Stop.

Truth (FMF)

I am so glad I waited until today to post my off-the-cuff response to the Five-Minute Friday topic, 'Truth,' from last week. It's really interesting to take a step back and reflect on how you were feeling at any given moment, how you reacted and how you've learned from that experience...

Truth.

Go.

Avicii's song Wake Me Up was playing when I finally got to the car this morning. A perfect sound track and lyrics to a lopsided, imperfect start to the day.

The truth is that I'm still hung over from a mommy rage that occurred when in the very same morning, a canine could not hold it and used the full expanse of our mudroom as a potty, but did not spare the rug, and I stepped in it. Then, a little human had an accident on our bed while enraptured by cartoons; through the feather bed to the mattress. The feather bed that against my husband's better judgement, I stuffed into our washing machine anyway... the last time that chocolate milk was spilled or a night-time pull up did not hold its weight and it caused a little overflow. Oh, the irony.

There was a fellow blogger who set out not to yell for 365 days. I know that it would be like running a marathon but I want to try with all my being. I occasionally raise my voice, but when I really YELL, it has boiled and brewed unknowingly within for who knows how long, for any and many reasons and usually comes spewing out in seemingly the wrong-est situations. Like BAD WRONG. Which is a new slang term I learned yesterday and vowed to use it in a sentence. Truth is, I almost called hubbie and yelled at him for the whole thing. I wanted to share my displaced, ridiculous, decaffeinated fury with my betrothed.

My makeup was smeared after the drive in. I swerved in and out of severe mother's guilt mode where my inner voice admonished me for losing it. Recalling the episode and my 3 year-old wondering why his sweet mama (whom he calls flower princess) was acting like the evil stepmother. Daggers in my heart; leaving him at daycare was the ultimate piercing. Walking to the car, I pleaded with my heart, head and soul and asked why I couldn't be more free-spirited and easy going and calm like so many other moms I know??? WELL, WHY NOT???

I heard the truth loud and clear. Avicci was saying to wake him up when it's over. My tantrum, that is. I spoke back to him, amen. When he's wiser and he's older. I scoffed. I thought I was wiser and older. I thought that after the second child you make more 'informed' decisions. Rational ones. 'All this time I was finding myself and didn't even know I was lost,' he sings. Huh. I didn't even know it. And at this, I cursed my so-called waterproof mascara.

A dear friend spotted me when I arrived and read the look on my face. She soothed me with a similar story (well played - hers was worse) and it lightened me a tad. It's taken me half the day to forgive myself. I forget so quickly that I've counseled other friends in this very conversation. When I was able to play the knowledgeable one. The offerer of sage advice. I had to turn that inward and take a bit of my own today and let myself off the hook.

Here's hoping that he calls me flower when I pick him up and still wants to hold my hand and give  'super-duper' hugs to this hairy-scary, ranting mama who sprouted a Medusa head this morning.

Searching for grace, that is my Truth on this Friday, friends. I am not perfect and I need to quit trying to be. I didn't know I was lost. I'm going to get the Yoga mat out this weekend. And count to ten.

Stop. Exhale.

Bug was as happy to see me when I picked him up as the day before. We had a great weekend with lots of together time and hugs and a 4-1/2 hour birthday party with 15 children!!! I counted to ten (did not get the yoga matt out - oops) and didn't yell... only used inflection in my voice and expression on my face to get my point clearly across and it actually worked. I think my kids were dumbfounded as to why I was talking in a very controlled and neutral voice - at this point, they think mommy is just completely loco anyway!

FMF: Together

This season inevitably brings out the feelings of memories, closeness, spending time. A kaleidoscope of leaves like a painting, crunching under feet, making haphazard piles for jumping. Crisp air, carving pumpkins and little munchkins dressed up as their favorite character.

Trick or treat is a tradition that we always participated in when I was a little girl. October was a magical time and we spent lots of time outdoors, sharing adventures.

The cooler air, nostalgic smells and holiday fare bring up some very vivid and palpable memories. Sometimes so thick and present that I have to choke back tears, or else let them fall.

It's because autumn was the time of year my dad loved best. It is also bittersweet because 2 years ago during this very season is when we discovered he was ill and lost him a short five and half weeks later. That season when Adelle's 'Someone Like You' was hot on the charts and it seemed to follow me on those rainy October and November days back and forth to the hospital to visit my dad. Strange that this song affected me so, but in my head at that time the song was about my parents love story and the melody, words and her vivid voice cut through my heart like a knife.

I still can't listen to that song without taking pause. Remembering all of their good times, together times as a family growing up.

It makes me want to stop the clock and keep my boys sweet and innocent and little and allow them to experience the kind of togetherness my parents created for my sister and I all the time, but especially so wonderfully during the holiday months. It is picture perfect in my mind.

This one's for you Dad, and for teaching me what it meant to be together.

When Mickey Mouse Sounds Like a Smart-A**

So there I am mid-search for a preschooler's missing sock and I catch myself, mid-comment under my breath - in response to a comment Mickey Mouse has made to Daisy.

It was Beetle's current fav episode of MMCH called 'Super-Spy Daisy'. The group needed to cross a river and Daisy says, 'Good thing I brought THIS!' Mickey says (with a tone, I swear!), 'A big yellow bow?' and I say, from the next room, 'A bit of a smart-ass, aren't we Mickey.'

You know you've had a stressful couple of days weeks when you get combative with a cartoon character. I accused the Mr. Mouse of being snarky. Whoa - mama needs a break.

And so I took one. I ran in my third Akron Marathon relay this weekend with a gaggle of random friends and acquaintances, including a dude runner who filled in at the last minute to cover another team member's injury (his wife's), two generous co-workers and an old friend. Thank you, team, for assisting me in ridding the negative fog Saturday morning when we ran our best race yet. Mind you, this is for fun people, we are recreational runners, not official marathoners or anything. Just a bunch of folks who like to run for a variety of reasons. There were 17,000 people participating in the Marathon this year. We were around 800th place in 2011, in the 1100's in 2012 due to an injury and 600's this year. Movin' on up!!! We kicked that relay's butt. All with super-great paces and forced smiles on our faces (at least for the photographers, then they turned back to grimaces and cursing under our breath as to why we do this to ourselves every stinkin' year. Tee-hee.)

'Did you win?' Big Kid asks... 'It's never about winning, buddy, it's for fun." I always tell him.

'Because we are old', my friend reminded me - as we shared funky hip and knee problems on race morning. She had just come in and I was about to run the finish leg. We giggled and hugged about our running woes while much younger, more in-shape and definitely more hip guys and gals listened, probably Tweeting how there were a ton more old people, like 40's at least, in the crowd this year...

It's also why we try harder and train more and attempt to keep up with the 20-somethings coming up from behind. We're in that funny, young-but-old stage. Trying to stay stress-free in high-stress jobs. Fit into skinny jeans and hide dark circles. Maintain sanity while working and mothering and feeding friendships and marriages and form sentences that makes sense on a Monday morning before having any caffeine.

I run because it is my release from everyday challenges and stresses that seem to take a hold of your brain and over-analysis kicks in. Like putting a pair of socks on a three year-old who says that they hurt his toes (heh?). Or holding onto your composure and confidence with difficult situations and people (other than your three year-old). Because before you know it, you're eating an entire bag of Pepperidge Farm Dark Chocolate Milanos that you found at Target (which is also a coping mechanism) and are currently hiding in the popcorn box on the top shelf of the cabinet, but apparently someone found you out because there were two Milanos missing and the bag was ripped and the perpetrator did not even have the decency to throw away the little paper cup that they sit in... hmph! If I could emulate the 'I have my eyes on your gesture' that Robert Dinero made famous in Meet the Parents right now, I'd be doing that to my entire family.

I've said this before but the running and the organized event participation in which I pretend to be a real runner is such a release for me that I almost crave it like my coffee. Unlike the Starbucks SCMs I've been downing like water from a hose on hot summer day when I was five years old, the running balances me out. My brain, my heart, my soul, my mood and (as husband will attest) prevents me from going into full-blown 'monster mode.'

During which time, I apparently like to pick fights with helpless (yet sarcastic) Disney characters.

For everyone's sake, I'll keep up the running as long as my old, stressed out muscles can take it. I see it as a real win-win, as we marketing people are known for saying.