Random Thoughts

I love being a mother. Sometimes I need to remind myself, usually when I'm holding a kicking, screaming A upside down during a "meltdown" always in public, while someone is commenting, tongue in cheek I'm sure, about how when our kids get in trouble at school one day, they'll know it involved A saying, "Let's try this." Encouraging for a mother, huh:)

My pumpkin is feisty and a natural-born leader. If I can rein those great traits in for good and teach her to be a leader for Christ, not the other guy, I'm actually happy that she isn't overly shy or a wallflower. I know that given the right direction and tons of prayer, that she'll be a strong little girl who can influence others for good.

That being said, I wanted to share a few of those sweet, tender moments that her father and I capture at home, when she isn't out telling the world that I'm "mine mommy" or her best friend is "my Lucy." She's just proud of us!

Last night, when we were finishing up some chocolate chip cookies in our den, A came by, unprovoked, and took mine and her father's plates to the kitchen, where she placed them on the counter. She also had on a cute t-shirt with sparkly lettering. When you asked her what was on her shirt, she replied, "Sparcles." I couldn't get enough of her saying that word.

She also is taking very good care of her baby dolls and will speak so quietly and sweetly to them, always telling them, "I be right back" then blowing each a big kiss. My daughter is truly a sweet, adorable girl, and I love sharing those moments with her. So next time you see us at the grocery store and she is yelling to you, "Not yours, mine," remember that when she isn't learning the use of possessives, she is doing good deeds in her own sweet way.

Mercury Rising

I was sitting at the computer when I heard a hissing sound and loud pop outside on the porch. When I went outside to inspect the cause of the noise, I noticed broken glass from the thermometer. Apparently, the mercury had risen so high, so fast, that the thermometer just exploded.

Okay, I just completely made all that up; I don't even own a thermometer, but as hot as it has been the past few days, that could certainly happen. The termperature has climbed to the century mark and walking outside is truly like walking into a humid oven. Why your oven would be humid, I don't know, but if it could, it would feel like my front yard. I say all that to say that my running during pregnancy dream has become just that, a dream, nightmare really.

When I found out I was expecting, I experienced a sense of excitment. This time I had no broken ankle, no out-of-shape lungs. I was in the best shape of my life and ready to run during all nine months. I just forgot to factor in the extreme heat and humidity of southern summers. They're hard enough to bear when you aren't carrying around another person, while pushing in a stroller a thirty-pound toddler. I know, I know, women run during pregnancy all the time, but do they live in the south? No, I'm convinced these women, I only read about but never actually see, live in Minnesota or Seattle.

Truth is, I could run, but I just don't feel that it is safe for the baby. Maybe I'm being overly cautious, but when God places the care of a developing fetus into your hands, that is no small task. So, I've resigned myself to long walks, spin, pre-natal Yogalates......and lots of naps. Honestly, I'm rather enjoying the break from training and (get ready to laugh here) racing. I've forgotten how comfortable and enjoyable a stroll can be. It's nice to not feel the overly-driven, super-competitve urge to push myself. While I think stretching what I once thought were my limits is good for me, it probably isn't the best idea during pregnancy or heat waves. And I find that I'm now having dreams of my post-pregnancy comeback half-marathon and quite content waiting until after the baby is born to reach that goal.

Tour de France

For about three minutes, the Tour de France captured the interest of Americans, as they tuned in to see if Lance Armstrong would ride victoriously through the streets of Paris for the seventh time. That interest might have only been for about sixty seconds had Armstrong's story of triumph over cancer not been so amazing. Not that seven Tour victories isn't amazing in and of itself, but doing it after defeating cancer is that much more impressive. Let's face it though, cycling doesn't capture the hearts of Americans without a story like that and even then it's the athlete, not the sport.

In my household, thanks to my husband's love of cycling and the Versus channel on Charter 212, the Tour captures our attention four hours a night for the three week duration of the bike race through France. I'll admit I've been a hard sell, but after two years, I'm as captivated as my husband. The athletes are both fascinating and impressive, and yes, even the commentators are witty and entertaining. I say this with slight embarrassment....I even know them by name. I'm such a Tour geek!

In my favorite sport, baseball, a player stumps his toe or sleeps funny on an airplane and is immediately placed on the DL. In cycling, a rider breaks his wrist or slashes his leg and gets right back in the saddle, literally, and finishes climbing the peaks of the Pyrenees. Very often he will go on to win a stage the next day while nursing the soreness of his injury. Did I mention he will also usually finish the grueling three week race? Grueling might be too weak a word.

Watching these cyclists ride a hundred miles a day for twenty-one days, either up mountain peaks or in sprints, gives one a whole new respect for the term athlete. And while I realize the sport has been plagued with doping scandals, the desire to clean it up has given cycling a new life, especially in this year's tour. It has even led to the creation of teams dedicated to recruiting anti-doping advocates who are cyclists. (say that three times fast) I'm not trying to recruit you into becoming a fan of the sport, but there is something to be said for the intensity of the race coupled with the stunning European scenery. And one only has to drive through the streets of a large town on Saturday morning to see that interest in cycling is certainly rising.

With two new American teams, Garmin-Chipotle and Columbia, and an American contender for the title, this might be a good time to tune in again. American cyclists Christian Vandevelde currently rides in third position, much to the surprise of Tour experts. If another American rides victorious in Paris, could it possibly peak our interest for four minutes, this time? I guess we'll just have to wait and see.

Birthday Girl

I sit surrounded by fifty singing toddlers. A sits in my lap, gripping my thumb tightly, her pacifier bobbing up and down with intensity. Classic signs of A -nervousness and who can blame her. Being led by an incredibly silly man with a guitar, the fifty-plus bounding bundles of engergy are attempting to place their thumbs on their head, while at the same time trying to place their elbow on one knee, while also attempting to place the other knee to their ear. The man with the guitar, doing the same, suddenly falls to the floor, and the over fifty toddlers I've mentioned once or twice all jump up while peals of laughter echo throughout the halls of the library.

It is the morning of my thirty-third birthday. If anyone had mentioned to me ten years ago that I would be sitting, pregnant, in the floor of the library with fifty children, their parents, and my adorable two-year-old watching a children's musician attempt to lead a mass game of Twister, I would have laughed hysterically. If anyone had said to me that I would be a stay-at-home mom, I would have rolled my eyes and kept on walking. No, I had other plans, like becoming a successful writer and perhaps assistant editor of a magazine, living in New York, of course. Yet, somehow, here I am celebrating my birthday with an army of strangers under the age of 5, and I seem to have acquired a vastly different definition of success, thankfully.

Despite the occasional struggle with loneliness and isolation, I love staying home with A and have no regrets. When people say, "Oh, I could never do it, I'd lose my mind," or, "I would be so bored; I need to feel like I'm contributing or accomplishing something," or "I need adult interaction," I just think, "it's not really about me right now." That's after I unruffle my offended feathers. Not contributing, huh, what exactly am I doing then? Anyway.....

Yet, today, on my birthday, I must admit, I'm feeling a bit loneseome. Despite my getting A and I all dolled up in dresses, bows-for A , makeup and nicely styled hair-for me, and necklaces-for both of us, (hey! it's my birthday) no one here seems to know its my birthday, nor do they seem to care. Of course, how could they? My siblings and parents are at the beach, my husband is working, and my daughter seems to think it is still the previous day and her father's birthday, "not yours, Mommy." None of my friends have called. And, perhaps I'm just feeling a little down from the cocktail of pregnancy horomones and summer heat, but I'm a wee bit glum on my birthday. How can that be? It's my birthday!

I've always loved birthdays. For me it's a magical day of endless possibility. A day of surprises, flowers, balloons, phone calls, well-wishes. Am I too old for skating rinks and birthday candles (I'm not a fire hazard, yet)? I refuse to believe it. For me birthdays will always bring a twinkle to my eye and spring to my step and the fact that anyone as blessed as I could be down is true nonsenese. The people who matter most have called, my parents, siblings, aunt, grandmother, mother-in-law, husband. T even took A and me out for a delightful lunch. I get to spend the day with the coolest toddler on the planet. And the one who matters the most did this:

For [God] created my inmost being; You knit me together in my mother's womb.

I praise You because I am fearfully and wonderfully made,

Your works are wonderful,

I know that full well. Psalm 119:13-14.

With that being said, how could you feel anything but special and loved on your birthday?

A Little Disappointed

I am a bit disappointed. See, I've been trying to get my freelance writing career off and running, but it seems to be more just off, and perhaps standing. It's certainly not running.

I've always been told, you're a good writer; you should do this for a living. And, I've always wanted to, but lately, I'm wondering if that's the best thing to do. Have the compliments gone to my head, and I'm really not that good? Mom, have you been pulling my leg? Am I too prideful? Who knows?

I've submitted a few articles, that I thought were decent to a couple of magazines. One was a local magazine. They've all been rejected as not a right fit for our publication. I can handle rejection. I modeled some in college and I didn't date much in high school (actually I took best guy pals to all the dances, including prom), if you know what I mean. Rejection isn't new to me. But, if I can't even get published in a local magazine, sheesh.

Perhaps it's pregnancy hormones getting me down. My husband did point out that it was just a few rejections. I don't know. Instead of dwelling on it, I'll just keep submitting, pray for guidance, and see what happens. Maybe God is telling me to focus on different magazines or maybe He's saying this isn't the right time and I need to focus on my daughter and pregnancy and try writing later. Or maybe I just need to develop a little perseverance. I feel like God places passions in our hearts for a reason; I just need to figure out how to use that talent for His glory.

Instead of leaving on an icky note, I wanted to share some funny things A is saying, now that she's talking more and more clearly.

If you ask her what is in mommy's tummy or what mommy is having, she says a puppy. Sometimes she will say kitty-cat. Imagine her surprise come December? or Ours!!:)

Also, now when she leaves the room, she says, "Be right back, Mommy. You stay here." And she smacks her lips, like MMMnnnn, as though she's sending you a kiss.


Really, who needs a writing career, when I've got that blessed gift each day. She'll be off to kindergarten before I know it and I'll have plenty of time to write and submit...except that the little one will only be 3.......but I'll have twice the stories...