Talking the Talk, Running the Walk

Bryony and I have rediscovered our inner athletes. Back in September, a coworker and I registered for a local 5K race, which motivated me to get back into a jogging regime. It's been awhile since I've been a consistent runner. My last few years living in NYC I ran everyday after work, and then ran in all of the weekend races in Central Park with the New York City RoadRunners Club. Moving to Michigan and experiencing the very cold winters put a halt to my running enthusiasm. I've stopped and started sporadically over the last nine years, but last summer, while living in Texas, I bought a jogging stroller, determined to return to my former fit self. Bryony and I jogged the 1/2-mile loop around our apartment complex every night, then discovered a local park with an even bigger loop and lots of nature surrounding us. For some reason, though, upon returning to Michigan earlier this year, our running stopped yet again.

But now we're back in business. So far, we've run the Cooley 5K Race for Education in downtown Lansing, and the Michigan State University Dino Dash 5K. Tomorrow night I will run (stroller-free, while a friend watches Bryony for me) in the Howell Headless Horseman 5K race. It's an evening race, and participants are encouraged to dress in costume (I likely will not...). I feel like I'm back in the frame of mind I had when running consistently in my New York City days--not feeling obligated to run, but feeling excited to do it. I think having the goals of completing the races is what drives me to train during the week. Plus, it's nice to have quality time with Bryony outside...she sings and talks to me while I run, which in some ways, gives me the inspiration I need to keep going.

Now, does anyone have advice for preventing sore knees?

Hugs from Daddy

Daddy'll be home soon, honey...but in the meantime...







Thanks for the hugs, Adam. We love you!

Leo and I

A couple weeks ago while on my lunch break at work, I read a Rolling Stone article about Leonardo DiCaprio. I've never seen the appeal of the guy, myself, but I was kinda curious about what kind of man he has grown up to be. The article turned out to be fascinating. It detailed his humble background, the bit roles he got as a kid and his rise to stardom...and the reasons why unlike so many other young stars, Leo has not fallen victim to the stresses and temptations of the Hollywood life.

He mentioned one thing that really struck me, mostly because it's something that I think about all the time, too. He said that he really doesn't want to die anytime soon, and that despite the fact that he has the opportunity to do a lot of wild and exotic things, he actively tries to not put himself in a position that could cost him his life.

That was really interesting for me to read. I go through my days reminding myself to pay more attention while I drive, and to observe my surroundings for muggers, mass shooters, terrorists, etc while in public places. I watch how I chop, slice and dice while cooking for fear that the knife will slip and accidentally plunge right into my heart. I have a mental escape plan in case my office building is attacked or catches fire. I sleep with a knife under my mattress in case my house gets broken into in the middle of the night and I have to fight for my daughter's and my lives. I am careful about what I breathe in--second-hand cigarette smoke, vehicle exhaust, air freshener...

I'm not really afraid of dying, in itself. I think Leo put it best. He said something to this effect: I would hate to die now...it just seems a shame, when there are so many things left in life to do.

Thanks, Robert

I don't care if Monday's blue
Tuesday's gray and Wednesday too
Thursday I don't care about you
It's Friday, I'm in love

Monday you can fall apart
Tuesday, Wednesday break my heart
Oh, Thursday doesn't even start
It's Friday I'm in love

Saturday, wait
And Sunday always comes too late
But Friday, never hesitate...

I don't care if Mondays black
Tuesday, Wednesday - heart attack
Thursday, never looking back
It's Friday, I'm in love

Monday, you can hold your head
Tuesday, Wednesday stay in bed
Or Thursday - watch the walls instead
It's Friday, I'm in love

Saturday, wait
And Sunday always comes too late
But Friday, never hesitate...

Dressed up to the eyes
It's a wonderful surprise
To see your shoes and your spirits rise
Throwing out your frown
And just smiling at the sound
And as sleek as a sheik
Spinning round and round
Always take a big bite
It's such a gorgeous sight
To see you eat in the middle of the night
You can never get enough
Enough of this stuff
It's Friday, I'm in love

I don't care if Monday's blue
Tuesday's gray and Wednesday too
Thursday I don't care about you
It's Friday, I'm in love

Monday you can fall apart
Tuesday, Wednesday break my heart
Thursday doesn't even start
It's Friday I'm in love

Snippets

Ever notice how picking one's nose is completely gross, but rubbing the gooey sleep out of one's eyes or jiggling a finger into one's wax-filled ear is perfectly acceptable?

Just sayin'.

Our House

Many of you don't know what's been going on here for the last two months. I chose not to broadcast it here or on Facebook for a variety of reasons, but mostly so as not to come across (as I think I sometimes do) as the poor-martyr-of-a-woman-overcoming-so-many-of-life's-obstacles-thrown-in-her-path. I know that after awhile, it can get kind of tiresome to hear of yet another crisis in the life of someone who always seems to have a crisis. So, but for family and a few local friends, I kept it secret.

Back in late-July, when Adam was home on leave, we decided to get a new roof put on the house. He knew the existing roof was old, in poor shape and starting to compromise the integrity of the house. Since his deployment would end in the middle of a Michigan winter, and waiting until next summer wasn't an option, we decided to move forward with the project while Adam was home this summer. Well, long story short, we ended up leaving for our vacation to the Upper Peninsula while the roofing project was ongoing, the Storm of All Storms blew over eight inches of rain into the city while we were away, the tarp covering the exposed (unshingled) roof blew off, and we had major water and mold damage to half of our house. It was devastating.





Ceilings and floors in our kitchen, dining and living rooms were destroyed, as were a few pieces of furniture. Luckily, nothing of sentimental value was damaged, except for the antique writing desk I'd proudly bought just a few months earlier. Photographs, clothing and mementoes were untouched, thankfully. However, seeing your home lying, tattered in pieces in wet piles on the floor was overwhelming. Where were we going to live? How would I find a safe and sanitary place for my child?



The hardest part was knowing I'd have to deal with the lion's share of this on my own. By the time we arrived home from vacation to assess the damage, Adam only had three days left in town to help before needing to return to active duty in Iraq. I was panic-stricken, trying to imagine how I'd deal with insurance agents, contractors and living goodness-knows-where all while trying to work full-time and parent single-handedly. Luckily, our insurance company was amazing and took care of so many things that would have otherwise sent me over the edge. Just as I was sure I'd have to live in the house amidst the wreckage, we were told that we would be put up in a hotel until the house was renovated. Our hotel room was an extended-stay suite that offered many of the comforts of home, plus cable tv, free breakfast and dinner and housekeeping (!). Really, the majority of my stress was in knowing that strangers had open access to my home, between the mold abatement crew, the demolition crew, the drywallers, the floor installers, the painter, the electrician, the tilers...





But, the house turned out beautifully. I guess the best part of all this was that the parts of the house that were damaged were replaced, mostly in a better style or condition that what existed previously. New, darker-stained laminate wood floors. New ceiling fans and a new dining room chandelier. And, if you remember my story about Chuck , you'll know that I was convinced to replace the existing brick wall with a rustic tile instead. I am very pleased. Oh, and my antique desk was salvageable and is currently being restored.







Anyway, two months after the fact, Bryony, Greg House, Holiday and I are back in our house. While unpacking and organizing is taking a lot longer than I'd hoped, we are really happy to be back here, close to work and school and our friends. And, while I have to make my own bed and wash my own dishes once again, I can't say that I miss the hotel at all. There's just something about being in your own bed again.

Although, I do miss the cable tv. I don't get Burn Notice at home.

War Fatigue

A few days ago, I was on the phone with a friend who asked when Adam would be returning home. When I told him Adam's ETA was roughly early- to mid- December, he laughed and said, "Wow, that soon? His deployment has just flown by!" I tersely responded, "It hasn't flown by for me." Just a day or so later, a colleague also asked me his arrival status, and upon hearing the ETA, she said, "Oh, that's great! Only two and half more months!" I just looked at her, knowing that if her husband was gone for even a long weekend she'd be out of sorts.

I get annoyed when people make it seem like having my husband away for the last eight months has just been pages flipped on a calendar. They haven't had to deal with a two-year old asking everyday where her daddy is, or gravitating toward her friends' fathers because her own isn't around. They haven't had to deal with her waking up in the morning screaming that she wants her daddy and then not having the right words to soothe her. They haven't felt the fear that something bad will happen to him, that they'll get the heart-lurching knock on the door by a soldier speaking the words no one wants to hear. They haven't missed his comforting presence in the house at night, his strong arms wrapped around them, or his partnership in helping to raise a child. They haven't gone nearly a year without a break from being both a mother and father. They're not emotionally and physically exhausted from a year of loneliness, single-parenting and fear of the unknown. For them, the time has flown by, and the time ahead is short. But not for me. And not for our daughter.

But, we are still, another day closer.