A change in the program

For me, there's something about leap years. Maybe it's that extra day. Maybe it's the excitement and energy of the Summer Games. Maybe it's the intensity/insanity of a Presidential campaign.

Or maybe it's just that every four years I am ready for something new. A  brief history:

2004 - I became an elementary school classroom teacher.

2008 - I left teaching to run an in-home daycare.

2012 - I left in-home daycare-ing to return to an elementary school - this time as a JV Librarian. (Oh, yeah. I had a baby in 2012, too, but we aren't focusing on that right now.)

And now...

2016 - I am leaving the library to work in the administrative offices of Lakes Region Community Services.

And while a change in my occupation comes along at very even intervals, this is by far the biggest change I've made since I left Los Angeles for New Hampshire. And the enormity of the changes affect my husband and kids almost as much as they affect me. Maybe more. A brief list of how this new job will turn out world upside down:

1. Elliott will go to a new elementary school.
2. Gabe will go to a new preschool/child care facility.
3. After 12 years of me being the keeper of kids' schedules and notebooks and mittens and homework, Scott will be carrying the load of transporting all the kids to and from school/daycare. (Tom is going to a new school, too, but it's middle school and that would have transpired no matter what happened with my worklife).
4. I will go from a 30 minute commute with 3 kids in the car to a 50 minute commute solo.
5. I will not have summer vacation.
6. I am not sure when or how I will train for races. In fact, there are currently ZERO races on my calendar.
7. I have not auditioned and will not audition for any plays or musicals for the bunch of months.

All of the fellas at my life - as well as all of the people in my life in general - have been complete rock stars about all of this. My husband is ready to juggle the life of the primary point person for the kids during the school day. He is so happy for me because my 'career' in the last 16 years has not been what I dreamed it would be. (LOVE kids and LOVE the people I work with in education ,but it is just not my calling.) In fact this job seems to be very similar to the nonprofit gig I had in Los Angeles before our big move. And I REALLY loved that job and was not entirely ready to let it go when it was time to go.

Elliott in particular, who faces maybe the most drastic/unexpected change, is just AMAZING. I know he's sad and nervous, but he was dancing around almost as much I was when I got the call about the job. I swear I do not know how we managed to have such a sweet and empathetic child.

In a few short minutes I will be heading out for an afternoon of HR orientation. I have lots of questions for them about policies and culture of the organization. (For example, I have been offered the opportunity to squeeze in the 37.5 hours into 4 days a  week instead of 5 and this is HUGE. Imagine, a day during the week to keep Gabe home, do the grunt work of the weekend, and prepare to have a relaxing time on Saturday and Sunday... ) And although I know some of the work I'll be doing includes fundraising, donor data base maintanence, correspondence, grant applications, publicity, events.... I really don't know the scope of everything I'll be doing. That will become more clear when I start the job in earnest on Tuesday, Sept. 6. Coincidentally, the boys' first day of school, too!

Finally, I now have a FABULOUS story to tell if I ever got on stage at The Moth. I can't do it justice in the seconds I have left here, but I will share it. Maybe I'll make Scott video tape me telling it... It's a doozy!

Guest Post: Man v. Wild

God knows you've heard enough about my knee lately. Now you can hear from my brave (hilarious) husband. He has generously agreed to let me share his reflection on a close encounter he endured last night. Hemmingway himself could not have handled it better.  And, mostly, this post gives us all an opportunity to reflect on our own mortality. 

Or, the mortality of a rodent.

The Mighty Hunter uses his friendly, easy going appearance to his advantage in battle.

            Every man has that definitive moment in his life when he finds out, truly, who he is.  For Shackelton it was his trip to the South Pole, for Krakauer it was his trip up Mount Everest.   For me, that moment was last night. 

            It was a calm and peaceful Friday night.  We had finished the lighting plot for the theater festival.  The prop list and costumes had pretty much been completed.  Phoebe had done the grocery shopping and baked the bread.  So I took a moment to settle in with a good book and a brandy…or at least my version of that: beers and computer games.  Everyone else had quietly put themselves to bed and I was wrapping up the fourth straight win on Starcraft. 

That’s when it started. 

            By the fireplace, there was a small rustle of newspapers.  I had heard this kind of thing before, so I didn’t immediately act.  But, as I sat at the dinning room table, and I turned to my right to see…him. 

            Roughly eight inches long, covered in a brown/grey fur, with a bushy tail, and he was staring…right…at…me.   He was still.  And he looked at me as if to say “Hello.  Tonight we are going to find out whose house this really is.  Sure, you’ve been paying the mortgage, but I suggest you start packing and find someplace else.”

            Admittedly, we’ve had rodents in our house before, and I have dispatched them without great struggle.  But somehow this was different.  I stared back at him as if to say.  “Go back down whatever hole you came out of, before this get’s ugly, for you.” 

            And I thought he got the message because as quickly as he was there, he was suddenly gone.   I thought nothing more of it.

            Soon, I retired to bed, turning off lights along the way.  As I lay in the darkness, I could hear that our visitor had not taken my mental advice.  In a slight miscalculation, Phoebe was still awake and could hear it as well.  I knew that this would complicate the situation.

            “What,” she said aloud, “do you suppose that would be?” 

            I would have to choose my next words very carefully, as I know she would not be happy with the news. 

            I thought, then spoke. “I’m not REALLY certain, however it might be the squirrel I saw in the living room earlier.”

            Time passed.  Then Phoebe replied “Do you think it knows how badly I don’t want that to be the case?” 

            I immediately tried to end the conversation by pointing out that the house was full of holes in the floor where the heating pipes traveled to the basement, and that it would be impossible to catch him.  In my heart of hearts, did I believe this?  Did I not?  But pragmatism told me to just let it go. 

            So we lay there a little while longer.  And the intruder continued his uncontested romp around our living space. 

            “You know he’s coming in here, right?” She said. 

            “It’s not…ug.” 

            So we got up and looked around and could not find it.  So we went back to bed. 

More noise. 

            Finally, Phoebe grabbed her stuff and said “I’m sleeping upstairs with the door closed.  You’re welcome to join me if you’d like but I’m not staying down here.”

            In many situations, masculinity allows for retreat.  In his time, I am certain that Patton exercised strategic retreat in order to win the over-all battle.  This was not one of those times.  So she went upstairs and I decided that it was time to act.

            So one by one, I turned off all the lights downstairs, save one. 

And I waited.

            No movement.  I stood perfectly still and I waited.  Finally my new opponent stuck his proverbial head up and began running around our couch.  He ran across the floor and back again, then up the curtain, and there, remained at the top of the curtain rod. 

            I clenched the book in my hand, reminding myself that hesitation was a gift to the enemy.  So, I moved forward with lightning speed and struck.  Time slowed down and sped up all at once.  My weapon struck the curtain rod, but I had to believe him too, and he somehow teleported himself away. 

            I then pulled the couch away from the wall and was met with another horror.   The horror of all the snacks, toys and food that Gabe had deposited there over the last few weeks.  It was a horror that a man can’t unsee. 

            However, my opponent was hiding underneath the heater, and the chase was on. 

            Through the fireplace, behind furniture, into the piano room and then finally, in the corner where I was able to strike again.  This time, the blow has direct.  The impact was strong, so much so that the squirrel actually bounced when I hit it.  And then, it teleported again.  This time, however I was stumped.  I looked and I looked but nothing. 

            My opponent was most likely wounded, stunned, perhaps dying somewhere back down in the basement.  I had made my point and it was time to retire. 

            So I climbed back into bed and attempted to go to sleep.  A challenge, I admit after the heart-pounding hunt.  Much like, I’m sure, how hunters in primitive tribal villages in Africa probably have to wind down after killing a tiger by reading a good book, I needed time myself.  So I lay there, with Phoebe still upstairs.  She could have it, I had earned my big open bed all to myself. 

            I was just drifting off when, I felt…him.  He was on the bed.  He was on me.  He was sitting on me, as if to say… “Remember me, Mr. Giessler.  Let me suggest that if you’re going to kill a squirrel, you’d best be willing to finish the job.” 

            Quickly and in self-defense I attempted to throw the covers over it, trapping it, maybe, but it had anticipated this and made a run for it.  I immediately turned the bedroom light back on, and looked for it, but it was gone, and with it, my pragmatism.  This was personal now.  This ended tonight, with either it gone from this house, or me. 

            So, lights off again, and waiting in the piano room, I remembered the old adage that the killer always returns to the scene of the crime.  My wisdom was soon rewarded and sure enough it returned to the curtain top. 

            This time there was no hesitation, and I struck again.  Flailing away at it as I chased it around the room.  This time it made noise telling me that I was getting close.  It climbed onto the mantle of the fireplace and hid behind a photo of Tommy and Elliott believing that I wouldn’t dare strike the image of my own beloved children.  Let’s face it, this is why I fought. For them.  For my family. For their freedom.   But in war there are no rules and I reached out and pressed the photo against the wall compressing the squirrel behind it. 

            With lightning reflexes it bolted again, squealing as it did so, and headed for the piano room again.  I struck again and again, occasionally making contact.  However, suddenly it was gone again.  I waited and looked but could not find it again.  I was making my way back to the bedroom, when I had a revelation.  Much like when Peter Falk would turn around and say “Oh, and just one more question…” and you knew that he had them, I realized that the whole reason this saga existed was because HE COULD NOT GET INTO THE BASEMENT.  He was trapped.  I was trapped.  Our fates were intertwined. 

            I realized that if you want to catch a squirrel, you have to think like a squirrel.  Where would I go if I wanted to retreat through the floor, but I couldn’t actually fit.   In panic, I would continually go back there, with wishful thinking that this time, it would work, this time I would fit.  Much the same way someone would hopelessly keep checking their pockets for missing keys.

            I looked at the layout of the room and pulled away the tinderbox right where I would go.  I moved it carefully.  I moved it slowly.  In the darkness, there it was.  A little brown lump, protruding from the baseboards of our forced hot-water oil heated system.  It was just enough of his body for what I needed to do. 

            Grasping the book tightly, I thrust the edge down on it, with no recoil.  Quickly my opponent was pinned and began wailing.  I had him.  He couldn’t move. All he could do was attempt to chew at the book and scream. 

            However, now I had a new problem.  He was trapped and so was I.  I could not move for fear that he would get away, yet I had no transport for it.  Just a few feet away were the fireplace irons.  I could use them, and end this struggle in the most grizzly fashion possible.  Or…

            …I would have to do it.  I would have to do the one thing that no man in this situation would ever want or allow himself to do.  I would have to ask my wife for help. 

            I called up to her, and at first there was no response.  So I called again, as the squirrel continued to flail.  I was starting to become concerned that something would happen.  My weight would shift and he would pry himself out and then we’d be back to square one.  But fortunately, she came down the stairs soon enough and was next to me. 

            I told her, she needed to get something for me to put it in.  She was gone for a few minutes and came back with a drinking cooler.  The kind that you put lemonade or ice water in which has a spigot at the bottom of it and a screw lid at the top.  I was tempted to ask “What the hell do you expect me to do with that??? Drink him later?”  In addition to its absurdity, the cooler posed practical problems.  How would we get it from where it is, into this plastic jail cell?  I couldn’t see the path to it.

            So she left and came back with a towel.  This seemed right both practically, and philosophically.  Together we had been locked in conflict, and now carrying it to the end with my own two hands seemed more personal.  This is how it would be done. 

            So with my free hand, I smothered it in the towel and then gripped with both hands and carried it reluctantly outside into the snow.  This was a death sentence, as with what was most likely a broken leg, it had maybe a matter of hours.  I released it in the driveway, more like threw it out there, and immediately retreated back inside.  The squirrel disappearing into the darkness. 

            We both went to bed downstairs.  The next morning, I immediately checked the driveway for a corpse, but found nothing.  As I stood there, at the window, staring at the tree line on the other side of the driveway, I could only remember the adage:  If you’re going to kill a squirrel, you’d best be willing to finish the job.

Supportive Spouses of Badass Mother Runners

Tomorrow is my return to marathon racing. It was 2011 the last time I toed the line for 26.2. At 8AM I hit the starting line of the Smuttynose Rockfest Marathon with my amazing BRF, Lauren, in what promises to be pretty darn good running conditions: low 50s, overcast and 30% chance of rain. Not so fun for spectators on this on-the-beach start and finish, but perfect for us!

The reason for this hasty post after such an obnoxious absence is that I want to give a shout out to the Double-S-OBAMRs. What's a Double-S-OBAMR you ask? It stands for Spectacular Spouses of Bad Ass Mother Runners. My Double-S-OBAMR has been a complete rock star supporting  me through out my training and particularly in the last couple of days.

Every early morning run, even though I attempt to be quiet, I'm sure I awaken him at least on hour before he needs to be up. Every Saturday, when he'd surely rather be sleeping in, he gets up with the kids because I am out on my long run.

Today, he went above and beyond by taking all 3 boys on the Saturday errands so I could have the house to myself. Granted, while he did the dump run, grocery shopping and lunch out with the boys, I was home doing laundry, cleaning the house, and baking bread, but as any parent can tell you, those tasks - without children under foot - are an absolute DELIGHT!

In addition, he made me lovely homemade carb-laden dinner and popped up some popcorn as an evening snack.

CarbsRUs

Everyone enjoyed the popcorn. Some wanted more than their fair share!

In preparation for tomorrow, he has studied the course map and will, upon my request, position himself and the boys at mile 22 to hand me a banana. (The race, by the way, is about a 90 minute drive from our house. He's not leaving at 5AM with me, but he will haul the boys down the beach in time to cheer me on for the last miles.)

He has packed snacks and electronic amusements for himself and the boys. He has taken my Panera order (caprese sandwich and a full-test coke) for a post-race meal.

Packing up for a long day in the car with the boys. Note the iPad charging on the counter.

As I was thanking him for all of this work this evening he said, "Well, at the risk of sounding dumb, I think at this point we are in this together."

Indeed.

This is the first marathon (of 5) I have done where I can sleep in my own bed the night before. I have had the luxury of NOT packing up for the family for a whole weekend. I am feeling very lucky. I am feeling very ready. I am hoping that this feeling is based on preparedness and hard work. And it's certainly based on the support of many people, but especially my husband.

Such a Double-S-OBAMR!

And just cuz he's cute. Another picture of Gabe. I wanted him to show off the homemade bread I had made for dinner.... but this is his only pose once he sees the camera (phone) out!

Griswold's Snoozetime and Car Ride Fun (Part 2)

Don't miss Part 1, in which a The House of Giessler was subject to a mighty rough night's sleep.

The Gawd-That-Seemed-Like-No-Sleep-At-All night's sleep did not translate into a peaceful, Let's-Relax-and-Recover morning for Scott. He needed to be out the door at 6:30 AM in order to fight rush hour traffic off the Cape, through Boston and back to camp by 11:00. I returned from my run by 5:50 and the boys were awake and buzzing with noise (GAH!) though they had contained themselves to our room, at least. Scott got in the shower and out the door on time. Our merry band was packed up and gonzo by 7:15. Excellent!

We trudged along pretty slowly on Route 3 toward Boston but Gabriel was (blessedly) taking a Varsity level nap and the boys and I were engrossed in The Spiderwick Chronicles on CD so life was good. Just south of Boston, my phone rang with Scott asking how our progress was going.

"Not horrible but we are stop and go on 93 just south of the JFK library."
"Okay, well, I'm at a service station. The van is on the lift. The brakes seemed to be failing and they were getting kind of smoky with all the stop and go through the city."

(The same brakes we had fixed LITERALLY a month ago, I might add).

He wasn't sure exactly how long a repair would take but I assured him we would catch up to him just in case it was not a one-day fix. I was somewhat anxious. Not because of the van - that sonofagun is always dying in some way - but because Boston drivers are notoriously aggressive and Boston roads are notoriously impossible to navigate for non-natives. So, I listened very carefully to where Scott said he was and how I should get there.

"I'm just beyond the airport. Take the Ted Williams Tunnel through the airport. I'm on Route 60 north at Joe's (not it's real name) Shop."

That sounded a little weird to me, but again, Boston is no grid so if that's how I needed to get there, I would do it.

Ted Williams Tunnel? Check.
Logan Airport? Check.
Route 60 North... Ummmm... where does one exit the airport onto Route 60? I saw Arrivals and Departures... I saw Terminals A - Whatever.... But when I got all the way around the airport loop, there was no sign for Route 60 North.

I had a stressed out conversation with Scott as I was traveling this bit.

"Honey, you said go through the airport. Was I supposed to LITERALLY go into Logan?"
"No! You just needed to follow signs to the airport and then take Route 1A to Route 60 North."

Grrrrr..... Route 1A had not come up in our previous conversations. In his defense, I have gone back and forth to Cape Cod dozens of times so I should have known this. In MY defense, I have never driven back and forth to Cape Cod using this route because the rotaries + the insane drivers + the useless signage scare the piss out of me. I generally stick to 93 South which has more traffic but it's impossible to get lost.

SO, I got back onto Route 93 south with the intention of getting OFF ASAP where I can turn around, head BACK through the Ted Williams and try again. Brilliant. No problem.

Except the first available exit, though easily found and easily navigated, was not far enough south. I was still north of the Ted Williams.

FRICK!

Back on the phone.

"Okay, I can't get back to the Ted Williams. I'm going over the Tobin Bridge and I'm going to take Route 1. Then I'm going to pull off and put the address of the shop into the Garmin and find you that way."

Except he didn't get a street name and when I put in "195 Route 60 North, Revere" nothing came up. Oh, and there was NO WHERE to pull off so I had to do this while driving down the road. Safety First is my middle name.

But I knew that somewhere along the line Route 1 and Route 1A meet up. And then Route 60 couldn't be far behind.

And suddenly, there it was. A rotary with, I swear, signs for Route 1, 1A, 16 AND 60... altogether. And it looked familiar.

I was of course in the COMPLETE wrong lane for getting on 60 north. I had to be a total Masshole and block traffic in order to get to where I needed to go. BUT, I did it.

Gabe, by the way, literally slept the ENTIRE time and once I explained for the 4th or 5th time to Tommy & Elliott that "Mom is a little stressed out right now about finding Dad so PLEASE stop asking me questions because I canNOT talk to your right now...." they were quiet and patient, too.

In the end, I got to the shop, we went to a mall for a couple of hours, had an early lunch, returned to the shop to get the car, paid an obnoxious amount for brakes that were JUST fixed, and we got home around 3:00.

We leave on Saturday for my sister's just outside Philly. So I ask you, "What could POSSIBLE go wrong!?"

BQ!... basically

Last night my husband and his merry band of theater students qualified for the Boston Marathon.

Chew on that for a minute.

Confused?

Bear with me. This will make sense in a few paragraphs.

For the last two days, Scott and his kids participated in the New Hampshire Educational Theater Guild's State Festival. In order to do THAT, a school has to qualify at a Regional Festival. These festivals offer high school theater programs an opportunity to prepare and perform a short play (up to 40 minutes) for an audience of their peers and adjudicators. They get 5 minutes to put up their set and 5 minutes to take it down. It's a day (or 2 days) that the kids and Scott look forward to every year because they learn SO much from watching other shows and from hearing feedback from the judges. Also, let's admit, it's fantastic for these kiddos to be with a majority of like-minded dramatic-types for a couple of days!

The Seniors involved in the production.

This year the Kingswood show was called "Star Crossed Lovers". It retells Romeo & Juliet (perhaps you've heard of it?) through several different theater genres across the ages. There is everything from a "Dumb Show" (basically Cave Men speaking "ugga bugga" but acting out the major plot points of R&J) to depresso-Russian to 1930s Broadway.

The show.was.phenomenal. I've never heard adjudicators offer so much positive feedback and so few points for improvement. They noted that this show had it all: incredible energy, a flair for the ridiculous (which was necessary for this piece), visually awesome sets, costumes and technical direction, and a live jazz band (the music of which was almost completely composed by the students themselves).... Oh, and did I mention the acting from every single performer - from the exceptionally multi-talented leads to the crew member in black holding a tree and becoming exquisitely and comically forlorn as its branches were chopped down - was absolutely dead-on. And, for the first time ever, Scott's crew won a trip to New Englands at the end of the month... which means ("Oklahoma!" fans take note) "they've gone about as fur as they kin go!"

This photo doesn't do the creative work ANY justice... but I filched it off FB so I can't complain!

So yes, TECHNICALLY they didn't qualify for Boston, but metaphorically they TOTALLY did. Their incredible feat and the incredible (for most mortals!) feat of making the Boston cutoff compare quite nicely.

To qualify for Boston it can take YEARS of training and sacrifice. You need to try different races and different plans (some you make up yourself) and condition yourself that patience is key.

To qualify for New Englands, it took Scott 10 years (!) of attending festival. He tried different genres and scripts (some he wrote himself) and conditioned himself (and his students) that patience is key.

To qualify for Boston means that you have achieved something that most runners (let alone your Average Joe/Jane) will never attain. You don't need to tell a soul (though why wouldn't you?) and you can always carry that accomplishment in your pocket when life is getting you down.

To qualify for New Englands means that you have achieved something that most theater folk (let alone your Average Joe/Jane) will never attain. You don't need to tell a soul (though everyone else will tell everyone THEY know, so the world will know anyway!) and you can always carry that accomplishment in your pocket when life is getting you down.

When I BQ'd, I thought about just enjoying the accomplishment and forgoing the actual race. I changed my mind and registered. The plan at that point was to train for the race but to keep in mind that the point of Boston, for me, anyway, was to have The Experience. Take in the enormity of the place and the occasion. Soak up the love from the screaming Wellesley Women... all that jazz. Obviously I wanted to have a good race, but this was not going to be a place for me to go for any kind of PR.

Before the group qualified for New Englands, Scott figured if they DID qualify, they would celebrate their accomplishment but probably wouldn't go.... and that would be okay. (New Englands is during Spring Break this year and there will be some key cast and crew on far away, long-planned trips).  But, when he surveyed his students, they overwhelmingly voted to patch up the pieces they needed to patch and take the show to the next level. The great part about this is, like Boston, the pressure is completely off and they can enjoy the experience. There are no adjudicators. There is no "next" to qualify for. They will spend 3 days in workshops (run by various theater professors from around the state), performing shows, bonding with theater kids from the 6 New England states.... Obviously they want to put together a good show, but the overall experience is far more important to them at this point.

I have to get my butt in gear this morning, but here's how Tommy summed it up today when he learned that there were no "bigger trophies" that Dad could win: "Wow, you musta done really well in making people laugh.... your plays just keep getting funnier and funnier, Dad."

Who could ask for anything more?

Long Distance Relationships

At 4AM I was lying in bed and having a wide-awake fantasy. My heart rate was elevated. My breath got faster. I just couldn't wait for the reunion that I was anticipating. It's been a long time and never far from my mind. Oh, it may bring some challenges and there will some disappointments when the reality of the not-so-fresh relationship becomes an everyday encounter, but I am so eager to start again.

Yes. I'm talking about running.

And I decided that being away from running when it has become an integral part of your life is much like having a long distance relationship. (And I'll admit now that I am far, far too proud of the term "long distance relationship" as it refers to the space between sweethearts and the distance this mama longs to run... if you want to include it in your best selling book on running you are welcome to it. Just remember me in the acknowledgements!)

When you are in a long distance relationship (and Scott & I were for quite a long time when we were dating) there's pretty much nothing you can do about it: jobs or school or family or finances (and many times a combination of those things) make it impossible for you to be together.

When your long distance relationship is with running (and it's been a good 5-months since I've done what I would consider any serious running) there's pretty much nothing you can do about it: physical health (knock'd upped-ness in many cases) stands in your way.

When you are in a long distance relationship, you think back lovingly on the times when you were together and wonder why you didn't appreciate them more. You re-live the joys of having a simple dinner together and holding hands watching a movie. This person gave you a purpose for making an effort with how you dress and getting your hair cut. And it made you feel loved, which doesn't suck.

When your long distance relationship is with running, you think back lovingly on the easy runs and the long runs and the hard core track workouts and the peeing in the woods stories and wonder why you didn't appreciate them more. You re-live the joys of having a training schedule scratched out on a calendar next to your bed and stinky sports bras hanging from the towel rack in the bathroom. Running gave you a purpose for making an effort to eat well and get plenty of rest. And it made you feel badass, which doesn't suck.

When you are in long distance relationship, you can get angry at the person for being far away. Even if it's nobody's fault. The phone calls can become tedious. The plans for visits need to get switched around. You know the love is there, but wonder why it has to be so hard. And if a short visit has any sour patches, they seem to taint the relationship more because there's no time together to work it out.

When you are in a long distance relationship with running, you can get angry for the time away from your passion. You worked hard and put a lot of effort to get your legs and lungs in best-of-your-life shape and now... Poof! Gone gone gone. You will be starting at Square One (or Square Two at best) where an "easy 3-miler" is an oxymoron and deciding list minute to jump into a 10K or half marathon would be suicide. Can you do this again? AND have a brand new baby? AND care for those other two kids you made? AND spare some energy for that guy who lives at your house you see sometimes? AND get back to work wiping other babies' bottoms and noses and faces?

Holy crap, I'm exhausted just putting those thoughts into words. Better buckle my seat belt.

In either form of long distance relationship you've gotta wonder: is it/he/she worth it? am I worth it? am I remembering this person/running accurately? maybe they aren't so great? or maybe they are even BETTER than I give them credit for? what will it be like when we are together again?

I have no idea if this will ever be a running blog again. For those of you who came on board to read about running, I apologize for it being so NOT about running anymore. I am really, really looking forward to finding out how things will go when I hit the road again. And you can bet every footfall will be recorded here. So, I hope you'll stay tuned a few more weeks when I promise, Runner Pheeb will be back.... in some form or another!

She'll be back... Someday... With just an extra pair of hands to hold!

So. That's what happens in my head at 4AM on a Saturday when I am 37 weeks and 5 days pregnant.

What's on YOUR mind?

Thirty-eight

Life is Good.

It's my birthday today. I feel obligated to write something profound and universe-altering. I feel up to writing very little.... Partly because I'm just.so.pregnant but mostly because my computer is on life support. It only starts up once in a while and then it runs so slowly I might as well call each of you individually to share my thoughts for the day.

Nevertheless, birthdays need marking. So here's  my mark.

Most importantly (and most sweetly!) I had an amazing surprise birthday party/baby shower last Saturday thrown by my husband. I have no earthly clue how he managed it, as he is busier than a one-legged man in an ass kicking contest. But. He did it. A great gathering of friends from various areas of my life. Yummy food. Wonderful gifts: mostly chocolate for me and mostly adorable things for Baby TOP. I was definitely feeling the love.

He was able to distract me for the day and get things set up on Saturday because my parents surprised me by showing up on Friday afternoon. They live 8-hours away and my mom was dealing with some touchy medical tests all week (things turned out fine, but it was not a great week for our stress levels!) so having them knock on my door at about 4:45PM was just plain shocking. I literally laid down on the floor, I was so blown away.

So all day Saturday, the boys and I were out and about with Gungah & Papa. Shopping, eating, shopping, eating.... It was EXHAUSTING. Meanwhile Scott was (supposedly!) working on sets for his show. The little liar! When we returned from the shopping/eating excursion, I was a pile of exhaustion. I declared that we should get take out and eat it in my parents' hotel room. I didn't want to look at anybody. I didn't want to talk to anybody. I didn't want to move and inch.

So.ready.to party.

Seriously... all I was up for.

Ask me to move and I will CUT YOU!

And then..
Giessler showed up and INSISTED that we go out. Man, was I P-O'd! How could he treat me that way?? I am 6,000 months pregnant, I'd been running around all day, and all I wanted was to sit on my butt and be grouchy. But he was uncharacteristically pushy about it and so I growled and began the future-private-argument I would have with him in my head as we went out the door. "You insensitive, selfish, sonofa...."

Thirty seconds later we walked into the party and I forgave him, of course!

"Oh. Good God. I look horrible!"

Megan and Baby Sydney, Baby TOP's future prom date! (Our friends Tom & Beth brought fake mustaches. Of course!...?)

 And not one good shot of my amazing parents or the man who made it all happen! Oh, well. Thanks, Mom & Dad for making the LOOONG journey and thanks Scott Giessler, for a great surprise!

P.S. I have a birthday tradition of ALWAYS taking a run... I think I've missed it 3 times since I was 13. This is one of those years. Watch out next year, baby!

I am Idiot, and So Can You.* (Part 1)

*Title idea blatantly stolen from Stephen Colbert's "I am America, and So Can You."

Sometimes I amaze even myself with the ways in which I can foul things up. Or foul myself up.

Friday morning, for example, my unconscious mind decided would be a good time to do some serious damage to a major appliance in our household. The forecast called for 1 - 3 inches of snow overnight Thursday. I assumed we'd see an inch since everyone knows meteorologists like to exaggerate... especially since it's been a fairly boring winter here so far. We awoke to the usual darkness on Friday morning at about 5:45. A quick click of the TV showed us that there were a few school delays but nothing near us. Message? Proceed as usual.

At about 6:30 I was in the kitchen and decided to turn on the outside light to get a look at how miniscule the snow fall was. Oh, dear. We had about 6 inches of snow. Granted, that's not a ton. But, that's more than can be ignored given that I had daycare families on their way to drop off bambinos. So, we scrambled. Scott agreed to deal with cleaning out and starting up the pellet stove before he left for school. He also said he'd start the snow blower for me and I promised him that the snow was so fluffy and light that I would not be doing any damage to my "delicate condition". It would be about as taxing as vacuuming. No prob, Bob.

Come to find out, it was quite a skating rink underneath the snow and I was slippin' and slidin' like crazy. Then I remembered that a couple of days earlier I had put out some throw rugs on the driveway to help assist folks getting in and out of the house without breaking a hip or other vital body part. (Important note: I REMEMBERED but I didn't DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT.) I lumbered gingerly back in the house to put on my trusty Yak Trax and was back at being a Badass Snow Blower in no time.

Until this happened:

Hey, kids! Get "Hungry, Hungry Snow Blower"! New from Mattel!

Yup. Them thar throw rugs was still on the driveway. DUUUUHHHH. So, in case you missed the math: snow blower + throw rug = truly fouled up snow blower.

We haven't tried to fix it yet. Goodness knows if it's going to be a DIY mend or if we will need to call in the Big Guns. Thank goodness this is New Hampshire in January so we surely won't have need for our snow blower anytime soon. Gaaahhhh!

(The intent was to make this a super short post since yesterday's was so long. Sorry about that. I have at least one more Idiot story to share, but it will keep until tomorrow!)

Running While Pregnant: Week 15

Or maybe I should call it WEAK 15.

Last week was ugly.

Until it wasn't.

It's strange how easily I allow my running (or lack thereof) to control how I feel about Life. Of course, it doesn't feel like I allow it... it feels like it controls me. Anyway, It was a tough week for a variety of reasons. 

Our family schedule really got ramped up a notch. Or 20 notches. The boys started a new activity on Tuesday nights (hip hop dance & theater arts) and we are all at rehearsals for AChristmas Story on Wednesday nights. In addition, last Sunday was the start of Tech (a.k.a. Hell) Week for Little Shop of Horrors. Yes, we scored two tech weeks out of this show... thankfully my role is very, very, very small so I don't have real performance stress. But, I have to get my butt to rehearsals basically every night, even if I'm only in two numbers. I've also picked up a third daycare kiddo. She's a great 2-year-old who plays wonderfully with my other 2-year-old, but the addition of a new personality to our little mix takes some energy. I don't understand the  math, but when you double the number of 2-year-olds, you - at a minimum - quadruple the mess.

In addition, Scott decided to try a Juice Fast this week. Below is the start of a glowing, loving Blog I was writing about it last week:

I'm quick to praise lots of people on my blog. I shout out to Marvy Moms on (most) Mondays.  I've dedicated many posts to people who are having birthdays or getting married or struggling with health problems. I can't even imagine how many posts here are dedicated to how hilarious/frustrating/perplexing my kids are. And let's face it, I'm pretty much in a constant state of reminding myself and anyone else who will listen how incredibly amazing I am.


But I know for sure I've spent very little time talking about my husband and what makes him so amazing. He had a birthday on Monday and in honor of that, here are five things you might "need" to know.


1. Starting with the most recent interesting fact: Scott is on the fourth day of a Juice Fast. (Cleanse?) We recently found a couple of fascinating documentaries on Netflix (Forks Over Knives and Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead) about plant-based diets and their ability to heal the body, mind and spirit. Now, unlike me, Scott is NOT a vegetarian. Not even a little. But he was definitely interested in the benefits of the juice fasting. He struggles with his weight and always has. Each summer at camp - where meals and a schedule are regimented and following a plan is simpler for him - he goes on a very successful diet (no carbs, no caffeine, no desserts, no seconds...) He loses anywhere from 20 to 40 pounds each summer. And each fall he continues (mostly) on this diet... until he doesn't. And eventually a good deal of the weight comes back on. So he begins again the following June.


The cleanse is going pretty well. He bought a juicer with money his parents gave him for his birthday. The first day he felt like hell. He said it was like he had a really bad flu: exhausted, dim-witted, and HUNGRY! By day three, though, he was back to feeling like himself. Not hungry and at his usual energy level. He hasn't decided exactly how long he wants to stay on the juice-exclusive (oh, and water and veggie broth) part of the plan. the big question in my mind is what he wants to do AFTER. I suggested that we become a vegan family - not a huge leap for me -

Oddly enough, he called at the exact moment I typed that and we had a conversation that annoyed me beyond all reason. Suffice it to say, my hormones seized me and I could not, would not finish that sweet, sweet blog that was going to be all about my amazing husband. I was that pissed. I fought the urge/didn't have time today to write a rant about all the reasons I was all twisted up over all kinds of stuff. Let's just say that even in the height of my hormonal rage, I knew I was in the middle of a hormonal rage and controlled my keyboard.

SO! With that unnecessarily lengthy introduction, here's what I did last week. (Things in quotes are from my calendar).

Wednesday:"Stretching ligaments? Ouch. Tried to do stair steps... Did about 10 minutes. LAME."

Thursday: "Grrrr. Bleh. Nasty." That's referring to my mood, not my physical state.

Friday: Told Scott to yell at me at 5AM until I got out of bed and ran. He failed to yell at me but he did nudge me a couple of times. I got up and ran the slowest paced 30 minutes of my life. For real. But, I did it.

Saturday: Did my first 5K in years and years and years. This was a very small local race to benefit youth hockey. I know several families whose kids play (thank God mine DON'T! Talk about nutty schedules!) and I thought a 5K would be a good way to stay in the game. It was a very hilly course – a cross country ski course that I've skied and hiked a couple of times, actually, but quite beautiful. I figured I'd shoot for under 30:00. I managed to run a 27:27. I like that because it's easily divisible by 3. I can live with 9:09 miles, given my state of gestation and the hills. The boys and Scott arrived just in time for the finish so it was great to have them there. (MUCH easier on the family when I run a 30 minute race 10 minutes from home than when I run a 4 hour race 3 hours from home.)

Coming down the lovely, downhill finish. If I'd known they were going to use Styrofoam, I would have brought my own water bottle! But, I DID carry it to the finish to be sure it got thrown away!

Sunday: Didn't figure I would get a run in but I managed to work Little Shop rehearsal to my advantage. I am in the second number of the show and then I literally have nothing (not even set changes to assist with) going on until the finale. Sunday was a gorgeous evening. Cool and dry and begging for a run. I brought my running clothes and after the my first bit, changed quickly and sneaked out the door. Wolfeboro is a great town to run in at night, especially compared to Tuftonboro (my town). I had on a bright white jacket and my headlamp but because there are gen-you-ine street lights, I almost didn't need the lamp. (If  'Everything's Up to Date in Kansas City' comes to mind, then you may have a musical theater problem similar to mine...) I left my watch at home so I just ran out for 5 songs on the iPod and back to the theater for five songs. It was a great (approximately) 30 minutes that I completed needed. Before the run my day was full of not-enough-time-to-get-stuff-done-that-I-don't-really-want-to-do-anyway mixed with a dash of my-husband-is-probably­-working-on-that-laptop-and-not-playing-but-it-wouldn't-bother-me-if-he-would-ask-me-if-I-need-any-help-getting-the-house-and-our-lives-in-order-for-a-new-week and well, I was really in need of a little sweat time. Again, we'll blame hormones.

Monday: I considered doing another mid-rehearsal 30 minute run but when all of my daycare kids got picked up by 4:00, I decided to do 30 minutes around my backyard. (Thus I was reminded of another advantage to country livin': I can run around my backyard 20 or 25 times and there are no neighbors within sight to question my sanity when I do this. It was fun because for the last 15 minutes the boys were out with me running and chasing and being hilarious as I went. After I was done we took a short walk down the road to a lake a threw some rocks. (Thus I was reminded of another disadvantage to country living: no sidewalks. Every time a vehicle drove by we had to stop and move into the weeds/ditch/whatnot to remain safe. I wish it was safe for my kids to, at some future date, walk or ride their bike down the road to visit a friend or go to the post office... sigh... le urban envy....)

Here ends the longest blog entry in recorded history. Sorry about that....

Redeemed on Cape Cod (or, Tough A Little Late)

As promised, I DID go running once we got to my in-laws house. I EVEN dug deep and did 8 x 800s.... ish. I didn't get to a track so I used my Garmin to do a fast 1/2 mile (after a 1.75 warm up). I timed it and hit 3:30 (on target!). I then put the watch away and just ran hard for 3:30 followed by easy for 1:30. Simplified keeping track.

This morning at about 6:30 Scott and I went out for an easy 4-miler. My "non-runner" husband kicked my butt, which was fine by me. He's lost a boatload of weight this summer and I am SUPER proud of him. I was definitely still feeling the hard workout from yesterday so I was happy to let him pull ahead after 2 miles when I walked and sucked some water down.

Now we are in an internet cafe in Provincetown enjoying immensely the time my in-laws have given us while they watch the kids. Kayaking on the calm ocean waters, lunch at a "colorful" poolside, a siesta on the beach... We just made dinner reservations and then we'll head back to my in-laws late this evening. Nothing like walking around P-town to add some life to your life!

Chocolate

I have been without dark chocolate chips in the house since Saturday. It's KILLING me. Mind you, I have not been without chocolate. I had a glass of chocolate milk yesterday. And there's still a bunch of mini candy bars left over from the Candor trip in April..... So I've been destroying those.

And yet, I feel so out of sorts without these dark chocolate chips. I eat them every morning in my oatmeal. I eat them throughout the day when I need to do something other than bang my head against the wall or scream at small children. I eat them with sun butter. I eat them in cold cereal. I eat them in every way imaginable. They are - at times - my best friend.

I am constantly hungry. I am constantly cranky. I am constantly trying to think of what will fill the void.

My normal diet of 9.000 lbs of chocolate chips a week does not seem to have a negative effect on my physical fitness/well being. I weigh about a buck twenty pretty consistently. In the last 3 days without chocolate chips I've actually GAINED weight, probably due to searching for a substitute for my dear, precious, dark chocolate chips.

So, you say, why would I deny myself? And I'll tell you: Love.

Scott can't stay away from them either. He's been in the habit of eating them every night with peanut butter. His life-of-service does not allow him to selfishly get up at scary o'clock to workout. Therefore, when HE eats the chocolate chips, they really add up. And so, last Friday night as we were discussing the shopping list, he said "How 'bout NOT getting more chocolate chips."

I thought it was kidding.

He wasn't.

And so, for My Love.... I suffer.

Maybe it's 'cuz I'm a Vegetarian...

... the universe thinks there's not enough iron(y) in my diet. Maybe.

I was all set to kick off my 2011 race season (New Year's Resolution to run 6 races this year... I have run ZERO so far. EEK!) on Sunday. I picked the Great Bay Half Marathon specifically for a couple of reasons.

1. It's a 1/2 marathon. This is a great distance, in my humble opinion, because it requires real effort in training but no insane weekend runs that basically preclude you from being human for the next 24 hours.
2. I can't run the 1/2 I PR'd (1:45... woot!) in last year (The Big Lake Half Marathon) because I have made a commitment to attend a "School for Vestries".... My nod to God over running, I hope, will be remembered by the judges when I kick off.
3. It's on a rare Spring weekend day when Scott Giessler is not otherwise committed to Kingswood Theater or The Village Players or William Lawrence Camp or The Jedi Council... Well, one of those is a joke. But, my man is working on The Perfect Year and in so doing is Perfectly Busy.
4. There's an accompanying 5K that some friends are going to be doing.... So I'd have people to hang with before, people to cheer me at the finish, and people to celebrate (or commiserate) with afterward. And of course....
   
5. There is beer available at the finish!

So, what's so ironic, you wonder? Well, The Freakin' Fools Blizzard (I named it this) is trotting into town tonight and tomorrow (April 1st...). This has resulted in a change of schedule for the State Drama Festival. It was scheduled from Friday to Saturday but now... my conning plan to have Scott watch the kids all day Sunday so I can be a real muthah runnah has fallen short. Instead, he will be in Gilford with his students hoping that everyone there loves Dispatches from Candor. As well they should.

Honestly, everything hinged on this one aspect of the race. There's nothing worse than going to a race and worrying about what your kids are doing. If they're happy or miserable. If they're being naughty or angelic.... Especially since they won' t be with my husband. Add to that the stress of not only making sure I have my own race stuff together but amusements and food and drink and warm clothes and Lord knows what else for them. Remember, The Giessler won't even be home AT ALL on Saturday (it's an overnight event) so I have to get the ducks in a row solo, too.

I have recruited a friend's daughter to come with us and watch them. And the Muthah Runnahs who are doing the 5K have promised to swoop in when they are finished running and recovering.... But aaarrrrgh! What a headache.

My gut is telling me that even though I am inspired on almost every run by Polly and her courage and struggles to the end... something in the universe of this play does NOT want me to run. I am missing out on Boston for the play. Now I am struggling with whether or not to go to this race because of this play. What's up with that!?

I got some sage advice from Sarah Bowen Shea after I sent her a whiney email about my troubles. She said, basically, "oh just do it!" I won't be able to hear my kids whine. They will survive. They will find things to amuse themselves. And once I'm out there, I will be SO happy I did it.

All true.

She's so smart.

But between now and then, I plan to worry. Because it's ever-so-helpful!

shhhhh...

I can't be too loud about this. I really hate to complain. So maybe I'm not complaining. Maybe I'm just pointing out. Maybe I'm reflecting. But here goes.

So, say there's a Person (perhaps, oh, I don't know, my husband?) who feels strongly that Another Person (for instance, Tommy) ought to be involved in a Thing (possibly... Scouts?) That Person tells a Third Person (like, maybe... me) that he will be in charge of the Thing. Third Person says, okay, that's great, I don't have the energy to be in charge of getting Another Person to yet another Thing. Super.

Except... Person does not do well with Details (for instance, when and where meetings are and what the responsibilities of Another Person are). So, Another Person has missed a meeting, missed out on badges, missed out on rocket building... and it's only been 3 weeks. All because Person DOES NOT PAY ATTENTION.

And we wonder if Another Person suffers from ADHD. Well, duh.

Remember. I'm not complaining. I'm merely, uh, reflecting.