A Laundry Pile First

I have made the very difficult and agonizing decision to join in on Linda's little video extravaganza. Last minute decision. Mostly I was just waiting to see if the zits on my forehead were going to be gone before the big day. They weren't. I proceeded anyway.

I must warn you. This could possibly be the most random and pointless 4 minutes and 2 seconds of your life. Things you need to know before you watch this:

• I cannot, for the life of me, maintain eye contact with a video camera. It's hard enough with real live people. With a video camera, I'm all over the place.
• Toby still wears 12 month clothes. Today I had 18-24 month pants on him. The poor kid cannot keep his pants up.
• My house really is a mess.

Ok, that's enough stalling.

Internet, meet Heth. Heth, meet the internet.

Marathon Training: Five Days Away

5 days.

Oh my gosh it's only five days away.

I'm walking a tightrope with blissful denial on one side and crazy-lady panic on the other. Of course there's a whole heap of excitement thrown in the mix.

It's only 5 days away. ACK!

If It's Not A Bunny, It's A Salamander

We haven't had many pets around here. Once we tried a cute little kitten that we named Cleopatra. Nate was allergic. For awhile we had a bunny. Banjo the bunny. He died of a heat stroke. Then there were the fish. One made a break for it. I don't even remember what happened to the other one. You can tell I loved them dearly.

I would like to introduce you to our newest attempt. Randall.


Randall, meet The Internet. Internet, meet Randall.


Now that introductions have been made, let me tell you a little bit about Randall. Caedmon caught Randall a week ago. Under a rock. WHAT IN THE WORLD?! Unfortunately, Randall was too late to be a participant in the poster of Things Caedmon Caught the Summer of '08.



Randall is living in a glass prison and is regularly terrorized by small hands. Sometimes the hands bring tasty worms and crickets, other times they just want to try to pick him up. He's made it a week, so far so good.

I'm cheering you on Randall.

A Walk To The Creek, In Photos

It's A Sing Along

Today's background music is provided by Gemma. The lyrics are a little iffy but she's got the tune down for sure. Volume level? Loud.

"Where is fun-kim? Where is fun-kim?
Here I am. Here I am.
Very really welcome, very really thank-you.
Run away. Run away."

Keeping a straight face while listening is almost impossible.

Chopped

This is the slogan I will henceforth command my children to commit to memory:

"My name is not Jose Eber
I will not cut my siblings' hair."



Yesterday Jack and Gemma were playing splendidly together. I peeked in at them to make sure there were no permanent markers, toothpaste, or duct tape being used. Nope, they were good. They were playing kitchen, gnawing on brightly colored, lead-free, wooden pieces of canned goods and pizza. Fun times.

Somewhere in the next three minutes, "kitchen" turned into "Jack's Fantastic Hair Salon". They brought me a ponytail, now unattached. I stood there slack jawed and let reality set in, counting to ten, twenty, and wisely, even higher in my mind. Then I reacted. I was torn between laughing and crying. To tell you the truth, I don't even remember how I reacted. I do know that I grumbled under my breath about big sisters who like to do crafts but leave scissors laying around. It's not like this hasn't happened before.

It was too late for speeches. The damage was done. Gemma now had a full blown mullet of all mullets. Billy Ray's true daughter, at least in the spirit of hair-dos. Her hair had been pulled up in the front into two cute little pigtails, the back still down. One of those pigtails was now completely gone. To the scalp. Jack joked about her "bald spot". Not funny Jack.

She wore a hat for the rest of the day.

This morning I took her to Dawn who worked a hair miracle on poor, poor Gemma's head. It is adorable. She saved the day. Gemma's got a cute little stacked bob with the hair tucked behind her ear on one side and the illusion of tucked hair on the other. You can tell something isn't quite right but you really have to look hard to see the bald spot.

Pictures?

Oh, ok. You twisted my arm.
Was there any doubt that I would have pictures?

I Don't Speak Starbucks

Does anyone want to take a stab at interpreting this bad boy?

That right there is a high-maintenance coffee drink.
It probably sucked their Sharpie dry.

Marathon Training: 20 Pancakes

I ran 20 miles.

Then I ate 20 pancakes.

Ok, so that's a lie. I ate a pancake shaped like a 20. My sister Mariah was here this morning watching the kids for me while I ran and bless her heart, she made me pancakes. Pancakes shaped like an H and a 20.

YAY!

Is this a subliminal message telling me to stay hydrated?

Caedmon

His fingernails are never clean and the bottoms of his feet are always brown.

The minute we pull into the driveway after school he jumps out of the van and runs to his secret spots, the places where he knows he will find a creature. It could have four legs, six legs, eight legs, or none at all. It might crawl, hop, scurry, or leap away from him.

I decided last last spring that I needed to document all of the "things" Caedmon would catch in one summer. I give you the summer of '08, the summer that Caedmon was six.



Today he is seven. Happy Birthday buddy. I wish you endless bugs, worms, toads, frogs, and who-knows-what-else this next year.

(This is a picture of a picture. It's the poster I had made and blown up.)

Marathon Training: Day ...I've Lost Track

We have reached the pinnacle of training. I can almost see over the top of this mountain that has consumed the entire summer and now the fall of '08. We have run 17, 18, and 19 miles. The big 20 looms ahead this Saturday. That is the furthest we will run in our training. Then we will trust all of the experts and our training plan that some how on race day, we will be able to cover 6.2 extra miles. After we run that big one on Saturday, we begin to taper; we decrease our mileage until race day to rest up. I'm ready to rest up.

One of the things that our training plan recommended was to run in a few shorter races before the big race. You can try to simulate a race in a regular old training run but I guess you won't ever push as hard as you would in a race. I believe it. So we signed up for a local half marathon and ran it on Saturday. Kelsey has been having some problems with her foot and decided to play it safe and not push too hard as to not injure it further. Amazingly it has held out for her and she has been able to continue to train. We are SO excited about that. An injury can take you right down and out of the whole thing. Even more amazing has been her positive attitude. She has maintained a great outlook and hasn't complained one bit. Me? I would have been crying about it a long time ago.

It was an interesting race. I've been calling it "The Revenge of the Orange." You will soon find out why.

It was a gorgeous morning for running. The temp was in the low 50's and overcast, perfect. Since we were running separately we both brought our own music to keep us company during the morning. I had made up a playlist of all my favorite running songs. I'm telling you what, the right song at the right time can work magic. I felt great throughout the whole thing. I really tried to push myself and didn't walk any of the water stations. They offer Gatorade too and as I tried to drink while still running, it sloshed all over me and down my legs resulting in stickiness. So that was fun. At one of the early water stations I noticed that they were handing out orange slices. A volunteer would stand on the side of the trail with an aluminum tray of pre cut slices of an orange. We never had anyone standing alongside the road during any of our training runs offering us any kind of food, and were weren't really supposed to try anything new during a race but, "What the hay?!" I thought and I grabbed one and chewed on it. It was very distracting. I liked it.

The race pounded on. My knees were feeling great and not showing any signs of soreness like I had worried about. Couldn't have had anything to do with the three ibuprofen I took before we headed out. I was almost smiling as I knocked out miles six, seven, and eight. Somewhere around there they had orange slices again. "Well sure! Why not?!" I thought. I reached for one as I ran by but I just couldn't keep my stride and exhibit superior eye hand coordination at the same time. I missed. Oh shwell. At least I didn't knock the whole tray out of the poor guy's hand. That would have been embarrassing. And who wants to be embarrassed during a race? Not me, that's for sure! I continued to play cat and mouse with the same people around me. Older guy in a white hat. Pink lady. Lady in a bright yellow tank top. I name the other runners. It keeps me distracted. Do you see a theme? Distraction is my ticket.

I was starting to tire so I started counting down the miles in my head and picturing our regular routes. Man, the more I write about what goes on in my brain during a race, the more I'm wondering what kind of a weirdo I am. Anyways, around mile 11 or so there was another orange slice guy. "YAY!" It was just the distraction I needed. I pulled it together and really focused on my grab. Got it. I bit off the flesh and threw the peel to the side. After stuffing the whole wad in my cheek, I continued to chew on it for quite awhile. "This is it, I've got it now." I was thinking to myself. "What a perfect race." And then a single fiber of orange decided to take a path of it's own. It lodged itself in just the wrong place in my throat and I began to cough and choke. I spit the whole nasty thing out. That little bit of coughing and choking came at the just wrong time. My already fatigued stomach that had been surviving the last hour and 45 minutes on gatorade, water, and GU's, decided to revolt. I started gagging. I tried to push through it but it didn't take me long to decide I was going to have to pull over.

I became the crazy lady barfing on the side of the road. Let's talk about humility for a moment shall we? Those moments of our most personal bodily functions are not the ones we want to share with sweaty strangers in shorts and tank tops. It didn't cost me too much time, a couple people passed me, but I was able to get right back on the trail and finish strong and complete. Well, minus one orange and most of the Gatorade. I even remembered to smile as I crossed the finish line instead of my regular "I'm about to die" expression of pain.

Finish time 1:52:44. Almost five minutes off of my previous half marathon time. I'm happy.

Next up. 20 miles, taper, and MARATHON!

Poor Little Tricycle

It was only a matter of time.
The Great White has claimed it's first victim.
Little Red Tricycle, you have been bitten.

*No children were injured. I ran over a tricycle that was unseen in the rear view mirror of the Great White.*

Car Seats. Life Savers, Most of the Time

I've recently had to do some car seat switching. Jack borders between a five point harness and booster. He's technically ready for a booster, in theory. So I bought him a new one. After about two booster days, I decided he was going back in a five point. He wouldn't stay put and kept unbuckling himself at all the wrong times. In his five point, he can get the shoulder straps undone by himself, but that bottom buckle sticks and I have to unbuckle it for him.

Fast forward..

It's a long story but circumstances led to the following situation: Jack, Gemma and Toby were locked in the van along with my keys, my purse, and my cell phone. The van was running and the air conditioner was on. They were all buckled securely in their seats. We were parked in the dentist's office parking lot. No one with an extra key was anywhere near being able to come save us. We were stranded and I needed to figure out how I was going to get in.

I took my post by the back window, the one that looks in to where Jack was sitting. He could hear me so I explained that I couldn't get in and I needed his help. I told him that I wanted him to unbuckle himself. He looked at me like I had spaghetti coming out of my nose. I told him again to try to unbuckle his seat belt. He smirked and started working on it. It was clear that he truly couldn't get that buckle unsnapped. His shoulder straps were already off but that bottom latch is a bugger and he just couldn't get it. I kept telling him to push harder, to use both thumbs. To take a break and try again and to give it all he's got. No luck.

I moved on to plan "b". I told him to try to wiggle himself up and out of the shoulder straps while still buckled. He shimmied and squirmed but nothing short of some crazy contortionist moves were going to get him out of those tight straps. I took consolation that at least he was correctly fastened in his seat. Even if it meant I couldn't get my dang car unlocked.

I them moved to plan "c". I told him to just unbuckle his whole seat from the car. Luckily his seat wasn't installed with the new latches and tethers. His seat was buckled in to the van the old fashioned way using a lap belt in the very back seat. He reached around and pushed that button, releasing his car seat from the seat. He was still strapped in to the car seat it self though.

This is the part where I started laughing. No doubt the people who were out and about that day were wondering about the crazy lady who was dancing around and gesturing outside of her van window. And now she was laughing. I laughed because there was hope. I knew we would eventually work this out without the help of a locksmith and his extravagant fee. Jack would get this taken care of, somehow. This was his opportunity to use his ninja/Navy Seal/Mac Gyver moves for good and not evil. Now you have to know the layout of our van. It's not your typical 12 passenger with bench seats. This is an old hotel airport shuttle. It has stairs. It has an aisle. The back row spans the width of the van. Jack's seat is straight back down the aisle. So he stood up like a little turtle with his shell of a car seat still attached to his back and he tried to walk up the aisle. One step, then a jerk. The seat was too wide to go down the aisle. Dang.

I started coaching him on trying to turn to the side. No luck. We tried turning to the other side. Nope. Crouching down. No. Standing on his tippy toes. No. Hmmm. My charades outside of the van were getting progressively more odd. Then I had a great idea. What if he climbed over the back seat and unlocked the back door?! Wow, I'm a genius! I started talking him through it but stopped mid-way because I realized that there is a bar that spans the storage area for hanging things from. I suddenly pictured Jack, in his car seat, suspended helplessly from that bar, hanging from his seat. That would be the end of the rescue and we would be calling in for back up.

That is when it dawned on me. I needed him to climb over all of the seats and then unlock the side door. He got it and started in on the climb. It was absolutely hilarious. My little snail, housing his seat on his back slowly climbed over all of the seats until he reached the lock and with a grin, yanked it up. I laughed and cried all at the same time. "Jack, you are the hero! You saved the day!" And he did.

But he still hasn't graduated to a booster. Maybe next year.

Labor Day Weekend 08

What a fun time that was. All of my siblings were in town. All of them. That doesn't happen very often but when it does, watch out. It's more fun than a barrel of monkeys. (What does that even mean?)

We had a grand old time. The kids camped out in the tent in Grandpa and Grandma's yard a couple of nights. No one was eaten by a coyote. We had campfires and hiking and moped rides and Gabe and Naomi's home made salsa extravaganza. On Sunday afternoon Shane decided that building a tree fort would be fun. Everyone got involved and it turned out fantastic. When I say "everyone got involved" that doesn't include me, Anna, Naomi, Mom, Holly, and One-Handed Luke. Poor Old Luke. I never really did tell you all how on his last day of work he fell while holding a glass bottle of tea. Of course he landed ON the bottle and managed to slice his hand all to pieces resulting in surgery and a cast. It was quite the ordeal. But he is still alive, so that's good.

Along those same lines, yesterday when the tree fort construction was coming to a close, we heard screaming and wailing from the back yard. Caedmon had been stung by a bee on his shoulder. Not fifteen seconds later, here came Jack around the corner bawling. A bee had stung him on the nose. Now let me tell you what, that kid's face went from regular to completely distorted in just a few hours. Even this morning his little eyes were still swollen and he looked like a completely different child. He has gotten a few special privileges because of his state of excessive puffiness. One is getting to ride along with Grandpa and Grandma when they take Luke back up to college. Gemma wanted to know if: "When my eyes are purple and scary, do I get to go with Grandma?" Of course you do Gemma. Of course you do.

Sorry no photos, even though I'd really like to show you all. I took a bunch of pictures of the poor kid but I don't want to embarass him on the world wide web.