Will I ever earn that letter?

Several months ago after completing my first marathon, an old rival high school friend sent me a message via Facebook. His message was a nice congratulatory statement punctuated by the phrase, "I never knew you were a runner." I had to remind my old pal that the reason we met was because we both ran cross-country for our respective high schools. He was slightly embarrassed for not remembering, but it actually summed up my early running career rather nicely.

Sure, I ran in high school. But only because my friend Korie signed up for the team and needed a sidekick for comic relief.

Poor Coach Blankenship! It was all he could do to coax one to two miles out of us at weekly practice. I had bird legs, was notoriously clumsy (and have the knee scars to prove it), and carried/puffed on my inhaler during every single run. I ran a very slow three mile race, and I only lettered because you had to earn a letter as a senior. (I'm sorry, but even then I was against participation awards-letters should be earned, just like trophies!)

And to top it all off, apparently I ran in a pair of my mom's old tennis shoes!?!

In hindsight, it's really kind of humiliating.

Running is now one of my favorite things to do. I tend to obsess over my training schedule and revel in my mileage sums (however low they may be). Running is my time to think, huff and puff (minus the inhaler these days), refocus my energy, and reflect on my life.

Coach (and Korie) would be proud.

While attempting to push Annika up a hill in the jogging stroller yesterday, she said, "Mommy, why are you breathing like a tiger?"

Apparently, the humiliating runs aren't competely over. . .

Blind Dating 101

I am so thankful that at the age of 29 I went out on my 20th blind date.
Believe me, I had enough horrible dates (both blind and not) that my friends and family would have completely understood if I refused to go on any more.
I continued to put myself out there.
My motto was, "If I don't have a good time, at least I'll have a good story."
My 20th blind date turned out to be both.

My road is paved with good intentions

I recently came across this website at work. There is a definition of each problem behavior that you may come across in a school setting. I got really upset that the someone had obviously been following me around taking notes!

Discipline Help: You Can Handle Them All:


"The Procrastinator Behavior: Specific attitudes and actions of this child at home and/or at school.
Long on talk and enthusiasm but short on work and success.

Always puts things off.

Has no sense of urgency.

Usually 'talks a good game,' but accomplishes little. To hear this student talk, one would think he/she couldn't wait to get to work, or to put into practice what he/she has learned.

Often the first to volunteer for a task. Says, 'Oh, I'll do it.' Unfortunately, never says when.

Never gets anything done; is always 'going to get it done tomorrow.'

Does seem to have a need to please and usually does want to get the job done."


Did this sound familiar?


Oh, boy, did it ever! I have intended to update my blog for several weeks now. It is only fair to tell you that I saved the draft of this post three weeks ago! But I'm turning over a new leaf.

Butterbean is also turning over a new leaf. . . to wear a dress and tutu everywhere she goes. She has already begun to follow through with her promise.

Enough said . . .

Sugar and Spice

Don't get me wrong . . .

boys are great.

In fact, we spent Thursday afternoon with my dear friend Lori and her three precious boys. You couldn't ask for a more thoughtful boy than Knox. He was so patient and kind to Annika. Banks is the best at wearing construction hats and getting down and dirty with some trucks and Lincoln Logs. And that precious, new Gaines is so yummy that I wanted to inhale him.

So again, I will say. . .

boys are great.

Snakes and snails, puppy dog tails and all.

But, alas, I have no boys.

Just one strong-willed little girl.

I love the pigtails, the pure need to wear a tutu for days on end, the purses full of tiny babies and pretend make-up, the bows in the hair that are pulled out as soon as we are out the front door, the gobs of necklaces, and the love of all things pink.

It's everything nice.

Hurt feelings

Thursday morning Annika hurt my feelings.

I was leaving for work and she was eating her breakfast while her daddy was in the shower.

I said, "Goodbye Butterbean. Have a good day. I love you!"

She was supposed to say (as is the official routine), "Goodbye Mommy. Have a good day. I love you too!"

Instead she said, "I'm not Butterbean. I'm Akka. You not call me Butterbean anymore."

So I said (in my sweetest mommy tone), "But I've called you Butterbean since you were a little baby."

She replied, "I not a baby anymore Mommy."

I cried a single tear and left for work.

She's pretty callous for a toddler.

Traditions passed down from Lynda

On Halloween night, I'll be a spook, scary as can be.

"Who's that spook?" people will ask.

It's just me behind my mask. Boo!

My mother, Lynda, sang this with me every year at Halloween. We would dig out the paper plate pumpkin mask that I created in preschool and recite the poem in a sing-song voice.

Annika says, "I'll be a pook, scary as can be." Just exactly like my mom says I always did.

The Fallen Fairy aka Butterbean says, "Boo" to you and yours.