October 2009 Archives

We are thinking about growing our hair out like this. Is that a little too far?

I think JulzHOLLA! is brilliant, because she found a way for us to sneak in some role playing. Yes, I met her online, and we're role playing now. Halloween, it turns out, isn't just for kids anymore. Now I remember why I had kids, so I could do kid things again - like play dress up.

JulzHOLLA! and her family have been out of town, then sick with that flu bug in a staggering effect, where one kid gets sick, then better, but just in time for the next. So between being gone and being quarantined - we haven't seen each other in over 2 weeks. It really has been tough. Because when you're gone and visiting family, yapping with your gal pal isn't happening. And then when you have sick kids home...three of them and you're sick yourself - not only are you quarantined in this lovely swine flu season, but really, calling or stopping to talk even on the phone isn't safe. There's barf, and fevers, and the kids and all.

Soon, everyone started feeling better, and JulzHOLLA! got an invite from Sven's work pals, Julz took me on a date. It was a couples halloween costume party.

"What about Sven, doesn't he want to go?"

"I don't think he wants to dress up, but I told him not to worry, I want you to be my date so we can go as Elphaba and Glinda. Will you go with me?"

"Uh, YEAH! I've got my broom right here. Bring it on!"

So we went as Elphaba and Glinda.If you haven't figured it out. We did NOT go as the Wicked Witch of the West and Glinda the Good Witch. It's different. Because we did that one year. This year, we went with this years mutual obsession and went as the characters from Wicked the Musical. And we were hot. Don't you think?

Being a good hot date, I arrived to pick her up, came in, didn't just honk the horn. And made Sven take pix of us, you know, and said hello to her man before I took her out to buy her a few drinks. I even prepared and had the Wicked Soundtrack playing on our favorite song. Aren't we a cute couple.

And aside from the hosts we really didn't know many peeps. Which was fine - we had a chance to sit in a quiet corner and talk about our feelings. Reconnect, and get to know each other...if you like pina coladas. And gettin caught in the rain...

I think Ricardo and Sven are on to us. Ricardo got in the car the next day and Wicked was blasting. "Oh my god. You had this playing when you went to your party all dressed up?"

"Yeah, it was awesome! We were so hot, and totally in character!"

He just ended the conversation with a head shake of shame.

So if you care to find me
Look to the Western Skies.
As someone told me lately,
Everyone deserves the chance to fly!

Happy Halloween!
That's how I roll.

I don't talk much about my job. Mainly, because, I like the job and I want to keep it. "A job!?" you say, "you've sold us a lemon all these years proclaiming to be a stay-at-home-mom!?"

Okay, I teach college courses while the kids are at school, hereby, still being at home when the kids are home. So, everyone just take a chill pill.

So, the other day, I was in class early. And one of my students was in class. She's a kid on a full soccer scholarship. So, we talk all things sporty. And we start talking about how cold it is out. And I tell her how I'm cold all the time, and she tells me she's hot all the time, and we joke about how you can warm up by putting more layers on, but legally, there's only so many layers you can take off to stay cool. Hahha. Hehh heh.

Then I go on to tell her all my tips on staying warm: wearing 2 pairs of socks, lots of hot tea, hot cocoa, hot coffee.Then I go on an on about our new fireplace and how I like to turn it on and sit right close up to it. Boil everyone else out. I'm being all funny and frivolous about it. And that's when she tells me very matter-of-factly, not in any way or shape condesendingly at all, that indeed, their heater broke and they've been without heat for a couple of weeks, but they finally broke down and got a floor heater and that should tide them over for a few weeks before it gets really cold.

This girl lives at home with her mom and dad, in a house with no heat, and has no car, but loves living at home. Her parents are doing everything they can to keep their daughter in college, and she's playing soccer and coming to class EARLY so that she can stay warm and I'm dressing in 2-3 layers, turning on my newly installed fireplace, in an already heated home, and taking hot baths. Are you kidding?

I'm spoiled rotten. I'm feel extremely privileged. I'm completely humbled. Still cold. But humbled. I think just remembering that moment will keep me warmer than usual for the rest of the season. Lesson learned, and class hasn't even started yet.

That's how I roll.

This is how I do laundry. Let me explain.

Most of what I write on here is about my momness. But every now and then I feel compelled to share someone else's momness. And really, this is soooo educational.

My friend Beck and I share a dark side of comedy and life. I think it's evident here. We always have. And typically, not many others share it. But perhaps moms across the universe will get this one. Because when the day is done, I mean really, let's be real - it's the darkside you've got to laugh at.

Me: "I was trying to explain to a pal how I get all the laundry done, but then have to do the laundry that built up while I was doing laundry. I call it the residual laundry. Because it turns out, they don't want to run around naked for two days while I do laundry. The nerve."

Her: "I know what you mean. Every day, every night, it's just erased and you start over. It's a wash every day, every chore, every hour."

Me: "It's like groundhog day."

Her: "That's why I make their halloween costumes. No one's going to remember all the dishes I did, the laundry. And they probably won't remember these damned costumes either. But it's tangible. I can look back at those costumes and say, I made their halloween costumes." (And here's where her smart pants comes in) "You know, there's this greek mythological story about a guy who's getting tortured, they strap him to a tree, and a piece of his liver gets eaten every day. The problem is, his liver keeps regenerating. So, it just keeps happening over and over."

I googled it later, and got this from Wikipedia: In Greek mythology, Prometheus is a Titan, the son of Iapetus and Themis, and brother to Atlas, Epimetheus and Menoetius. He was a champion of human-kind known for his wily intelligence, who stole fire from Zeus and gave it to mortals.[2] Zeus then punished him for his crime by having him bound to a rock while a great eagle ate his liver every day only to have it grow back to be eaten again the next day. His myth has been treated by a number of ancient sources, in which Prometheus is credited with - or blamed for - playing a pivotal role in the early history of humankind.

Really, sounds like the beginning of a mom to me. Right?

Me: "That's sick, Beck."

Her: "I know, but it's so true. There's another mythological story where a guy has to roll a boulder up a hill. So, every day he rolls the boulder up. He accomplishes his goal, gets it up the hill. And then it rolls back down. He's gotta start back over. But I like the visual of the liver getting eaten better."

Me: "Bahahahah!!!!"

Her: "Bahahahahaha!!!"

I googled the rock roller too. Even more momness oozed out. It's again from Wikipedia:
In Greek mythology, Sisyphus was a king punished in Tartarus by being cursed to roll a huge boulder up a hill, only to watch it roll back down, and to repeat this throughout eternity.

The word sisyphean means, according to the American Heritage Dictionary, "endless and unavailing, as labor or a task."

Endless and unavailing as labor or a task is right, y'all. I think I'll call her for coffee talk more often.
That's how I roll.

This is part of the phi slamma jamma group. It's also a good indicator that my shoulder blades are bigger than my front side. How on earth are they going to get a pic of these ladies?

Well, as promised, I got my first mammogram today.
First off, let me say, I actually felt almost privileged to get it. In the last few days, I've been on the phone with my doctor and insurance trying to confirm that indeed, a baseline mammogram for a woman at age 35 with a history of breast cancer in her family is covered on my insurance.

The colorful debate of healthcare - and I have to have a conversation with an automated, and yet fairly articulate computer lady.
"Say or use the numbers on your phone to give your date of birth."
"Hold while I verify your information."
"Hi, Leslie. This is Leslie, correct?"

God. And to even possibly suggest that these insurance companies don't care about us. The NERVE! I'm just sayin, I've got a lot of jokes to try out about the fact that I'm getting a mammogram and the computer lady isn't laughing. The lady who finally came on the phone after I just started yelling, "OPERATOR OPERATOR OPERATOR!" did however laugh.

"Are you allergic to anything?"

"Well, chocolate makes my butt and thighs swell, is that what you mean?"

Alas, we got it all worked out, and I got to go get my mammogram today. I really wasn't worried about squeezing water out of a rock, per se. Until all of the sudden, just one traffic light away, it occurred to me that small boobies are more sensitive. Dear Lord, this is going to hurt.

My sister sends me a text, "May the force be with you and may your tech have warm hands."

I shuffled through registration, three waiting rooms, a dressing room with a nice opened-front shirt. I think they called it a cape. OMG, they need to make pink capes for these suckers. And before I could think anymore about how bad this would hurt, some sweet lady not so much with warm hands, is manipulating my left beesting. I'm so tall, and she's so short, and she's trying to get this in there, and there's not much to get, and she's gotta hold it in extra long, and then almost smush her hand in there to keep the boobie in there. She's a pro though, and she got it done. Then the right. And I was done.

"Will this cause any swelling?"

"No, not at all."

"DANGIT!"

It wasn't as bad as I thought it was. Still, I think it would have been fun to wear a cape the rest of the day. Kinda like that sticker you get to wear all day when you vote or give blood. A pink cape. It would be perfect. Instead, I get my results on line, WHAT!? And I got a pink reusable grocery shopping bag. I'll take it!

And I went on about my day with my imaginary pink cape.

That's how I roll.

I'm a well-rested person. I'm a pampered mom. One of the first things I was told when we had the babies was to make sure I take time out for me. And I sure have. For seven years. I see all these ladies on talk shows who never take time out for themselves. And I'm not that woman. I am the only woman on this earth, I think, who has to weed out her girlfriend trips. Who has to cut back on the pampering. Really, I can think of worse issues for a mom of twins to have. Right?

Then I got an invite for a girls trip. And it was just an eensy one, an overnighter in Kansas City with some of the coolest chicks I know. I don't really need a good night's sleep, I get that every night. I don't really care to shop. And I don't even drink, so I'll just be the designated driver. But this rockstar was excited about just chillin and laughing with some new friends of mine. That, and one of the power shoppers lulled me in for my shopping weak spot - The Holiday Mart. I don't even know what that means, but I could use some new gigantic Christmas yard decorations. And she assured me they'd have such beasts. So, sign me up! Wheeeeehaaaaawww!

The stars aligned, and if we did it just right, I could go. I was in. I'll pay my portion of the hotel and gas. Bring it on!

And then we went to Max's football game. Max's team isn't doing that well. And by not that well, I mean they haven't won a game all season, and haven't scored all season. Well, I take that back, last week they got a safety. I'm not even kidding, y'all. So, it was the last game of the season, and the coach wanted to talk to the kids and the parents all together. I figured its for that end-of-the-season party. Because where we go eat is a better priority,right?

We're all huddled up, kids and parents and the coach says, (Read like Eeyore) "I know it's been a tough season, and I've just been told that they've worked all 20 teams into the championship playoffs. So, I guess we play next week. I don't know if that's a good thing or if it's prolonging the agony. I know you didn't plan on playing next week, so, if you can't make it, I understand. I guess we'll see you next week maybe."

And here's your trophy coach, for the absolute shittiest most unbearable pep talk I've ever heard. And I've heard some pretty interesting ones. All my vball girls remember the PDB talk? You know who you are.

My kid is in second grade. We are trying so hard not to get wrapped up in the hard core sports crazies here. And I'm trying really hard not to judge others so harshly. It's just not easy as it sounds when the people I'm trying to judge are such idiots. Really? Prolonging the agony? Still, I had a nice long talk with myself and promised I wouldn't crack down on this guy. I was a coach once, I'll just try to ignore that whole talk he gave.

And then we got to the car, and Max asked me, "Mom, what does 'prolonging the agony mean'"? And that's when I regressed and said really nasty words about the coach in my head while I tried to find a way to explain, or maybe distract. "Hey Max, let's go get a new DS game!"

So, here's the conundrum - the girls weekend or the football game? We're not even sure that enough kids will show to make a team to play thanks to that compelling speech what with all the, "yeah, if you can make it to the tournament, that's cool, but if not, that's cool too..." Nice. So, Ricardo and I talk and he's cool with me going to the girls trip. The next morning, I tell Max I'm not going to make it to his game. He tells me with his words that's okay. But his eyes say all in one sad dropped facial expression "we're so bad you don't want to go to my game because my effn coach doesn't believe in me, why should you mom? Really."

Sometimes I see things I refer to as the Ally McBeal moments. Except this time, instead of a dancing baby, I see "JACKASS" stamped across my forehead in real big red perfectly fonted letters.

I took the kids to school. Thought on it some more and just couldn't take it. I hate bailing on these ladies, because I've done it before. And this was a super special invite, they were including me in their circle of cool chicks. Still, I couldn't shake off that "it's okay mom, I understand" look. So, I called my gal and bailed. And she was more than kind and generous about it.

I picked the kids up from school and as soon as I got stuck in all that fantastic parking lot traffic, I turned around, look Max square in the eye and said, "Max, I changed my plans, I'm going to your game on Sunday."

And that little perfect kid of mine, his face lit up, a huge smile that he couldn't even hide if he'd tried just illuminated the car. But all he said was, "Really!?"

"Yeah, really." I tried to play it really cool. Be cool. Be cool. Be cool. Well there's that Ally McBeal dancing baby!

So, this Sunday, and there won't be enough players, (thanks again to the compelling "prolonging the agony" speech) to play the game. Max will probably miss out on his game. I'll miss out on my girls weekend. And it'll be the best weekend ever. Because I'm well rested, I bailed on my girlfriends and picked my kid instead.

OMG, y'all, I think I might be growing up.
That's how I roll.

Okay y'all, I went to see my awesome doctor today. And started in asking the questions. First off, as a fantastic disclaimer, I need to tell all you that I'm not medically certified, inclined, nor educated to diagnose any of y'all. But I always have an opinion. And, I need to tell you that she, nor any other doctor can diagnose, counsel or answer questions for anyone other than their patients. So, I posed as having all of these questions. You're welcome, because it got weird when I started asking birth control questions.

I asked her how I would know an uh-oh lump versus a just regular lump. She paused, looked at my flat chest peeping out of the paper robe and then we laughed hysterically. No, that's not what happened. But, clearly this is not my question. If there was a lump, I could see it. Or maybe it would stop my bra from riding up. Whatever. However, she did suggest that cancer builds up calcium, so a cancerous lump should be very hard. Also, a lump won't move around when you push on it and try to move it. That's her version. My version is this - a lump is a lump is a lump is a lump. And what you may deem as soft and not hard enough, might be further under the skin and thus, hard, but cushioned. You have a lump, you get it checked out. Period.

Then I asked her, "How do I talk to my husband about him getting fixed?"

Slight pause because clearly this patient doesn't need this conversation. I tell her, "I think I can probably handle this one, but I also think I know what you're going to say."

"My official answer to that question is, 'Talk to your husband.'"
I thought she'd say something like, "I think your lady bits have worked hard enough, don't you? Let him contribute to the birth control/family planning now." But she didn't. And I agree, with her only answer, "Talk to your husband." Good point. Obviously, my personal opinion here is a bit skewed. I got it all taken care of, still have my hormones raging, and I got my very own mommy vacation complete with oxycodone. And really, no laundry for 6 weeks? Seriously. It's worth it. Ofcourse having a man worry about his junk for just the 1 day recovery kinda sounds fun too.

"Okay, the next question is, what's the best birth control that does the least amount of damage to my hormones."

I get the "I know this isn't your question look." More pause. And then she gets up and says, "I've got two ladies in labor. I'm sorry, but I need to focus on getting your exam done and get to the hospital."

You're sorry. Really? I explain that there's no need to apologize. Because if it were me in labor, or any of these ladies, we'd expect Dr. to be there and not answering some questions for a blog. We agree that she can do the whole exam and still answer the questions.

"The best birth control for your hormones is abstinence."

"Is that also how one might start dialogue about getting the husband snipped?"

"Are you suggesting cutting him off from sex until he gives in to get a vasectomy? Not a bad idea, Les."

"Thanks.I'm full of great ideas."

I asked her about the essure gig. She said there's a new one coming out that is way less evasive and more effective. It'll be out in a just a few months. She couldn't remember the name though. And really, why should she? She's got two women in labor and a woman who's had an ablation, her tubes tied, and a hysterectomy asking questions for her pals birth control needs.

She finished up my exam and then we got to schedule my mammogram. She again apologized and asked, "So, you have a blog, huh?"

"Yes, I write about you on there a lot."

"Is it like Facebook? I've had some patients ask me to get on Facebook."

"Don't do that. It's too casual and people will start asking you bizarre questions like how to talk to their husbands about vasectomies or birth control. Facebook is too fun for that."

"Yes, I'm concerned I'd get on Facebook too much."

"It's addictive."

"I have to go, it's always fun to visit with you though. Sorry to cut it so short."

I got dressed and got out one of my bloggy business cards and wrote a note on the back, "Here's this blog I'm always talking about. Check it out when you're not doing frivolous things like birthing babies. Happy Day, Leslie"

That's how I roll.

Well, I'm guessing from the title, that I just weeded out all male readers. And if there's still some, perhaps they think I'm going to the dentist. But I do that TWICE a year. So....

I'm going to my annual check up next week. You know - the ones in the stirrups. Mmmmhmmmm. You're welcome for the visual. As seen here, here, here, but mostly here, me and my lady doctor are bffs. Or, I just try to make the best of a really icky visit. We'll be having a lovely convo about my first ever mammogram that's due up to bat this year. I promised I'd open the blog up to questions. So, please post your questions that you're too embarassed to ask your own doctor. I will ask mine for you. We are straight up. I ask it. She pauses to muffle the laugh and then tells it like it is.

So, post your questions. Don't ask any freaky pervertedness. That's for your other doctor. You're therapist. Please keep them appropriate. Anything you've ever wanted to ask Dr. Lady Bits. Bring it on.

Today we went to the kids' school bookfair.Lucy got the funniest kids book I've ever heard of: Diary of a Wimpy Kid. It's funny because when they say the title, it sounds like "Diarrhea Whimpy kid" and I'm immature like that and laugh every time. Max came got some Captain Underpants books that had some kind of inflatable mascot. So, we got home, read some books, and ate popcorn. Later, Max was flying his inflatable Captain Underpants guy around and making all kinds of flying and shooting sounds.

THUMP!!

Slight Pause.

"MAAAAXXXX THAT HURT!"

Uh-Oh - I thought to intervene and then just thought maybe I should let them play this one out. Thank God I did.

"MAX - THAT REALLY HURT ME!"

"Well that's what SUPERHEROES DO!"

"IT IS NOT WHAT SUPERHEROES DO! And I'm not even a bad guy or a villain!"

"Well, you're my SISTER!"

And note to self: let them work it out for my personal entertainment more often.

"Mom, why are you laughing so hard?"

That's how I roll.

Last night I started on the new menu. I was excited to make a new meal. I found a gig in one of my many magazines: 5 days of dinners in one shopping bag. Oh yeah. Some people look at magazines for fashion and beauty tips or even health and fitness. I, ofcourse, go with the mags with the best recipes. I love a new easy recipe with a little twist.

This recipe was chicken brocolli caserole but cooked in a skillet instead of in the oven - there's your twist. And it involved velveeta. I'm in. I had to adjust the recipe a bit because I had left over rotisserie chicken and I was using regular rice instead of instant - because that's what we had - and my momma taught me that a good cook can whip up stuff with what you have - or in my case what I forgot to get at the grocery store. I'm just sayin it didn't make sense to get instant rice when I had rice at home.

It turns out the non-instant rice requires more water than the instant version - and it absorbed all the chicken broth in this recipe before being cooked - think crispy wet rice. So I did what every mom does when she goes to check the pan, privately celebrates that she hasn't burned the food yet but needs to add water quickly - I grabbed my glass of water on the counter and poured some in. I realize this may be gross to some of you - but it was just my family I was cooking for. And I was all proud of my Rachael Ray moment because she measures things with coffee mugs and stuff. And I was all quick thinking on my feet and solving a quick problem and all.

I mean, really, how many of you lick the brownie batter and then stir again? Oh shut up - you know you do it. Or drop the spoon and then just dust it off on your shirt and return it back to the cooking. You know you do that too. Or take a few sips of your beer and then realize it was your husbands and tell him its yours now, he better get a new one. Ok, maybe not the last one, but it's happened here before. I'm just sayin.

So, I got the skillet brocoli rice casserole all done, and served it up. The kids loved it. And about three bites into it, because, yes, I inhale my food - I'm working on it - I realize it's yummy and a little sweet. A few more bites. I'm reviewing the recipe in my head as I eat because where did that subtle sweet taste come from? Hmmmmm.

Uh-oh. That water I added from my cup was flavored water. Woopsie. I added a little bit of Hy-Vee strawberry water cooler to chicken broccoli casserole. If you guys knew how many times I do stuff like this and my poor family suffers through it. They actually refer to it as a certain "je na sais quoi". Or this particular mishap, they like and referred to it as - a sweet wang.

I personally appreciate the reputation I'm developing with my family in the kitchen. Moreso, I'm glad they still eat what I put in front of them every night.

That's how I roll.

I ran with all those layers on and survived to tell you all about it.

It was cold and wet and miserable, I am totally hooked - I HEART TRIATHLONS.

This weekend, we packed up the ol minivan and headed to South Sioux City for big deal sprint triathlon number two, and the last one of the season. This time, we'd suckered our menfolk to do a team triathlon. And by suckered, I mean, they took interest in doing a triathlon after watching us do our first one. But I might have been lacking oxygen in our brain, and maybe that made me a little moody and all. So instead of seeing it as a positive revelation of motivation for the guys to get involved and do a triathlon when one of said husbands said, "I could do that." PERHAPS, the response was something like, "What did you just say? Oh, you think you can do this? Well get your ass out there and do it." Perhaps that might have been how it went.

And they did. Ricardo, Sven, and uh, Salvador, (Ab's husband and latest one we suckered in to this) all did their own triathlon. They all went out of their comfort zone and tried a tri. I'm particularly proud of Ricardo because well, he's my husband and all, and also because he did the swim leg of the race. Nothing laughs and tells your ego faster that you're out of shape than sticking your head in water to workout. Ricardo is an incredible athlete. He's good at every darned sport I've ever seen him try. Don't you just hate people like that? I don't. But if you do, simply challenge them to a swim. I've never seen Ricardo struggle like he did swimming. It's not fun to watch your husband struggle to breathe. But every day, for only two weeks, he kept practicing, and swam 400 yards in the triathlon!

So, if me AND Ricardo, Sven AND JulzHOLLA! are all doing the triathlon, what did we do with all those kids? Right? And I'm sure you're assuming we left them at home, or with the grandparents or something like that. HELL NO, we dragged them with us, along with JulzHOLLA!'s super babysitter. And Ab's brought her two kids as well. Really, we thought we'd planned the whole thing brilliantly, until we realized, they were the only kids at the triathlon. AND - I think I heard someone in passing mumble, "Who the hell brought those kids and gave them effn cowbells!?"

They're just jealous. I'm sure of it.

Ricardo went first, and did fantastic. The kids cheered him on. All was right with the world. Then I was up. I had to stop at about 150 yards and hand my wedding band to Ricardo, I guess all this training may very well be shedding off some pounds because my ring was falling off. After that, I was rocking it out. I passed three or four people, and I realized, this was my favorite part of the triathlon, and it was only 8 minutes of a 2 hour race. Uggh.

At 250 yards, I tapped the wall, came up for air, and there was Max with a cowbell. He just bent over and said ever so non-chalantly, "Oh, hey Mom." And then went back to ringing his bell. I pushed back off the wall with a big ol smile on my face. This is so fun!

This one was USAT sanctioned - so we really had to stick to the rules. I assumed by being USAT sanctioned, it would be all stick-to-the-ruleseyish and although the LeMars Tri was well put together, I guess I assumed if it could be more professional or more put together, then it would be.

And also, one time, my dad told my when you assume something it makes and ASS out of U and ME.

USAT Sanctioned better put together my ass. I almost got hit by a car TWICE because there were less volunteers at this USAT sanctioned event while there were more intersections. I also almost missed a few turns because they weren't marked and no volunteers to tell me where to go. At about mile 9, I kept checking my rental bike for a flat because I was cruising through a trailer park (Let me make this disclaimer: There's nothing wrong with a trailer park. Demographically speaking, people who own trailers aren't sure what the hell is going on when they see cones and cyclists coming through their neighborhood. I'm just throwin that out there.) that had a mile of 6" canyon cracks every two yards. I kept trying to go over the lesser of the crack, only to miss it every time! I was excited that I was going to rock out this bike gig with a better bike, but not so much because there was never an opportunity to just hammer down and go fast. And I wasn't even stopped by a train. JulzHOLLA! and Sven were stopped in the middle of their rides, for 5 minutes so a train could go through in the middle of their USAT sanctioned triathlon race! Really?

All that bike ride wasn't as disappointing as I just griped about, until I realized my time didn't improve as much as I'd hoped for the bike leg of the race. Still, I thought my legs were in good shape for the run, until I got off the bike. I couldn't feel the front part of my feet. Do you know how hard it is to run on cold hobbled feet? Just getting started is ridiculous. I got these new E-Z tie things for my shoes so I could just slip them on. I got to mile 1.5 before I could feel my feet enough to realize that my shoes were too loose and I needed to tighten them. Darn, I had to stop and tighten my shoes. Mwwahahaha. After that, my run was okay, and I promised myself I'd train harder so I'd push myself more for next years triathlons. Oh yeah, I said it. There will be more.

The run got way easier the last mile. I could feel my feet, my tri suit was dry, and I was going downhill. I rounded the corner and saw my kids. I didn't even need to see the finish line, just hear those kids playing, and all was right with the world. Lucy came down with me and ran me in this time. I told her she could run across the finish line with me, but she's wise beyond her seven years and simply said, "No, mom - you cross the line on your own." Holy crap. I'm the luckiest mom ever.

These kids are excited to go to triathlons, play with JulzHOLLA! & Sven's kids and this time, Ab & Salvador's kids. They cheer us on in the pool, through the transition, and then go play for an hour or so, "Oh, hey, Mom's back, y'all, GO MOM! You're doing great....good job...uh, huh, have a good run!" And then back to playing for another 30 minutes. "Look, there's mom again, I've got this one Max, you can run her in next time."

We thought it was interesting that out of 65 participants, we were the only ones with kids there. We love that they cheer us on. We love that they see us work hard and are a part of something emotionally overwelming and successful. But mostly, it's a family affair and we support each other. It's not just us cheering our kids on at their activities, they cheer us on too. We love that.

I didn't have the impeccable 30-minutes shaved off time with my cool new bike like I thought I would. I blame that a little bit on the aforementioned route, but also maybe a little bit of me sandbagging to save my legs for the run. Perhaps I could push myself just a wee bit more. But I beat my last time. And I only hope to keep improving that time. We're already looking for triathlons next year.

I've never been that cold voluntarily before. It was 40 degrees, and I hopped out of a pool, and jumped on a bike. Wet, breezy, and cold. Those of you who know me, know this momma does not like cold. It's taken me a day and a half to warm up to my particular preference. I've taken 8 hot baths and two steam showers. I've been through 7 pairs of fuzzy socks, two pots of coffee, and an entire box of celestial seasonings hot tea. So, next time, maybe I'll skip the fall triathlons. But I'm hooked, for sure! My whole family is.

Last night at dinner, we were doing our hokey cheers, that we always do, and Max says, "Here's to a whole family of triathletes." Darn right, kid!

That's how I roll.

Hi, Jayne. Thanks for stealing my bumper sticker battle cry. Guess I'll have to come up with another.

Tomorrow we are going to do another sprint triathlon. This time, I'm a little more well-equipped, because one thing I've learned about why a triathlon is so fun, it's because of all the fun accessories! YAY!

Although I couldn't commit to buying a bike, I rented a road race bike in hopes that the bike leg of the race will be easier, faster, and hopefully make my run a little more graceful. My tri-capri pants came in. And, I have some cool new e-z tie laces on my shoes to shave off minutes from my transition time. I even read a cool book about challenging yourself to do a triathlon. The book, The Improbable Athlete, had some good insight on facing your fears, and conquering challenges. It talks about the time and energy it takes and the everyday commitment.

JulzHOLLA! is reading a book called Slow, Fat Triathlete. It got our attention, I'm just sayin. And so, we will read each book and swap.

Although both authors are women our age-ish, the authors of either book are not moms. They were out of shape, a little thick as one suggests from her title. Clearly, I see a book of our own story in the making. This has been such a great Mommy moment on so many levels. Just getting the kids to school everyday, slurping down some kind of breakfast drink in between cups of coffee, and getting to the gym at the same time is a book in itself. Let alone, two moms schedules meshing each day for 1-2 hours to work out. It is the best time of my day, sucking air, and challenging my aching and digressing muscles - and talking about my feelings all while laughing my dimpled ass off.

When I wake up and come up with 10 reasons why not to go to the gym and that I have tons of other things to do that day - I remember who's waiting for me - JulzHOLLA! The one who woke up 3-4 times with her baby the night before, the one who got up, fed her three kids, got Olivia to grade school, turned around and backtracked to get Gwyn to Pre-K, and got to the gym in time to nurse Maggie in the parking lot, and get in and feed her some cereal to top her off before checking her into the nursery so that she can workout with me. At some point, because my days are half that busy, I wondered where my "me time went", and then a little voice in my head said, "It's on the treadmill fatty, there's your me time." Suddenly, the errands can wait.

Don't even get me started on how we configure an outdoor bike ride! Well, here I go anyways...Because apparently attaching the Burley on the back of a brand new road race bike is frowned upon. Whatever. So, we either wait and ride together at night when the menfolk are home to tend to the chillins. Or, we tag team during the day, and she lets me watch Maggie - the nicest best sleeping baby ever, while she rides. I can ride when the kids are in school, no prob. Tack on that Fall is here, wind conditions are blustery at best right now, rain is not even a bother anymore, but it's getting darker earlier, and you have the master of all planning for two of the coolest moms around. I'm just sayin.

Annnnnnd, our men are doing the team tri - Ricardo, Sven, and uh, Ab's man, are going to swim, bike and run, respectively. That's right, my man is a swimmer now! And the logistics of getting kids to and fro, work, meeting up for workouts with online girlfriend or husband, or both, it gets crazy. But we do it. And I think we've all enjoyed the challenge of the actual workouts as well as the challenge of planning and scheduling.

All this and I'm teaching classes with students who couldn't turn their work in because their computer's down or their car ran out of gas. Really? Maybe I'll come up with some mini-speeches/lectures. The titles will be "JUST EFFN DO IT" or "I BIKED IN THE RAIN TODAY GOT LOST, ASKED FOR DIRECTIONS, THE CHAIN CAME OFF, BUT I STILL DID 20 MILES, WHAT DID YOU DO?" or "MY KID HAS PNEUMONIA AND I STILL MANAGED A 1,000 METER SWIM" or "I'M FAT AND SQUEEZED INTO SPANDEX TODAY AND LIVED TO TELL ABOUT IT" One of the biggest things about triathlons, that I think moms relate to is, planning, preparing, and fabulous accessories. Even when it doesn't quite work out like you thought it would, you make it work. Any triathlete will tell you their precise plan of setting out all of their stuff in perfect order for what's to come in each transition.

I think we are both committed to do this for our own reasons, but it makes a bigger difference that I get the chance to do this with her. Tomorrow, we'll do our third Triathlon. We are triathletes. And kick ass moms. I don't know who I'm more excited for, me or her. Either way, we're doing it together! The triathlon is the reward, the measurement of success for all of our hard work and prioritizing. Can't wait til next season!

Tomorrow is supposed to be a high of 48, with winds of 30 mph, and I can't wait. I'm looking forward to it. I'll just layer up and have my hot cocoa and fireplace waiting for me. I'm a changed Mom. For sure.

That's how I roll.