odds and gobs

Today as I rolled up to my parents' house a half hour after my latest projected arrival time, I thought to myself, I must be part Italian (they're infamously late, right?) My mom said, Mmm, or just an Adams.
But I had been thinking of my invariable draw toward lateness; that is, the fact that I'm always late, and I thought, I either need to get it together and start being on time, or go with it and stop apologizing. If I'm going to keep showing up late to everything, I ought to just show up late with nary a word about it and stop perpetually making excuses. I mean, quirks can be charming, endearing, or at least interesting--whereas apologies indicate wrongdoing, and there is nothing loveable about that. But, I apologize anyway. I'm late; I don't mean to be, but I am. I'm also disorganized, lethargic, and--on occasion--bitingly sarcastic. I apologize, until in the end I apologize for my very existence, a thing I cannot help. That's the Scandinavian in me, not the Italian.
But I'm trying to stop apologizing and just go with it. I'm late. If you can't wait, go on without me, I won't be offended.
I ran a half-marathon on Saturday with my sister-in-law (when I saw that she blogged about it, I figured I'd better too.) It was a lot of fun. I never run with anyone, partly because those things are difficult to arrange, and it's hard to find someone with the same pace as you. I enjoy running alone, so I never trouble about looking for a running partner anyway. But it was uncanny, my sister-in-law (Kirstin, for further reference) and I went exactly the same pace. We stayed together the first 6 miles or so; then I stopped to fill my water, which took exactly a minute, and I remained from there until the end exactly one minute behind Kirstin (about 15o to 200 yards). I was afraid to sprint and catch up, and get too pooped out, because I had to run additional miles after the half-marathon to keep up with my full marathon training. In the end, I did 20 miles, which went super-duper well, and left me feeling very encouraged about my training. I also beat my 1/2 marathon time from last year, and did it in about 2:15:50-somethingish. I do wish I'd have picked it up a little and caught up with Kirstin, though, because I had more fun running with her the first half than I did alone the last half.
On a related note, it's always interesting to see who comes in behind you and who comes in in front of you in a race. You'll see at the beginning a girl in her 20's who is fit and lean, and dressed in authentic running clothes, and you think, This is the last time I'll see her, because she's going to fly down the trail. And it is the last time you see her until the end, because she comes in a good five minutes after you. But then there's a woman in her late forties, with short-shorts and fat, jiggly thighs, a big old white T-shirt and a stupid fanny-pack, and she passes by you during the last 100 yards and beats you! Gah! Well, bless her heart, she is in fact my hero.
Well, I've got to go to the zoo in the morning (sigh, I can't even pretend to feel sorry for myself. I love the zoo) so I'd better get to bed. Just wanted everyone to know I'm alive and well here in MariannaLand. Still perpetually late. Still morbidly afraid of keeping in touch with people. Still secretly wishing I was cool enough to be one of Charlie's Angels. Or at least Bosley.

Chemical Warfare

So, we have these neighbors downstairs who are really heavy smokers. I'm pretty sure they do it for a living, with lots of overtime, because I actually only ever see one of them with any regularity. There's four of them, and the only reason we know that is because Bobby saw the other three move in. Four adults, squashed in there like sardines. It's a pretty sketchy situation.
Anyway, they're heavy smokers. We've been having some trouble with their cigarette (and cigar) smoke creeping up into our home, and making it smell.
We used to have problems with them playing really loud music with a lot of base, so it was like a giant, irregular, heartbeat coming through the floor and filling our home with "thump thump thumpty-thump-thump." (psychological warfare?) We talked to them (which had no permanant effect), and then complained through the association to the homeowners (yep, these guys are renters. Who would rent to these people?! Relatives.) That had a more lasting effect.
But now there's this smoke, and while there are rules about noise and music, there are apparently no rules about smoking so much that it fills your upstairs neighbors home.
Well, the whole thing came to a head last weekend, when from Saturday to Monday they locked themselves up and did nothing but smoke pot. As rank as the regular tobacco smoke was, it was nothing to the absolute vileness of the marijuana smoke. I had every fan in the condo running, our sliding glass door open, trying to get rid of it. It was so bad, when I got home from church on Sunday, as soon as I opened the door the smell wafted out. It was as if they were in our home smoking. If a cop had come over to our house, I wouldn't have know what to say.
I kept trying to figure out what I could do. Bobby said the homeowners association would have to make a rule and vote on it before we could complain through them, and he said the cops couldn't do anything unless there was some other law they were breaking (i.e. selling pot, torturing bunnies) because smoking pot was only a secondary offense (the guy watches a few episodes of Dragnet and suddenly thinks he's an expert. No, I'm kidding. Sort of.)
By Monday afternoon, I was so nauseated, and so worried about Mabel (inhaling second hand pot smoke can't be good), and so dang furious, I called the police station, to see if there was anything they could do. I had given them all of the neighbors' information and all of mine before I realized she was sending officers (I guess to inform them of the complaint?) I was like, "Err, can I be anonymous?" which is precious little good, because I'm pretty sure they've got a fair idea who complained.
Anyway, when Bobby got home he said he saw a couple of cops in the parking lot, so I guess they did their duty. And our condo smelled okay for the rest of the day.
But yesterday, it was like they decided to "get even" by smoking as much as humanly possible. They must have smoked ten thousand cigarettes from dawn to dusk to dawn, which must have cost them a lot of money. And the house stunk, although it was not as bad as the marijuana smell. I told Bobby, they can't afford to do this too often; it's too expensive, and they aren't exactly rolling in the dough.
Sure enough, the next day: today, our home has smelled fine. They must have spent a week's worth of cigarette money yesterday (and disabled their smoke alarms). It is, in it's way, the stupidest kind of revenge--the quintessential "biting your nose to spite your face." Really, you spend a bunch of money to get yourself that much closer to lung cancer and a miserable death, so you can stick it to the upstairs neighbors with a one-year-old kid. Obviously it's that kind of brainpower that gets you living like a cockroach in your own filth, holed up with three other cockroaches, pouring all the money you have into Painful Death stock.
Was that a rant?

Chuck Norris sleeps with a pillow under his gun. I don't sleep at all.

Well, it was pointed out to me that it's difficult to stalk me properly if I don't update my blog (at least, that's not what was said, but that was the general message I got. Can someone say 'lost in translation'?)

Here's a little of what's going on:

I'm trying to get back into running. After I ran the Green River marathon last June, I got a little overenthusiastic and tried to go right into training for another one. Of course, I injured my knee, and between that and the winter weather (and Mabel refusing to keep blanket, hat, and gloves on) I've been doing indoor aerobics. But no namby-pamby indoor aerobics can whip me into shape like running does, and I'm finding it a lot harder to switch from aerobics to running than it was to switch from running to aerobics. But I've set my sights on one last running hurrah. Mabel is going on 19 months, and it's about time I thought about having another baby, but first I have some cancer screening tests that need to be run over the next couple of months (a precaution because of my family history), so I've decided--for those two months--to train for another half-marathon. Not a final one, just a final one until after I have the next baby. I have a month before I need to register for the race, so I figure by then I'll have a good idea how training is going, and if I'll be up to racing. Fingers crossed.

Bobby, on the other hand, will not be training for any marathons anytime soon, half or otherwise. He pinched his sciatic nerve nearly two months ago, and despite much time at the chiropractor and physical therapist, it's just not better. The doctor is sending him in for an MRI and then referring him to an orthopedist. Despite this, Bobby applied for, and received, an new position in Boeing. It's a lateral move, not a promotion, but it will beef up his resume. He will be working at the big Renton 737 factory, which is about 2 or 3 miles from where he's working now, so we're not moving or anything. It will mean he won't be able to come home for lunch anymore (as we know, in the Seattle area, 2 miles amounts to 20 more minutes of driving time. How I wish I were kidding.)

Mabel is large and in charge. I don't know if I've been too indulgent (or lazy) in how I've brought her up so far, or if it's just the personality she was endowed with, but she has an authoritative command, and does not like to be questioned or contradicted. She is not talking yet, so her displeasure and frustration are generally expressed with a long yell of AAAAHHHHH! in my face. But she's so fun. She loves the church Nursery (so do I--I've been in there a year now), playing at the park, coloring in her coloring books (and on everything else before we catch her), reading, and bullying us into giving her junk food (i.e. AAAAHHHHH!) Also playing on our bed, as is shown in the above picture.

She can sign quite a few words; some are more helpful than others (you want a cracker? oh, you want a dinosaur! I can't help you.) She is absolutely the cutest little dickens ever, and we're having a ball with her.

And I can't think of anything else. This is the real reason I don't blog much; there's apparently not much to say. I'm tired and should get to bed. My doctor put me on a low dose of an anti-anxiety medication--the latest effort to combat my insomnia. I'll give it some time, but so far I think it's just making me wake up earlier; I don't actually get to sleep any sooner, even though I'm plenty tired (but not sleepy. I can't wind down.) Maybe some people just weren't meant to sleep. Like Chuck Norris. He doesn't sleep. He waits...

And on that note, farewell.

My thankfuls

Every Thanksgiving since I was five, my family has played a game we call The Thankful Game. This comes after dinner and before pie, and everyone who is present, whether family member or visitor, is required to participate. We begin by taking lots of paper, tearing it into squares, and then everyone takes several squares and writes down what they are thankful for. These "thankfuls" range from the serious gratitude we feel for the Gospel, for our family, and for our jobs; to sillier claims of gratitude for Brian Bosworth (the Boz), my brother Peter's pectorals, and..."A"? We put all these "thankfuls" in a bag, shake them up, and everybody draws out a handful and we read them aloud.

Also, immediate family members are expected to send in their "thankfuls" if they're not able to be present for the thankful game. While on a mission, we mail them to my parents. If we're celebrating Thanksgiving with in-laws, as I am this year, we must drive over to my parents and deliver them in advance so they can be dumped in the bag to be read with the other thankfuls.

One of the problems is that the game has gotten longer and longer as everyone has written more and more each year (and as there are more and more people in the family each year). I have already written my "thankfuls" and will deliver them tomorrow, but to try and keep the game to a more reasonable length, I left out some things that are, perhaps, frivolous, but are things I am nontheless grateful for. So I decided to do a list here. Here are ten things I am grateful for--leaving out the obvious family, heater, and chocolate.

2009 Grateful List:

1. "Leave it to Beaver": I was a long time coming around to this show. But, we don't have cable, and one of the few stations we have is RTN, which is just a lot of old tv shows. I love it! But just the idea of Leave it to Beaver used to make me cringe, until I finally started watching it, and now I eat it up with jam. Plus, Wally makes me think what Bobby was like at that age. Except for not so short.

2. Indoor Play Areas: We got a membership to the Kidsquest Children's Musuem, and I love taking Mabel there. With the weather being cold and wet, and our home being rather limited on toys and space, it's great to have a spacious indoor play area that I can go to almost anytime, with lots of toys I don't have to pick up! I also love the Tuesday playgroups at church, although I do have to help pick up toys.

3. Walk-Aerobics: I've been doing these also since the weather turned foul, and since I injured my knee and can't run anyway. They're obviously not as intense as running, but they still get my heart rate up, and anyway, I'm not so pooped afterward as I am when I run. I love them, and if Leslie Sansome wants to give me money for endorsing her tapes, I won't refuse it.

4. Small Batch Baking: This is a cookbook I got from the library, and I'm lobbying to get it as a Christmas gift. It's written by a woman from the south, which is always a good sign, and it has tons of delicous recipes that will serve just one or two. Cookie recipes that make 3 to 6 cookies, recipes for tiny cakes (baked in aluminum cans. Brilliant!), pies, cobblers, breads, etc. Now that's what I call portion control!

5. Archive.org: This is a website that has public domain books, movies, radio programs, among other things, and you wouldn't believe how much good stuff has fallen into the public domain. While I'm not much interested in reading a book on the computer, they have audio books (read by volunteers, of course) that can be played from your computer, or downloaded and burned onto a CD. There's also gadloads of classic old movies, and old time radio shows, which I used to checkout from the library, on broken-down old tapes, but now I can get them instantly on my computer. Jack Benny, Bob Hope, Edgar Bergen and Charlie McCarthy, Suspense, Dragnet...sigh, the list is endless, and so's the fun.

6. They Might Be Giants and Caspar Babypants: Caspar Babypants in Chris Ballew, the lead singer of The Presidents of the United States of America, which was a favorite band of mine back in junior high/high school. Well, the guy had kids (or, kid) and now has a couple albums of kids music he's written, which is every bit as delightful as his adult music, but with no fear of swears or other questionable material. Plus, you can listen to his entire first album free on his website, which I don't have on hand, so you'll have to google caspar babypants to get it. They Might Be Giants has been and is quite possibly my favorite band of all time, and I recently discovered they're kids music (I think they have at least 5 or 6 albums, and counting, complete with groovy music videos). I'm currently listening to Here Come the 1,2,3's until Here Comes Science comes out. I get them all free at the library, but am also lobbying for these for Christmas.

7. Library Programs: Speaking of the Library...I'm crazy about my tax dollars at work in the different children's programs through KCLS: storytime, fun little concerts (including Caspar Babypants!), plays, etc. I can't really call them free, but since it's something we've paid for with our taxes that I actually can appreciate and enjoy, I like to cash in on that. Plus, it gets us out of the house.

8. Aeropostale: The poor man's American Eagle (which is the poor man's Abercrombie, I think). They've got great clothes, great sales, and annoying music, but two out of three ain't bad.

9. P.G. Wodehouse: My favorite author. Like somebody famous once said, "You cannot be miserable while reading Jeeves and Wooster, and I've tried." I'd say this pretty fairly applies to all of his works. The happiest, bounciest stuff there is, his writing is bound to cheer you up.

10. Mad Libs: I loved these as a kid, and recently bought one on a whim. Bobby and I started doing them together, and we laugh so hard we cry. They're as good as I remember them. Better, perhaps, since I have a bigger vocabulary now.

Happy Thanksgiving, y'all!

Enjoying a well deserved rest

I decided to take a break (if you can call blogging a break--I know some of you can), even though it looks like I haven't done anything today. In fact, it looks like the only thing I've done is mess up the house--it was all picked up last night, and now it is scattered with toys (Mabel won't let anything be picked up), dishes (our dishwasher isn't working again), and boxes (I haven't made it to the post office yet).
But, in my defense, I've been up since six o'clock in the morning, which is not my thing, but it's the best time for me to go to the gym, and I didn't get a nap because Mabel was unusually erratic with hers. And I did do laundry, ironing, shopping, and attempted to get the oil changed (the dealership went bankrupt though, and the new one isn't honoring the free oil changes for life. So glad I drove all the way to Kirkland to find that out. Glad they didn't tell me when I called and made the appointment, because I really like surprises.) Now that I'm warmed up, I'll have to really get the oil changed tomorrow. I also have a homemade quiche in the oven, which--like Amelia Bedelia with her pies--I hope will appease the helpmeet when he gets home.
What I'm trying to say is, give me a break.
I was going to write about our recent trip to Coeur D'Laine, but the time is not ripe. Mabel, who is even more capricious than me, even though she has gotten more sleep, is requesting my attention by standing on my foot, jumping, and pounding on the keyboard.

Back from retirement

I was reminded once again yesterday of the existance of this blog, and the length of time it has been since I posted anything. It's funny, the demotivator (or, anti-successory, if you prefer) on my Despair calender for September is Blogging; with the legend reading: "Never have so many people with so little to say said so much to so few." So I guess I'll say a bit about nothing to you few.

For those who don't know, I was able to run the Green River Marathon back in June--my time was 5 hours 18 minutes. I was hoping to keep it under 5 hours, but that will be my goal for the next one. Speaking of the next one, I am signed up to do another in October--the Leavenworth Oktoberfest marathon, but my knee has been bothering me a lot, so we'll see what happens. It's just over a month away, and I'd rather lose my entrance fee than blow out my knee.

In other news, I got the part of Titania (the fairy queen) in our Stake's production of A Midsummer Night's Dream. We'll be performing October 15th-17th, so if you're able, come on down to Renton and see it.

Mabel also had her first birthday just a couple of weeks ago, which was a lot of fun. I made lemon cupcakes and red velvet cupcakes, and Mabel got her very own red velvet cupcake. She knew exactly what to do with it, and ate it like it was an apple--holding it tightly in her little fists. I think she figured something this good couldn't be for her, and was waiting for someone to take it away from her.

Just a few days after her birthday, I decided she was old enough to start getting to sleep on her own, and crying it out if needs be, and she's done remarkably well. She hadn't been sleeping well for months, but once we set a bedtime, and kept it consistentant, she's been sleeping about 12 hours each night and we are all much happier and better-rested now. She's only taking one nap now, and it's generally just an hour, so I always tell myself I'm going to make the most of it--but I usually just end up relaxing (which, I suppose, is really making the most of it. It's really the hardest thing to get done while Mabel is awake.)

Well, that's about it. I'm tired, and Mabel just went down for her nap, so I reckon it's time for me to veg a bit. Over and out...

Head colds, Half Marathons, and Boot Camp, OH MY!

So, I finished the half-marathon down in Tennessee. It was unseasonably hot (even for Tennessee) that day, pushing 90 degrees, but I outsmarted the heat by having a cold. Pretty sharp, I thought. Needless to say, I didn't get the best time (2:32), but I didn't die, either (one young man did--although they say he had a heart condition. I have my doubts. He was, after all, in the military.)
I want you to take special note of the metal around my neck, though. It is the last time I saw it outside of Mabel's mouth. She took a real fancy to it, and it became a glorified chew toy. She has cut two teeth, though presumably she could have done so without my metal.

After letting the mutant cold virus rock my world for nearly a month, I finally got some antibiotics, which cleared things right up. However, now I'm trying to ease back into running, which hasn't been so easy, and with the Marathon less than a month off, I'm starting to get nervous. I've had to make some altercations to my training schedule, and as long as I don't have to make any more, I should be okay (I hope).

Bobby and I signed up at a health club (or meat market, to Dad) and I was going three times a week (except when I was sick) and felt like I was pushing pretty hard--certainly I was sweating pretty profusely--but I was never very sore the next day, and was not seeing much difference. So I decided to start attending one of the classes--Boot Camp. I don't generally like going to classes; I feel clumsy and stupid excersising in front of people (that's probably why I chose running as my sport to begin with, it takes little coordination, just a basic one foot in front of the other. I can do that.) but I needed something to push me. It did. I attended Boot Camp for the first time last night. "Boot Camp" was not a figure of speech, nor a name they tagged on to a beginners class to make it sound tougher. I hurt so bad, in places I didn't know I had on my body. I had never heard of Jumping Squats before last night, and I never want to hear of them again. Of course, I'm totally going back next week. Does Advil make a sports drink?