Don't Get Too Excited...

...because this isn't a "real" post yet. Give me about another week and things should quiet down enough that I can get back to work.

However, in the meanwhile, I'm going to share some personal history that is evidence I need someone to cook for me.

Not because I'm lazy (that's beside the point) or because I don't enjoy it (also beside the point).

Because I am lucky that so far, I have not (entirely) burned down a house due to one of my cooking disasters.

Stuff burning in our kitchen is probably a weekly occurrence. I have no patience to stay in (or even near) the kitchen while waiting for something mundane to happen, like bringing the frozen pizza to an edible temperature. Plus, I figure if I can set a timer, the four-year-old can come let me know when it beeps (she's actually better about this than the Moroccan), and I can come fetch whatever it was from the oven. I am the Queen of Multitasking. (Note: I specifically did not say I was the Queen of Successful Multitasking.) So I will deposit something in the oven or on the stove, leave to use the restroom, walk by the computer on the way back and end up reading Facebook posts until the smoke detector goes off.

My mother really did try to teach me to cook, and when I have the time and patience (which is rare enough that it's safest to say "never"), I can follow basic recipes. I make fantastic French Toast and excellent grilled cheese (which is almost exclusively what I lived on while in Japan). However, I don't eat much of those any more, which means I'm either eating something raw (green peppers are a favorite), packaged (yay for string cheese), or I'm picking out the least burnt parts of whatever I tried to cook. If I'm really lucky*, the Moroccan cooks dinner early enough for me to eat AND prepares enough for me. This is rare though as he likes to eat at 9 or 10 pm at earliest--if I eat that late and close to when I go to bed, I don't feel well in the morning. Plus if I want to go work out, I have to eat a couple hours before then because running is hard enough without trying to simultaneously digest. In any case, my cooking is atrocious. I probably shouldn't even call it cooking because cavepeople had to have had more culinary skills than me or they would have starved to death since they couldn't, you know, open a new can of food when the first one ends up charcoal.

*The Moroccan has a different definition of "lucky" than I do.

The first signs that I had issues (that I remember) were in high school. I was making baked potatoes and decided to brush premelted butter on them. Unfortunately, since it was already melted, it dripped to the bottom of the oven. I was in the kitchen when I heard KKSSSHHHH.......pwooof! KKSSSHHHHH.....pwoof! When I turned around, I saw something that can only be truly described as a direct copy of the flame spurts in the fire swamp from The Princess Bride.

Yeah, Mom wasn't too happy about that one. However, since the butter that dripped onto the bottom of the oven would sizzle, then burst into flame, we kind of felt like it might not be wise to open the oven door, so we had to just wait until the potatoes were done. Except for a very few scorch marks, amazingly they turned out okay.

During the same period of my life I set the toaster on fire. In my defense, I would like to explain that all I did was put in two slices of bread and push the button. However, since I already had the fire swamp episode behind me, when the toaster burst into flames and set the cupboard above it on fire, somehow my family decided that it was my fault that this had occurred. It didn't help that I had walked out of the kitchen while the toaster was on and someone else had to deal with the problem.

Jump ahead to after college (I lived in the dorms all through college and although I complained regularly about the food, clearly I'd never had to live off of my own cooking for that long a period of time or I would have kept the whining to myself) and I moved to Japan--but I already told you about how I lived on French Toast and grilled cheese there. My problems with cooking in Japan were not so much things being burnt. I had a shoebox apartment, with a one-burner stove that was right next to my miniature sink. For reference, both the burner and the sink fit into a surface area the size of a regular cookie sheet, if that. The problem was that if so much as a drop of water got into the element of the burner, it shorted it out for several days, meaning I couldn't cook (or burn) anything, so I had a lot of convenience store food since I couldn't afford restaurants.

Come home from Japan and one of my few cooking achievements was a lasagna dish I made one night for my roommate. It was fantastic. It took me two days of planning, a week's worth of grocery money for the specialty ingredients, an hour of prep the night before, and four hours that night.

Seriously? I don't have that kind of time to cook. It's actually cheaper and faster to burn something, toss it, and go out to eat. I've never put forth that much effort on a single dish since.

Okay, yes, there are simpler recipes and cheaper ingredients. Not the point here.

I. Don't. Enjoy. Cooking.

And not enjoying it does not motivate me to learn to be better so I don't suck at it quite so much.

Instead, I am a culinary fire hazard.

My biggest catastrophe in my current home was the actually very serious grease fire that I (accidentally) set last year, resulting in a damaged (but still functional) microwave, scorch marks that go up the cupboards and onto the ceiling, third degree burns on The Moroccan's hand, and burns on the dog (we literally had to go to the doggie ER to get her treated). I escaped unscathed (physically), because I was so useless running around screaming ohmigod! whatdowedo? whatdowedo? that The Moroccan told me to just get out of the way.

Since then, the number of burned meals has not really changed, nor has my attention span or apparent ability to care enough to do something about it.

Tonight though, was probably one of my lowest moments.

I decided to make a special treat using Halloween candy: S'mores.

It turns out that you can, in fact, burn graham crackers in the microwave. And when they are burned especially badly, they get stuck to the plate (Note to self: burnt graham crackers could replace super glue, must see if we can get a patent on this).

I did manage to successfully create some unburnt S'mores afterwards, but since the kitchen and family room smelled like smoke, it was a bit hard to tell. Also I belatedly remembered that I've never really enjoyed S'mores because I don't really like marshmallows, and my daughter and husband don't really like chocolate, so the whole thing was really an exercise in futility.

Except, of course, to remind me that I need someone else to cook for me.

In Transition

Since a few of my readers have asked...here's the status.

I'm in transition. Kinda like between events at a triathlon, except I seem to be moving much more slowly.

As to my current lack of goals/direction, I was awaiting a judging schedule before thinking about competition dates and what goals to set around those unset events. I'm sad not to be doing Catalina, but couldn't justify the costs. Maybe another year, when I can justify the costs.

As for posting, I have had some good things happen, I've had some "issues" (as one friend put it, she has so many "issues" that she has "subscriptions"...sadly, I totally understand and identify), and I've had some challenges.

In the interests of not sharing things that are not other people's business (I tend to share more than I should as it is), one of my ways of dealing with personal stress and stressful situations is to turn someone inward. Also, I know if I posted details about some of them, it would get back to those people, either directly as they read this, or indirectly, and the fallout from that would create more stress and more problems.

The way I deal with stress? Not healthy. I eat. Or I spend money. Or both. Sometimes I spend money at a restaurant. You know, kill two birds with one stone and all that. And if I'm really stressed, then I go shopping after I eat at the restaurant. Then I come home and try to escape into a book.

That is not to say that whenever I don't post, I'm having a face-stuffing fest. I also don't post when I'm on vacation or I'm just plain busy.

In the last three weeks, I've had all of the above. I put together a massage continuing education conference and was getting ready for it. Then I was gone for three days at the conference, out of even cell phone range. I got back and had several meetings during the week and then judged both days on the weekend. Then I had more meetings and another business trip where I actually had to fly out of state. Then we had busy events that meant that I didn't have time to even sleep properly all weekend. Now I'm having to deal with the details of moving my practice in 12 days. And in the middle of that, personal stress.

And we've already covered how I deal with stress. Negatively. I tend to do the opposite of what would be good for me, which I know is silly, but it's what happens. And when I get upset, same thing. And some of the stress was caused by things that upset me. And now I'm starting too many sentences with the word and.

So I'm in transition. Trying to move my brain to de-stress mode so I can stop my backwards unhelpful behavior, get everything done, and in the meanwhile life goes on.

I will post more when I'm a little less scattered and (hopefully) have figured out what I'm transitioning to.

Back on the Judging Circuit

I got my judging assignments back in August, as I might have mentioned sometime back then but since I'm too lazy to check and can't remember so few people read this anyway, I'm reiterating it. (Sorry. Thank you for reading, really!)

Combined with family events, holidays, massage events, adding judging to my weekends means that I don't have a free weekend between Labor Day until the first weekend after Thanksgiving.

Actually, this is a good thing, because it means there will be (slightly) more cash flow in the budget. Maybe even enough for a new bed frame.

So today was my first (paid) day judging. I judged last weekend, but it was a volunteer event that earns me the cost of my judging membership dues, so while I benefit, it's not really money I can spend.

I'm going to be repetitive for a moment. This is the start of the judging season. Which should logically follow that it's the start of the competitive season. Meaning some athletes (those who competed last year or who have exceptional talent) are, um, "more prepared" than others.

Yes, coaching comes into play for this, but as a former coach, I'm not going to slam coaches who have lousy teams, nor am I going to put on a pedestal coaches with exceptional teams. In my 18 years of coaching experience, I've seen athletes who excel under (in my opinion) lousy coaches, and likewise, phenomenal coaches who have athletes who are never going to be on the awards stand. Some of it is gym policy, some of it is the program (or lack thereof) that is built around those coaches (for example, the strength/weakness of the recreational and developmental coaches who feed athletes into the competitive program), some of it is luck, some of it is gym reputation, and yes, the good majority is what a coach can do with the kids they get. I've seen any number of these combinations. Today was no exception.

There were kids--and this is compulsories (quick review: everyone does the same routine and it means hearing the floor music 60some times over a period of about three hours), which is the beginning levels of competition--who were nearly flawless. I think we handed out a couple of 9.775s. Yay, girls!

I also had to give out the lowest score I've ever given. Which actually made me really sad. I wanted to go offer her and her coach advice, but that's one of the things we really aren't supposed to do as judges. If a coach comes up and asks the right question in the right context and you're in a state (I am) where the coach/judge relationship is pretty good and you're not at any kind of a championship meet (we weren't), then factual information can be given.

For example, "if she hadn't left out that one skill, it would add up to 1.6 to her score."

And then, although still the lowest score we handed out yesterday, it wouldn't have been the lowest score I ever gave.

I'd still feel badly for her, though.

Perhaps because I have delusions of grandeur I had some levels of success of a coach, it's times like these that I think, Gosh, I wish I could go to that gym and coach for them and help those poor girls.

But I'm done coaching. And, like I said before, I can't see what goes on in that gym or judge the coach (at least, not entirely) by his athletes, and I could end up just as trapped by circumstance anyway.

We saw a few other routines that were in the low zone. Usually odd mishaps that the penalties happen to be severe for (and it was the beginning of the season--live and learn), but just none that were so low. What's worse is that when I reviewed my calculations for that score--I missed a couple of things and it should have been even lower.

And because it was one of the last routines of the day, it stuck with me. I hope that kid doesn't quit. I hope that she has a good support system around her. I hope that she stays active.

In the meanwhile, and hoping the rest of the season will not have a repeat of such an event, I'm looking forward to it. Because today's paycheck was about half of the bed frame I want.

I Forgot My Own Lesson

A few years after we were married, I accidentally learned a lesson about getting things that I want. If there's something that's a semi-large to large expense, but that we can finance reasonably, need severely, or even just really really want, but I'm the one that wants/needs it and my husband doesn't see the value, we don't get it.

To be clear: I am NOT slamming my husband here. He manages our budget and despite two layoffs (equalling 9 months of no income), we haven't lost a house or a car or (for the most part) our standard of living. So bravo to him (truly).

Here's the thing: there have been several instances where there has been something that I wanted/needed that were rather large purchases. Things that would truly take planning, make a dent in the budget so that we'd have to compensate somewhere else, and--here's the key--he wasn't convinced that we needed.

Let's look at a little case history.

Way back in 2004, I took a few sewing classes. There was this super-duper, fancy-pantsy, ultra-wow sewing machine that I saw and wanted. It was also super-duper, fancy-pantsy, ultra-wow expensive. When I mentioned it could be my birthday present, I believe there was mumbling in Arabic that I presume translated to something along the lines of, "Right, and then we'll move into a mansion."

Jump ahead to early 2006. I'm pregnant and my car had died. I was bicycling/using public transportation for three-plus hours a day to get to and from work. (My husband, who was a 15-minute bike ride from work was driving his functional car.) I ended up miscarrying (not related to the bicycle riding), but still had no transportation that did not involve self-propellment and/or digging change out of my husband's wallet.

I'd helpfully emailed him a list of items for a new car. It looked something like this:

Must-haves
decent gas mileage
front wheel drive or 4-wheel drive to be functional in snow
good/low maintenance
4-door model so I won't break my back bending a seat forward to put in a car seat if we ever have a kid
room for my massage table in it

It-would-be-nice-ifs
functional stereo
air-conditioning
sideview mirrors on both sides
automatic locks so I could lock all the doors at once
trip meter

As-long-as-I'm-dreaming
one of those fancy button keys that unlocks the car
a sunroof
bunwarmers (you know, the seats with heat in them)
a CD changer in the stereo
rear wiper
something not ugly

Note: my old Subaru Justy that I drove after college for about 5 years was only $1500 back then. If you could find one with four doors, that would be fine with me.

Apparently even my "must-haves" list was too demanding because I never even got a response to my new car features list.

A few weeks after the miscarriage, I had to borrow his car because I had several doctor's appointments that I couldn't get to in time with my bike and public transit and still get to work. The next day, I (accidentally, I swear) forgot to return his car key and when I took off on my merry way on my bicycle, I didn't think anything of it.

Until a mile from home, riding in the bike lane on a fairly busy street, I hear my name shouted right behind my left ear. I nearly wet my pants fell off the bike I was so startled. Turns out it was my husband, who'd gone to leave for work, couldn't find his car keys, realized I still had them, ran out, got on his bike, and chased me down. This was when I discovered that I still had his car keys. Coincidentally, it was when he decided that he needed for me to have my own car again.

That night he had a list of car options for me. We picked up the new car one month to the day after my miscarriage (and it had everything except bun warmers and four-wheel drive).

Several months ahead, in late 2006. Bob had destroyed beyond cleaning several spots on the carpet, we'd bought and housebroken a Golden Retriever, which had also destroyed beyond cleaning several spots on the carpet, and we'd got suckered into volunteered to dogsit my sister's bulemic dog (fine, it's not bulemic, it has a birth defect, but the end result is total involuntary binge-and-purge behavior), which added to the destroyed beyond cleaning spots on the carpet. Which meant we could no longer strategically place rugs/furniture on the floor to cover things up. I was stating, repeatedly, that we needed to get new floor. My husband, who I'm now going to just refer to as "The Moroccan" did his consumer reports research, shopped around for the decided-upon laminate flooring, and determined that we couldn't afford it.

Since I was pregnant, I was reiterating the need for the floor because there was no way I was going to let "Wiggly" (as we called our daughter before she was born, rather than referring to "the baby" or "it") crawl around on that carpet. Again I was reminded that it was not in the budget.

However, The Moroccan had also started sewing. In fact, he was sewing more complicated things than I have ever sewn. And better than me. Honestly, I was totally jealous proud of him. He was talking about selling his creations and he was getting frustrated with the limitations of our sewing machine.

I took him to the store with the super-duper, fancy-pantsy, ultra-wow sewing machine and had them demo some different machines--since honestly, some of what he was doing was beyond my skill level, I figured it would be better if they explained it to him. You know, since I would try to influence his decision couldn't.

About 45 minutes of demonstration later, after a demo on the super-duper, fancy-pantsy, ultra-wow sewing machine, he turns to me and asks, "Do you want it?"

I was stunned. For a whole lot of reasons, including that the sewing machine asking price was 3-4 times what we'd estimated that the flooring (which we couldn't afford) would cost.

I carefully responded, "Yes and no....Yes, I want it, but no because we don't need it and we need new floors FIRST. Which we can't afford, so no, I don't want this machine. I need new floors."

I swear to goodness that if looks could kill, the saleslady (who I am friends with), would have decapitated me with laser vision at that moment.

My husband sat there, trying to process what I'd just told him. "But I thought you really really wanted this super-duper, fancy-pantsy, ultra-wow sewing machine."

I repeated. "Yes, I want it. I don't need it. I need new floors. And no way am I letting you buy this sewing machine if we can't get new floors."

Again with the saleslady death look.

Now, in case you haven't already caught it (I hadn't at this point), something MAJOR had just happened. The super-duper, fancy-pantsy, ultra-wow sewing machine had changed from something I wanted to something The Moroccan wanted. I didn't realize this until several months later when I was retelling the story to a friend and it was pointed out to me. Which is why I'm pointing it out now.

The Moroccan says, "What if we could get the floors and the sewing machine?"

I believe at this point I actually snorted. Which is when the saleslady stepped in and sweetened the deal with same-as-cash financing, reminding us of a rebate, and throwing in a couple of discounts and freebies.

I shrugged. "If our budget went from we can't afford new floors that we need to we can afford the floors AND the super-duper, fancy-pantsy, ultra-wow sewing machine in a matter of 45 minutes, I'm not going to argue. I don't understand it, but I'm not going to argue."

He asked for a calculator, paper, and pen, and then spent about 20 minutes (after the store was supposed to close) mumbling and scribbling.

We drove away with the super-duper, fancy-pantsy, ultra-wow sewing machine in the back of my car and the promise of new floors before Wiggly would be born.

Are you seeing the pattern yet? If it's me that wants the big purchase, it doesn't really happen. Once he decides that we want/need the purchase, it happens. (I would like to note that both the car, sewing machine, and flooring purchases were all made before his first layoff--at his job where the income and benefits were significantly greater than they are now.)

In other words, if I could use this technique sparingly (because there is a point where the budget won't bend, no matter what) and strategically, I might have a little less frustration waiting time before we get things.

Except the problem is, I can't seem to remember to use it.

Until today, when I realized, that accidentally (again), I had.

Our waterbed, which I loved for years and honestly, still really do like, hurts my back too much to sleep on it any more. And by "too much" I mean "so much that I haven't slept on it pretty much for the past two years." I've been hinting that if we got a good mattress, we wouldn't have to get a boxspring and we could use the waterbed frame and I wouldn't have to camp out on the futon/massage table/our daughter's bed any more.

But good mattresses are expensive, and--you guessed it--not in the budget.

When we got back from visiting my sister this summer, we discovered that our cat had been locked in the bedroom all 11 days that we were gone--without food or a litterbox. Yes, she survived (by drinking toilet water), and no, we're really not sure how it happened, and no, the housesitter didn't notice because that cat hides under the furniture if a strong breeze blows three counties away.

The cat survived. The carpet and some of our possessions did not.

The master bedroom was one of a few remaining areas in our house that we have not refloored since we moved in (along with the kitchen, my bathroom, and the front entryway). Mostly because we didn't want to disassemble the king size waterbed with 12 storage drawers and a cupboard underneath and a monster headboard with shelves. Now it was unavoidable.

The room was so horrendous smelling that even with fans blowing out the window 24/7, it was stinking up the rest of the house. Even The Moroccan, who can't normally smell very well (long story involving broken nose and reconstruction), couldn't deal with it and started camping out in the living room.

Know what? I've been asking for a new bed (or at least mattress) for two years. It only took two months of him sleeping on the futon to announce, "I've had enough. We've got to get a new bed."

My point? Once again, it was something that he thought we needed. And not being (totally) stupid* I seized the moment and took us mattress shopping today.

*If I was smart at all, I would have failed to replace the waterbed heater a couple of years ago when it broke because he had to sleep on the futon then too.

I happen to have relatives in the mattress manufacturing industry and had actually done some shopping around. Not that I didn't trust them when I was told that they offer great mattresses at reasonable prices. No, it was because The Moroccan won't buy anything without cross-comparison shopping done first.

I discovered that my relatives do, in fact, have the most reasonable rates on comparable mattresses, so I hauled The crutches-using Moroccan down to the showroom. (Another "get stuff" tactic I might want to keep in mind--take him shopping when he is somehow disabled because he'll just want to be done with the process. Not sure if it will work yet though.)

We found a couple that we really liked but were a little undecided. We had chosen the one we liked the best, but my relative wouldn't let us buy it--she said it was important to wait and then come back. However, I was wanting to get this done NOW (not because I was afraid my husband would change his mind, but because I am So. Tired. Of. Sleeping. With. A. Four-year-old. So she sent us over to the next closest showroom (about 10 minutes away), because they had one more model there we hadn't tried and it would give us some time to "step away" from the one we'd liked and see if we liked it as much when we tried it again.

We ended up buying the other model. We didn't get the "foundation" for it because we haven't chosen a bed frame. I had actually looked at IKEA yesterday to see if they had anything I liked and see what the price ranges were. I don't know what we'll do on that yet, but apparently it's "not in the budget."

For now, I've totally burned out the "he needs it so we'll get it" method and I'm not testing the "taking you shopping on crutches" again right away, so I think I'm going to have to hope I make enough money judging that I can make the big purchase.

More News From the Stupid Zone

Yesterday I was feeling pretty miserable--runny nose, total sinus headcold thing going on--and it had been building for a few days. But I don't really have time to be sick, so I basically ignored it and kept going. Perhaps this is how I run myself into the ground at times. Anyway, I was not at 100%.

Today my husband was having orthoscopic knee surgery and while I was at the hospital, I had a total sneeze attack and my eyes felt like they had sand underneath my eyelids and I wanted to scratch. them. out.

I was thinking to myself, Wow, I feel really sorry for people with allergies. They deal with this all the time.

Then I went, Wait. I have allergies. Maybe this isn't a cold.

I took some Benadryl and now I'm feeling much better.

In defense of my cluelessness reasoning, I have not had reactions from my environmental allergies since 1999, unless I count the allergy test done in 2003. So it wasn't the first thing that came to mind.

Now I'm wondering if that "cold" I had all winter and spring earlier this year?...might have been allergies.

Just a Few of My Problems

1) Ketchup addiction.

2) An inability to keep ketchup on my food while transferring said food to my mouth.

3) Directly related, shirts without ketchup stains.

4) Finding I have spilled ketchup on myself somewhere other than a shirt (in this instance, the side of my knee--and how did it get there?) is where this really gets worse.

5) (And most disturbing) My first and implemented idea for cleaning this up was to have the dog come lick it off.

Apparently We Weren't Done with the Sick

I had one of my insomniac nights last night where I just couldn't get to sleep. I think I drifted off around 4:00 am.

My husband woke me at 6:30 to ask questions about my daughter's plan for the day. Then she woke up and came in and wanted to talk with me for an hour as my husband was getting ready.

I know, I know, someday I will look back on this and wish my daughter still wanted to talk to her mommy for an hour, but all I could think right then was that I just wanted to sleep.

Finally, they left the house.

What felt like two seconds later, my phone rang. It was actually just after 9:00, but it was my daughter's French preschool, informing me that she had diarrhea and needed to be picked up immediately.

Yay.

I got up, showered, let the dog out, and took off to her school. The teacher didn't seem terribly pleased (not that I blame her; their policy on that is pretty clear). My daughter wasn't too upset; she wanted to know where we were going to go instead. I went grocery shopping and then she was begging for sushi. Having a bit of a craving myself, I went ahead and took her to my favorite local place.

She'd just barely eaten the tops off of her crab salad when she informed me she needed to go potty. Since we've been dealing with accidents, I tried not to show my annoyance, but I was kinda frustrated that once again, she waited until we'd started a meal to go take care of business.

In the restroom, she had another bout of what got her sent home from French school. Then she threw up. Luckily, she didn't get any on either of us and some of it even made it into the toilet. I cleaned up the bathroom as best I could with paper towels, informed the wait staff that someone might want to go in and sanitize the place, paid for our meal, and left.

Apparently a good thing she came home from the preschool.

I called her pediatrician, who told me we'd done all the right things so far in regulating what she was eating and doing, and that this was probably just an "aftershock" so I didn't need to worry and to put her on the BRAT diet (bananas, rice, applesauce, toast).

My daughter thought today was GREAT because I sat her on the couch, turned on whatever movies she asked for, and took her liquids or nibbles of food every 10 minutes.

Of course, the poor little thing is now exhausted and took a 4-hour nap.

Now if we can just get her insides back to normal.

Labor Day Weekend Getaway: Day 4

I woke up at 7:40 this morning and panicked. I was sleeping on the massage table because I still wasn't able to get through all the vomit laundry enough to remake the bed and the futon--which just enough laundry was done to make it--was taken over by my husband and daughter.

The reason for the panic was that my husband was supposed to leave the house at 4:30 in the morning and I hadn't heard him get up.

Apparently I was SO tired that I slept through him getting up, getting ready, and leaving.

However, I was still a bit panicky because I'd bribed the neighbor girl to come help me with some chores today so that I could surprise my husband when he came home from his fishing/surfing trip and they (her mom offered to come help too) were supposed to be here at 8:00. I'm totally not one of those people that would clean before the cleaning people came (if I could ever afford cleaning people), but in this case, I at least needed a path and sort of workspaces.

I also was utterly ashamed at the kitchen. Again, not along the lines of cleaning before the cleaning people come, but needing a path and truly needing a non-offensive environment to work in.

Amazingly, by 10:00 am, with the neighbors helping, my daughter's room had been cleaned, including going through her clothes for fit. The vomit laundry had all been washed, and the rest of Mt. Laundry folded, and the kitchen had been cleaned.

I'd honestly expected an all-day project and so I was a little confused as to what to do with the rest of my day.

I did manage to haul the water mattress out to finish draining it (the siphon out the window didn't get the last of it), piled up my recycling cans and bottles in the car, and then got some other tasks done for the preschool.

My husband actually caught three salmon! The fishing license was only good for two, so he gave one to my cousin, and all three guys on the boat maxed out their tags.

He was really happy when he came home--so much so that he thanked me for arranging the day and told me he really appreciated it.

Oh, and he's going back next weekend to go fishing again.

Labor Day Weekend Getaway: Day 3

The plan: hubby takes Friday off work, we go camping, spending 3 nights at a campground, days spent visiting with my relatives and hubby surfing when he can, come back Monday.

The reality: oh so very different.

At 1:20 this morning, in our brand-new tent, I was woken by my daughter puking on me. As I was trying to disentangle myself from the now-messy sleeping bags so that I could get shoes on and get us out of the tent and showered, we had continuing reverse digestion performances.

I finally got us both out of the tent and into the showers. When we were done, I left the dirty clothes in the shower room and went back later with the garbage bags I'd thankfully thrown in to the car at the last minute when I'd packed on Friday. When I arrived back at the tent, we found that my husband had pulled the messy items out and stashed them under the car, then rearranged the clean stuff left into a sleeping area again and he'd already fallen back asleep.

He was less than pleased when I informed him that we were going home, now. Yes, at 2:00 in the morning, and I would drive if he was too tired. No, I wouldn't be going back to the relatives house to pick up the cooler--I would do that later, and yes, I was going to make a separate trip. So I drove.

We got home about 4:00 am, left most of the stuff in the car (I did pull out some of the worst items and started a load of vomit laundry) and promptly went to bed. At 6:30 I was woken by another round of reverse digestion. This made me extremely grateful that I'd insisted on leaving the campground as I was going to start another load of vomit laundry but discovered the first load really wasn't clean enough for the dryer, so ran it again and left a pile in the hallway.

I set up the massage table for my daughter to sleep on as it was the only place that was now covered with vinyl that could be easily cleaned and went and slept on one of the futons myself.

If I haven't complained about it lately, let me remind you that our master bedroom is completely out of commission due to the cat being locked in there for 11 days when we went to visit my sister earlier this summer. Before leaving, we'd completely emptied the room, including disassembling the waterbed, so we were really limited on where we could sleep at this point.

At 10:00, I dragged myself up out of bed and headed for the coast to pick up the cooler. When I got there, my relatives house was near deserted--apparently I'd just missed everyone and they'd gone their own ways for the afternoon, but were expected back in about an hour.

I ended up setting up a fishing trip for my husband with some of the guys, buying a one-day fishing license for him, and playing games with some of the aunts.

I got home around 8:00. Our daughter was fine all day, except that her backside outputs were still demonstrating signs that things were not quite all right internally. Her energy levels, however, far exceeded mine as I was exhausted when I finally went to bed.

Labor Day Weekend Getaway: Day 2

I sorta forgot to mention to my husband that often the dory fishermen will stay at the campground and they start up their boats at about 4:30 in the morning. He wasn't exactly thrilled to be woken. Oops.

We did actually get up around 7:00 as our daughter wasn't going to sleep any more and kept informing us, "It's in the MORNING. Let's get up! It's in the MORNING."

I actually pulled out my laptop and my phone, connected to the internet on wifi, and got a small project done while sitting at our picnic table in my pajamas. I was just finishing up when I noticed my husband was dressing our daughter and I got annoyed.

As background, let me explain.

When I talked about camping at a campground, I said I wanted to do this specifically because I wasn't sure we'd be able to use the showers at my relatives house (too many people, too crazy), so I wanted to go to a campground where we could shower. He agreed. I made reservations at, and informed him of such, at a campground with showers.

He was part of the conversation last night when I told my relatives where we were staying and that I was glad they had showers there.

When we pulled into the campground, I pointed them out and said, "Look! There's the showers--and not too far from our campsite!"

I informed him last night, as we were going to bed, that I wasn't going to bathe our daughter prior to sleeping as we'd go take a shower in the morning.

As we got up, I informed him I wanted to get our showers before we got going.

As we had breakfast, I said, "When she's done with breakfast, I want to go take a shower."

I got distracted with my project and as I finished (as I already stated), he was dressing her, and I got annoyed. "I wish you hadn't done that," I told him. "I was just going to take her to get a shower."

His response? "Why didn't you tell me?"

I grabbed the things we'd need for the shower, and walked off. Got to the showers and--turns out you have to pay for the shower (which explained the change machine I'd noticed last night and wondered what people would need change for). Went back to the car, grabbed $4.00, hoping it would be enough, and went and got change. In the shower, put a quarter in the machine and . . . nothing. Another quarter and PRESTO! Hot water.

We showered, got dressed, and headed back to our campsite. Hubby packed for surfing and off we went to the beach.

He changed into his gear and we left his bag on the sand. I drove off with my daughter and we got breakfast at a little local cafe and then headed back to pick up my husband, who came shivering out of the water a little bit later. Apparently it was really cold--much more so than the normal "really cold" we get there. After defrosting his feet, we headed up to my relatives place, where we were fed fresh crab, fresh grilled salmon, and oysters. Plus we got to sit around and talk to my relatives--I very much enjoyed hearing the stories from years past.

We kept catching my daughter with platefuls of blackberries and finally cut her off. Unfortunately, even after cutting her off, it seemed that every time we turned around, she had more berries in front of her. I started packing her full of cheese as I was afraid of what the outputs would become tomorrow.

My aunt and uncle have a bunch of plastic tables and chairs--the kind that stack neatly, but aren't for heavy-duty use. With the uneven surface of the driveway and people shifting around on tables as we tried to escape the sun in favor of shade, there were a few casualties. Having had an "experience" with one of those chairs before (I fell over backwards into bushes and had a heck of a time getting back up as no one would help me because they were too busy laughing too hard), I was very careful when I placed and then sat down in my chair.

Apparently I wasn't careful enough.

As I went to stretch at one point, the chair went over backwards. Luckily (?) I crashed into a stump and rolled over sideways. It really tweaked my back though and I ended up going inside to lie down on the floor and stretch. I got stuck. Fully humiliated, I managed to v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y get into a crawling positing and worm my way onto the couch. I laid there for a bit trying to just breathe to get comfortable and get my back out of spasm.

After a couple of hours, I was able to straighten and walk again, but really just wanted to go back to the campground and go to bed. My husband decided to take off and go surfing again, so my daughter and I stayed with the relatives some more and she snuck still more blackberries. Finally we headed back to the campground and settled down for the night.

Or so we thought, but technically that will happen on tomorrow's entry.

Labor Day Weekend Getaway: Day 1

My husband took work off today so that we could get an early start on a planned camping trip/family reunion at the beach. My family has been doing some kind of a gathering at the beach for over 60 years. My mom used to tell me stories about when she went as a kid and I remember going myself 30 years ago. So now that I have my own family, of course, I continue the tradition of heading over for the weekend.

Of course, the event has changed over the years. It had already changed when I was a kid and I remember all the "grownups" talking about how it used to be and "remember whens." I can't speak to that time, but the memories I have are of camping at my great-uncle's place on the huge field by his house, along with 4 or 5 other families, some of whom would get to chatting after arriving and forget to set up their tents until after dark, when everyone would be stumbling around with flashlights and "shushing" the kids while they half-shouted curse words at the stubborn tents.

In the morning, we'd get up and pile into various cars and drive down to the put-in on the river. We'd load up 2-3 dories while my uncle joked around with the coast guard, ASSURING them that we were 1) not over the boat's capacity and 2) had lifejackets for everyone on board. This conversation usually occurred while my siblings, cousins, and I crouched in the storage hold in the bow of the boat to hide.

We'd finally set off down the river, with my mom bugging my uncle about putting out his cigarette. When I was really little, I remember being bundled up but still freezing, sitting on my mom's lap as the wind bit at me. When I was older, I got to climb up and sit on the bow of the boat as we slowly navigated the narrow and ever-changing channel.

My uncles usually had to make 2-3 trips to get the whole family down to the spot we'd stake out on the beach. Inevitably on one or more of the trips, the boat would ground and several of the adults would have to get out (both to take weight out of the boat and to push). As soon as it was free, he'd jokingly try to take off without them, although I remember him running aground again at least once as he tried to do this.

After everyone was down at the beach, a bonfire would be started--regardless of the temperature. If it was cold, we'd gather around if we could. Some of the adults would play football on the beach while the dories went out crabbing, occasionally taking one of us kids with them and explaining how it worked, and then dumping us off as quickly as they could get away with it.

When all the crab pots were in, the aunts took over and started cooking them right there on the bonfire, washing them out in the river. We'd feast on crab and all kinds of other goodies that had been hauled out in the coolers and tote bags.

Sunscreen would be applied (and grudgingly received), sunburns would still happen, someone would get hurt playing football, and eventually the wind would kick up, the tide would reach its last high point during daylight, and we'd take off. Or we'd camp on the beach, depending on the year.

In the morning there would be a huge breakfast of eggs and sausage. If we weren't already back at my uncle's house, we'd head back afterwards. The nights we were at his house, there were smoky late nights of poker (usually the guys) and cribbage (usually the women). There'd be tales in the morning of someone winning big--and someone losing.

The last year we camped on the beach was (I think) 1996. When I was little, there were often people around, but usually most of them were locals and my uncle knew a great many of them from the dory fishing community. As I got older, it got more and more crowded, which all the adults complained about. It got so crowded that the crabbing wasn't nearly as good, and usually my uncle had to stock up in preceding weeks in order to have enough for our traditional crab fest.

In 1996, it was already getting crowded enough that--although there was still plenty of room on the beach--we were no longer the only group out there, and we'd be a stone's throw from another group. A far cry from when I was a kid and we'd have to roam through the dunes to chance across another group. That particular year, there had been a group of men across the river that had been drinking fairly heavily and had been heckling our crab boats.

It was late enough that we'd gone to bed--although the older of us kids (I was in my early 20s, as were some of my cousins) were still up talking--when we heard some sort of a commotion down near the bonfire, which was still going. My cousin and I went out to see what was going on and my mom met us halfway and told us to stay back and keep an eye out on the younger kids tents. When we asked what was going on, she wouldn't explain.

The next morning, we got the story in bits and pieces from those who were there. Apparently the drunk group from across the river had come across and started yelling up to the bonfire for our group to "send out your women." My uncles--one of whom was an ex-pro football player and the others who were of similar builds--went down to the water to discourage the group from bothering us. A fight broke out. The tale differs here depending on who I heard it from, but most counts were that our side was just trying to get them to leave, but they were looking for a fight and playing dirty. Our side was "winning" but the other guys still hadn't left. Here the story gets pretty consistent: one of the other guys picked up an oar from one of our boats and hit my uncle in the back of the head. He fell into the water with a head injury and had to be dragged out. I'm not sure what happened at that point, but I think one of my other uncles said something about radioing the Coast Guard and the other group took off.

A couple of the relatives took off with my uncle and headed to the closest city with a hospital--about 20 miles away--to get his head stitched up.

The mood as we packed up the next morning was pretty somber as we hadn't heard back yet on how he was doing. And we never camped on the dunes again.

However, we still all gather at my uncles house--he's built a new one on the top of his hill--and some of the group now gets hotel rooms or rents houses for the weekend.

Our family's plan was to go to a campground with showers (which I'd reserved several weeks ago), my husband could go surfing if he felt like it, and I could hang around and listen to the older generation reminisce about how we used to have crab on the beach--how much fun that was then, but it's really nice to eat it now without sand in it.

We didn't end up leaving homeuntil about 4:00 because it took us much longer to get packed than planned--I had to prepare a couple of dishes that would somewhat keep for the various potlucks--and kept having to run errands for forgotten ingredients and ice for the cooler.

We arrived at my uncle's place just after 6:00 p.m. We talked for a bit and as I noticed the sun dipping, suggested we go find our campground and pitch our tent while it was still daylight, then come back if we wanted to, which we did. My daughter was thrilled because, as I'd told her, the campground is overrun by tame bunnies.

We went back, had a great dinner, talked with the relatives, explained the bandages on our dog's paws several times, and then went back to our campground. We managed to settle in fairly quickly and went to sleep.

In some ways, it was still similar to when I was a kid, as 10 feet away in the next campsite, a family who arrived late (with kids) was trying to set up a tent in the dark.

They gave up and slept in their car.

Today's Episode Features...SURPRISE! Poor Planning.

On the agenda for today: daughter's soccer practice and husband's company picnic. Also I was going to bike to the gym for yoga and swimming.

Not on my personal agenda: 95 degree weather. Also not on my personal agenda: intelligence to check the weather report.

I was so tired I slept in past yoga and by time I got myself ready to go, I didn't have time to go swimming, either. I'd skipped out on going to soccer practice since I was going to meet my husband at the picnic by riding my bike there (the plan was to ride there, load the bike into his car and hitch a ride home). I decided to poke around some garage sales.

Stupidity intervention: never go to a garage sale on a bicycle.

The first sale I stopped at I found a $5 wagon--since I've been wanting something like it, but didn't want to spend a lot of money, I was thrilled--although had to ask if she could hold it until I could pick it up later. She did.

Then I stopped at another one, where I found a couple more things I'd have to come back and pick up later (although they were thrilled, so that worked out too).

Then I saw it: a stainless steel mini fridge. It's new and I didn't have quite enough for it on me, nor did I have any means to get it home, but she took all the cash I had as a "deposit" and I told her I'd be back between 2 and 3 to pick it up.

Went on my merry way to the picnic, where I had a hard time finding a place to lock up my bike, and eventually my husband and daughter also arrived. We had a yummy lunch and I got to tour the "clean room" where they put together pacemakers and other electronics.

We got to enter drawings for various prizes, but we had to be present to win--and they weren't doing the drawing until 3:00. It was 1:30 and HOT. I begged my husband to let me take the car to go pick up my garage sale finds and he entered the ping pong tournament (I later learned he didn't win a single game).

By time I went back to the garage sales to pick up my finds, the back of his car was so full I couldn't see out the rearview mirror (mostly because of the fridge).

It wasn't until I parked and walked off to go find him at the picnic again that I realized there would not be room for my bike in his car and I would be riding home.

Yeah, yeah, the exercise wasn't going to kill me. However, I was afraid the heat might. I was already pretty uncomfortable sitting in the shade, drinking icewater and pouring it on me. Then I had to leave the shade, strap on a helmet and backpack, and pedal.

It's not a long ride home and I did well for me, but it kinda reinforced that my Catalina goals are a bit far-fetched at the moment. (The Catalina bike course consists of three loops, half of which is a steady uphill--gentle, but steady, and I was poking along going up the hills into my neighborhood.)

I got home and immediately jumped into a cold shower to try and avoid a migraine. It totally worked. For an even better bonus, since my husband beat me home, he unloaded my new fridge and carried it into the house. It's still sitting in the front entryway, but it's in the house.

My daughter and I then headed out for what has become our Saturday night tradition. We grabbed some dinner, set up our seats and watched the outdoor movie put on for free by the city. We get back pretty late, but it is still a lot of fun. This week was Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland, which I was pleasantly surprised with. I don't think my daughter understood it at all.

So I'm still in need of daily stupidity interventions and didn't exactly plan today well, but there were no actual mishaps.

Which is new, and I'll take it.

Trying to Find Focus

I spent a lot of time last night thinking about Catalina. The entry fee, if I sign up right away, would be significantly reduced from last year. However, all the other costs would remain quite similar. I started adding things up, sat down and talked to my husband, and was told I could if I wanted to, but I'd have to figure out how to get it into the budget.

Realistically, Catalina is only 71 days away now. Between being sick for four months and then losing my motivation when I thought the event was cancelled, I'm a bit (and by "a bit" I mean "significantly") off track for meeting the goals I had set for this year.

I know I could complete the triathlon. I also know I could beat my time from last year--my new bike alone would help me do that, although I could improve on the run as well.

I'm really not sure I could take a full hour off my time though, which was my big goal. As for my weight, well, that's not on track to be at my goal either.

I started wondering if I was just making up excuses to not go. But there are two very major factors that all of this doesn't even encompass: 1) I won't be visiting my sister and her family as they are unlikely to be living in the area at that time and 2) by time I pay not just for the entry fee, but all the other fees around the trip (gas, hotels, food, ferry, parking), it really adds up.

I calculated it out--as reasonably as I could, and figure it will be at least $1200. I might be able to figure out how to get that into the budget--it's only $100 a month if I spread it out over a year--but there are a lot of other things we could do, either at $100 a month or at $1200 a year.

Shoot, if I did local events, that could even mean 12 triathlons a year. For the price of one visit to Catalina.

To add another complication, I had to give the judging assigner my availability. The weekend of Catalina is a weekend where there are two meets that are usually 2-day events. I'm not guaranteed to be assigned to one of them, but if I'm in California, there's no way I could do them, assigned or not.

In other words, after sleeping on it, I came to the decision this morning that financially, it would not be wise for me to go to Catalina. Furthermore, it would be somewhat selfish as I would be going on this trip totally alone. I'm unlikely to meet my goal of taking an hour off of my time because of where I am in my training, as negative as that sounds. I couldn't come up with a single good reason to go that would come anywhere close to countering the financial downside of going.

Until this afternoon.

When I started feeling like maybe I was just giving up.

I started thinking about how my motivation to make any kind of change, at all, was initially based around Catalina. The changes I have made have literally changed so many aspects of my life. I still deal with back pain, but it is more manageable now. I am much more active much more regularly (even if I'm not anywhere near any kind of training regimen). All of these are changes I made because I had the long-term goal of Catalina.

If I don't go, what is my goal? Next year? But will I say the same thing next year when it comes time to register? Would I ultimately put it off indefinitely, defeating the purpose?

If Catalina really is my "focal point," then it is completely worth the expense to go.

For anyone who thinks that long-term good health and longevity could be my focal points, let me tell you why that won't work for me: the last 6 years. I totally believe that those are good goals, but for me, they are not enough to get me off my butt in and of themselves. Even the hope of being able to go clothes shopping without drowning myself in an overdose of self-loathing isn't enough motivation for me to do anything big enough, long enough to make an impact.

Having impending physical tasks (the triathlon) actually does motivate me--or at least, significantly better than without.

Now my task is to find what that event will be.

The big question then is, will I remember to put it on my calendar?

For the Love of Monkeys

First of all, I have to say I can't take credit for the phrase that's in today's title. I totally stole it from someone I used to work with who used it all the time. It struck me as utterly hilarious, and when I came home and told my husband, he just looked at me blankly, like he didn't get it. When I explained that the phrase is a twist on the usual, "For the love of God," he paused.

Then he said, "Well, if you're an evolutionist, I suppose it's the same thing."

I Still. Can. Not. Get. My. Calendar. Straight.

AAARRRGHH!

Today was the preschool picnic for my daughter. In my defense (which I totally don't even deserve to be defended at this point), the gym I used to coach has a coach that was in a serious car accident. The details of her medical condition (of which I only partially know) aren't being released yet, but it is quite serious as the accident happened several weeks ago and she's still in the hospital--and probably will be for awhile more. Obviously, she's not coaching, so they've had some gaps to fill. I've been doing what I can for them until they get permanent help hired and today was one of the days I said I would cover.

Also in my defense, I haven't been able to get my phone calendar working and am seriously considering not using my phone for a calendar again and going back to paper because it is just so much easier.

In other words, I sort of have an excuse for her missing the picnic, but not really, as if I'd realized yesterday (and possibly even this morning) I would have been able to have one of her friends take her there. At the very least, I would have emailed to inform people I wouldn't be attending.

Instead, I dropped her off at the neighbor's house and when I got home and checked my email, discovered my screw up.

Screw up number 37 million this week, if anyone is counting.

This afternoon, I did manage to get a little physical activity in. The neighbor and I finally managed to coordinate a bike trip on the loop downtown she's been telling me about.

Get this: I remembered everything. I had no flats. I got my rear wheel on and off all by myself. AND I don't even have a migraine. Granted, after my last several bicycle escapades (forgotten lock, flats, getting lost, more flats, missing trailer pieces, forgotten shoes, forgotten sunglasses), I have not only made an extensive "biking 'to-pack' list" on my phone, but I now stand at the car and make sure that all the items on the list are actually inside the vehicle.

It wasn't until we were driving back and I was telling my neighbor that I'd booked a massage client for tomorrow evening, that I realized I'd screwed up again, as she asked me, "What about Project Runway?"

Oh yeah, our standing Thursday night TV date, where I go over to her house to mooch the air conditioning and cable TV to watch my favorite show.

Oh, for the love of monkeys. Can I not get anything right?!

Well, Poo.

And by "poo," yes, I mean excrement.

I'd just mentally signed off on NOT doing the triathlon in California because it wasn't happening and figured that's probably better in terms of affordability anyway.

And today I got an email announcing that it is, in fact, ON, and it's a week earlier than initially planned. With the added bonus that the registration fee is $15 off if I get it in within the next week.

Hmm.

There's one little piece to add to my dilemma. I may not have a place to stay on the mainland around the time of the triathlon. My sister (whom I usually stay with) may or may not be living there and won't even know until about a month beforehand. Her husband is military and his next deployment is to Japan and the whole family is going.

So, if I make reservations now, I need to figure out several pieces: do I plan on going and just make it a "shorter" trip (i.e., no sister-visit time, just to Catalina and back), but spend a couple more days on the island, do I take my daughter, who do I take to watch her, do I leave her behind and who do I get to watch her, and are any of my goals I set last November even attainable at this point as although my back is considerably better, my training levels have been pathetic to absent to the point that my endurance is, well, poo.

Hello! My Name is Dee Lusional.

My neighbor and I had spent a week or two talking about doing this fundraising bike ride that goes across the major bridges downtown. There are options of a 6-, 8-, or 10-bridge ride. We'd mostly talked about doing the 8-bridge, but as it got closer and I realized just HOW heavy the trailer is (especially loaded with my daughter, a spare tire, pump, extra water, and other gear), we talked much more about the 6-bridge ride, which is a 13-mile course.

Thursday night, while watching Project Runway, we decided that it was 1) too early, 2) too much to spend on a "casual" ride and 3) would probably be really crowded. So we planned to NOT go and just take a ride downtown on another day.

I sorta kinda forgot to mention to my husband, who I'd asked to register us, that we had changed our mind about the ride. Fortunately, he only registered me for the 6-bridge. I told my neighbor and we proceeded to make plans to leave at 7:30 in the morning.

Also on my agenda, as it has been for the past several weeks, was movie night--there's a small park downtown where they show movies for free on Saturday nights. I've been taking my daughter (and the same neighbor's son) for a couple of weeks and last night was no exception.

This is where I needed my first stupidity intervention. We typically get home from the movie between 10:30 and 11:00 p.m. It usually takes me an hour or so to wind down and get to sleep, and I had to get up at 6:30 a.m. to get ready. If you've done the math, you know that provided me with a maximum of 7 hours sleep--which while I functioned on far less while in school and at various points in my life, is really not good for me now.

I'd actually packed everything in the neighbor's car before going to the movie last night--bikes, helmets, shoes, trailer, spare parts, course info, the works. The only things I didn't pack were my wallet, keys, phone, water bottles, and stuff I was going to wear. Although I've actually started making "packing lists" on my phone since I seem to be so forgetful lately, they only serve me well if everything I will need is on them.

Time for stupidity intervention number 2: sunglasses were not on my list and it was a GORGEOUS day. I realized this, of course, as we arrived in the parking garage to park.

We got to the course start without any difficulty and finally started riding close to 9:00 a.m. There were a ton of families and kids, parents yelling at their kids to "ride straight" which I hadn't thought much about until I got cut off by a short person whose parents were not yelling at him.

Okay, I LOVE my bike. I've said this many times now and I still do. However, I clearly had not had enough practice riding with the trailer. I say this because by time I calculate how much weight I was actually hauling, it was probably close to 50 pounds. Which flat out negates the "fastness" I've felt riding this bike as compared to others. Thank goodness I wasn't hauling it behind one of the other ones or I'm not sure I would have made it.

It was actually a very cool ride--they close down all or part of 10 river-crossing bridges in the city. Not so much fun if you have somewhere to be and need to cross the river or even just get through town, but very neat for anyone who just wants a view of the city from the top deck of the interstate bridges. It was interesting hearing people on the ride saying things like "I never realized this bridge was angled--it feels flat in the car!" and "I had no idea how HIGH this is!" The views from the bridges are quite spectacular and they even had bands playing and vendor booths for people to stop at on the two interstate bridges.

My daughter was sound asleep for about the last half of the ride and only woke up as I crossed the finish. Perhaps because of the incredible noise and chaos. We rode back to the car then loaded up and got ready to head home.

Stupidity intervention number 3: neither of us thought to map a route away from the event, even though we'd mapped one there. While I can get myself out of downtown any number of ways, we had the whole bike course/freeway closure to deal with. This might not seem like a big deal because we'd just been on the course and had a pretty good idea of what was open and closed, but it actually was. Here's what we had to deal with:

1) We couldn't get down to the waterfront access to the freeway because the course was blocking us southbound.
2) We couldn't hop on the freeway south from the west side of the river because it was closed.
3) We could get on the freeway south from the east side of the river, but we weren't actually sure which bridges were open to get there, or if we could even get to those bridges.
4) We weren't really sure where we could go.

We decided to just head west, where we knew there was no bike course. We looped way around the southwest corner (and a suburb) of the city to take probably a 15-mile detour to get home.

Time for stupidity intervention #4. I added up any number of risk factors for a migraine, and since it only takes one, I had a fierce headache. Thankfully, this time it didn't make it all the way to my stomach, but I did end up taking a 7-hour LEAVEMEALONEANDBEQUIET!! nap.

I'm feeling better now, although I'm annoyed because I'd made plans with a friend to go see The Help, which I've been waiting impatiently to go see, and had to cancel on her, and she'd already bought tickets. It wasn't until I was talking to her and she mentioned, "Yeah, it was pretty bright out today," that it occurred to me that forgetting my sunglasses probably amplified the effects of the sun, dehydration, and general overdoing it.

So good news is that we did it and I made it. Bad news is I still can't remember to pack everything I need. Or handle anything resembling moderation. Or manage to keep all the appointments on my calendar.

If This Is a Trend, I Don't Want To Be Trendy

Holy Flakebrain, Batman.

I have a calendar with things marked on it. Really and truly. But somehow they've been--well--off lately.

Last night, just before bed, my neighbor posted on Facebook that she was going to do a 30-mile bike ride today. I asked if I could come along and by time we worked everything out, she was going to start riding at 9:30 this morning, I was going to take my daughter to her last ballet class at 9:00 and join her around 10:30 on her second 10-mile loop and do 20 miles with her.

A little complicated, but doable.

Unless, of course, I'm me, and can't remember to pack everything, schedule everything, and get them all together at the same time and place they need to be. Which lately, I can't.

But, since I am me, I simply think I have my stuff together, and happily take off for what should be a fun-filled day.

Today being no exception to my recent history, I pack up the following things in my car: laptop to keep myself busy during ballet, daughter with ballet supplies, bicycle, trailer, helmets, spare tube, spare tire, pump, snacks, sunscreen, and plenty of water. This is in addition to my full-stocked "mom purse" which weighs damn near 50 pounds, no exaggeration.

We arrive at ballet and I'm amazed that there is a ton of parking despite that we arrived later than usual (parking is very scarce there). We get to the door and it's locked. Because apparently ballet was a 5-week class, not 6.

Oh, well. I think. I'll just meet my friend at the start of her bike ride and do the whole thing with her.

Which is when I realize I forgot my bike shoes. Which wouldn't be horribly terrible since I've ridden my clipless* pedal bike in tennis shoes, except that I'm wearing Moroccan leather sandals.

*I learned that what I had been calling "clip" pedals (where the shoe has a latching mechanism that connects to the pedal) are actually "clipless" pedals. "Clip" pedals have a kind of a toe basket device that the toe of the shoe slides into, but there is no latching mechanism.

Plus, this is 30 miles and even if I had tennis shoes (which I didn't), I didn't have socks, and 30 miles is different than the 2-3 miles I've ridden without my bike shoes. I didn't think it would be much fun.

So I quickly call my neighbor (who I was going to bike with) to see if she'd left home--she had, but she turned around for me. Then I called my husband, to tell him to leave my shoes and socks on the porch. He didn't answer. Tried the home phone. No answer. Tried the cell phone. Finally he answered, but he had already left for work.

Called my neighbor, let her know she could turn around again. Apologized profusely.

Passing the horribly backed-up traffic I knew I'd have to fight to get back to where we were going to bike, I decided to skip the bike ride and take my daughter to one of her preschool park playdates. I also decided to stop at home, so picked up the dog.

Unfortunately, my daughter, whether upset at no ballet or just because she's four and the world doesn't meet her demands, had a meltdown. She threw a chair, so I picked her up and put her in time out, which is in the corner by the front door. She immediately started throwing things and kicking the wall and the door.

I told her that I would start her time when she had settled down, which resulted in several "I don't like you ANY MORE" proclamations and more wall-kicking. She would settle down slightly, I would go check, and she'd be sneaking out of the corner.

I'd replace her in the corner, which would start another round of throwing/kicking/"I'm never going to love you EVER AGAIN IN THE WHOLE WORLD" proclamations.

I was stuck. Usually she takes her time-outs with a fair amount of grace (not pleased, but relatively calmly), and we're able to quickly move on.

After a half hour, I was feeling like my discipline tool was NOT working, and I was at a loss.

Whether or not this was a good idea, I don't know, but since I didn't want to spank her--correction, since it was taking every microgram of personal control not to spank her--I let her know that until she settled down, I would be taking away toys.

I started with her pink bouncy dog, Wahoo. Then her bicycle. Then ALL of her stuffed toys, including her pillow pet, at which point she yelled out, "MOMMY! I'M BEING QUIET NOW!"

True, the kicking had stopped.

So I told her I wanted a little more quiet time out time and then she could come see me and we could talk. After a few minutes, she came over, apologized for throwing the chair, and I explained that there were ways she could get her toys back. One of which was by doing things the FIRST TIME I asked (on a different note, this issue has been driving me NUTS lately). I asked her if she wanted to practice and found a little pick up chore for her. When it was done, I asked which toy she wanted back. Wahoo. I got him out. She was so proud of herself and THRILLED.

A few minutes later, I asked her to help me with a couple of things, and when she did immediately, I let her pick more toys to have back.

It worked really well. I'm completely enjoying this right now because I have a feeling that 1) it won't last (although I'm hoping it will, for at least a little while) and 2) I have a hunch I'm going to look back at this when she's a teenager and think, "...and I thought I had problems then? SHEESH!"

We then went to the park playdate and when we got home, had lunch out on the deck and played dice games. Of course by, "played dice games," I mean, "she rolled the dice I told her to when it was her turn." And she beat me. Repeatedly.

When she started acting up again, I sent her off to a nap which--get this--she went straight to the first time I asked.

I may not be able to figure out where I'm supposed to be when, and my kid is thoroughly being four and doing all the boundary-testing that implies. In a flash of insight (which occurred as we needed to be going to bed), I created a good behavior chart, with daily categories for various things.

We'll see how it goes tomorrow.

Welcome to Earth, Space Cadet

Tuesdays are typically kind of a busy day for my daughter and I. We have gymnastics in the morning and I usually schedule a chiropractic appointment immediately afterward, since they're somewhat close to each other and both far from me. Then, depending on what's going on, I run errands, we come home, I put her down for a nap if there is time, and we head off to swimming lessons.

All of that was on the agenda for today.

What was NOT on the agenda was one of the most obstructed drives to gymnastics we've ever had. It is faster to list what did NOT get in our way, so I will do so now:

1) train,
2) school bus (it's not the school year though), and
3) livestock.

I have this crazy long backroads route I take to get to gymnastics which even though it is nearly 10 miles longer than the 19-mile shortest route, it is usually 10-20 minutes faster--less stoplights--although usually is the key word here since these are back roads and they do go through farming community.

So I start along my route and one of my detour roads is "closed to through traffic" for construction. I turn around and head back on a semi-back road route. Where I'm stuck in slow traffic and finally realize it's because there's a very recent motorcycle accident--so recent that had I gone that way in the first place, I would have missed it, and the police have not yet arrived, which they do while I'm waiting, and block the road. Now my only option is to go on an enormous loop to try to get to the shortest route, or see if I can get through the supposedly blocked road I tried in the first place--which I was actually able to do.

Within about two minutes, I'm stuck behind a double-length truck carrying wood that is going--no joke--25 in a 55 zone. After nearly 10 minutes behind him (it's a fast road, but not one that there's any place to pass--and where there is, not room to pass something quite that long), he turned off.

Relieved, and thinking I *might* still be able to make it to her class on time, I navigate through the turns of my back route until I get to where it opens up into a high-speed zone and...I get stuck behind farm equipment doing about 10 in a 55 zone.

Somehow, I manage to keep my comments "clean" for the little one in the back seat and manage to only repeat, "You've GOT to be KIDDING me!" Which she then starts repeating and thinks it is HILARIOUS.

If I weren't so annoyed (and now convinced I will be late), I would have been amused.

Farm equipment finally pulls over (in fairness, he did so as soon as there was safe space to do so). I gratefully get on my way and call the gym (using my hands-free headset, don't worry) to let them know we'll be late for class, but we seem to be actually moving now.

I get off the phone and...traffic is backed up because a pickup lost a bunch of PVC pipe in the middle of the road.

Get past that, and I'm stuck behind an elderly gentleman who appears to be lost, but that who I am able to pass in a relatively short time.

We arrive just as class is starting, miraculously.

After class, we go to my doctor, run enough errands that there is not time for a nap when we get home, I get the bike and trailer all hooked up and bike over to swimming lessons.

The pool is closed. I knew that there was one day that there was no swimming, but I thought it was last week, and stayed home from the pool. Turns out it was this week, so we had no swimming two weeks in a row.

I rode back home and put my daughter down for a nap while I tried to figure out how/why I messed up our schedule, and feeling like a flake since it feels like I can't keep anything straight lately.

Genius Material. Right Here.

I've been slightly more than just absent on this blog lately.

I've been fairly absent in terms of training and motivation.

To make a long story short, the triathlon I'd set my goals around and planned to return to this year isn't happening. Add that to cost and priorities financially and I'm not headed to California this November.

This sucks in a whole lot of ways.

The biggest problem for me is I've totally lost my focus. My back really started acting up on the trip to California--combine a couple of 17 hour drives with a bunch of other factors and I started taking my pain medication again--yep, the same stuff that gave me migraines that I had to quit taking back in December. The migraines didn't kick in until after I got home and they were doozies, with all of the unpleasant symptoms from before, although fortunately I didn't have to leave any biohazards out in public this time.

Prior to my trip to California, I'd managed to get my chiropractic visits down to once a month and while I totally love Amazing Dr. Amy, it was nice not needing to see her.

I've been trying to rebuild my back, without pain medication this time, and it's going better than before, but I've just been so disheartened by my loss of focus that instead of making progress, I'm now playing catch up to where I was.

Judging season for gymnastics is just around the corner and I don't have meet assignments yet. I'm holding off on scheduling any more events until I know when I'm judging.

While I'm listing excuses, I've had some problems scheduling time to go work out. Some of it is just simply that I don't like going in the middle of the day and having to wait for equipment or a lane to swim in. Some of it is that I don't always have someone to watch my daughter. Some of it is that when I plan a night workout, it magically conflicts with my husband being gone at the same time I want to or with my daughter's bedtime.

Most of it is simply making excuses and a lack of motivation. Which frustrates me, and I have flashes of inspiration and motivation and then they fizzle out before any significant action is taken.

However, there are a few things I've been working on. I'm trying to ride my bike more places. That, I do have a valid excuse for, which is that I've had SIX *bleeping* flat tires now, the last of which was more frustrating than any of the others because I replaced the tube, the tire, checked the rim and rim tape for problems, and got it all set. The next day when I went to ride it, it was flat. I hadn't gone ANYWHERE on it and I literally carried it from the living room, where I fixed it, to the driveway, where I got on and discovered the flat. I gave up and drove that day. And went and bought another tube and tire.

(My tube and tire replacement costs could literally pay for a single triathlon event fee now--even a mid-high range one.)

Because I had so many problems getting moving again, I actually (somewhat intelligently for a change) decided to start slowly, by taking the dog on long WALKS and not running or trying to run, since I tend to go out and overdo it. That's been one good thing.

Then today, I finally got several pieces in place for a new piece of an exercise plan. My sister had left a bike trailer at my dad's house last Christmas. Dad was complaining about it just sitting out in the barn (not that he has any animals that need the space). My sister said I could have it if I wanted. Of course!

This conversation happened a month or two ago and just this past weekend, my dad and I were at a family event and he brought the trailer for me.

I was so excited when I got home. I immediately hauled it into the living room and began to set it up. Guess what? BOTH tires were flat. Oh well, I'm used to this now. I left them and got the whole thing set up, the wheels on it, and . . . couldn't figure out how on earth to attach it to my bike.

I emailed my sister, who emailed me a link to instructions online and I quickly discovered my problem. I was missing a piece that attaches to the rear skewer. After some more emailing and phone calls, we figured out that the trailer had last been attached to my dad's bike, and the part was still there.

I met up with him today and retrieved the part. When I got home, I managed to get it on my bike, get the trailer attached, fix all three flats (I hadn't fixed the sixth flat on my bike yet), and then took it for a test ride (empty) around the neighborhood. I kinda had to chuckle when a very kind and concerned individual yelled out that my trailer was empty. I said, "Yeah, I know. I thought I'd take it for a test drive before I put my kid in it--it's my first time riding with this attached."

His face changed from concern to impressed as he said, "Oh! That's a good idea!"

Shortly after I got home from my test ride, my husband came home. I dressed my daughter for Pajama Storytime at the Library, loaded up an extra tire and 2 tubes (with my luck, I figured I may well need more than that, but it was all the spares I had), my good large pump (with 4 tires to be concerned about, figured that would be a heck of a lot easier), our overdue library books, and outfitted my bike with lights. I loaded up my daughter with her helmet, strapped on my own helmet, and rode on my merry way to the library.

I was feeling fairly clever for being able to plan ahead, master getting everything together, and arrive on time. I was congratulating myself on my genius capabilities.

I unloaded everything, lined up the bike and trailer with the bike rack, pulled out the library books, got our helmets off, took all the parts off my bike that could potentially be stolen (computer, lights) and went to lock it up. This was the first time that I realized that my bike lock was still on the other bike--the uncomfortable one I rode a couple of weeks ago when I took my daughter to the Art Splash. Suddenly not feeling so genius.

I called my husband and begged him to retrieve the lock and bring it to us. My other options were to ride home (and miss Pajama storytime) or hook everything back up, ride to the bike store, buy a new lock, ride back, and miss most of Pajama Storytime. He was not thrilled, but bailed me out anyway.

The library is not a long distance and the ride there was easy. Because it's downhill, mostly.

The ride home is the same distance, but not so easy because it's uphill, mostly, or sure as heck feels like it.

Granted, I was towing a 30-pound kid in a 10-pound trailer, with several pounds of bike gear in it as well. And much as I love my new bike, there are no "granny gears" on it, so I literally had to stand up to pedal--in the easiest gear--to get up a couple of the teeny tiny moderate hills in my neighborhood at four miles an hour.

Pathetic.

In good news, even though it was a short little pathetic ride, it was actually a challenge for me. Meaning that I had to push myself some, I got my heart rate up, my muscles were burning, I was tired--but I don't feel like I overdid it.

So maybe, just maybe, I'm learning. Or at least not making quite as many mistakes.

Aside the lock, that is.

Have I Mentioned Lately That I Love My New Bike?

Or rather, after riding my new bike (flats and all), I so much prefer it to my other options.

Today there was a sidewalk chalk activity for kids downtown. Since we're less than two miles away, I thought I'd take the bike with the kid seat on the back.

Now, despite the multiple times I've ridden bikes not purchased specifically and/or sized specifically for me, I decided to take my husband's old bike because it's the only one with the kid seat and the kid seat is not easily transferrable to other bikes--in fact, it won't fit at all on mine.

I cleaned it off, put some air in the tires, and set off. My daughter was immediately having a blast. Me? Not so much. To say the bike doesn't fit me is an understatement. Also, the saddle is clearly not designed for women and/or the angle my body was at on the bike means it wasn't going to work for me regardless.

Ideally, when standing with feet flat and straddling the cross bar of the bike, you should be able to lift the bike so there is at least a little bit of what I refer to as "crotch clearance." This bike has zero for me. In other words, all my stops had better be planned and executed carefully so as to prevent some pretty personal bruising.

Ideally, when sitting on the bike and reaching feet for the ground, your toes should be able to touch on both sides. If the seat is too high, it needs to be adjusted down. Well, this seat is as low as it can go and I can reach the tips of my shoes, but not so much my actual toes. In other words, when carefully executing a planned stop, there will ideally be a curb to one side so I can reach, and if not, then preferably grass in case of impact.

Ideally, when pedaling a bicycle, the leg should nearly straighten at the bottom of the pedal cycle. Since this bike is too big for me and the seat is down low, my legs had an action similar to an adult pedaling a tricycle. Every time a leg came up, it hit me in the chest, which is actually quite an accomplishment considering it had to squish over my stomach to get there.

Add in that the handlebars were not close enough, I can't swing my leg over the seat because there's a kid seat on the back (which makes for some good entertainment watching me mount/dismount the bike), and I had a four-year-old sitting on the back laughing that she could hit my bottom, and it was not the most comfortable cycling arrangement.

But I was determined to get in some "moderate" exercise, so I rode downtown to the sidewalk chalk event, then we rode further to get lunch, and then I rode home. I was getting pretty tender in the hindquarters (due to the saddle, not any unplanned stops), yet for some dumb reason I asked my daughter if she wanted to go through the "jungle" on the way home (her term for the little tiny greenspace park in our neighborhood).

As I rattled and skidded over the gravel, I was able to set aside the "way to go, stupid, this bumpy gravel hurts more than the pavement" thoughts very quickly when I realized that although I was riding a mountain bike, I have very little experience on gravel, and on top of that, mountain bike or no, I don't think that activity is recommended when you have a child seat filled with 30 pounds of kid on the back.

Way to go, genius.

The only major mishap was when I went to pick up the bike after setting it down while I was talking to a neighbor. Instead of standing up like I expected, it skidded and the front chain ring slammed into my ankle bone.

I got home, pulled off my sweaty clothes, stuck my head in some cold water, and put a band-aid on my ankle.

The sad thing is, I actually had a lot of fun today and so did my daughter. But I really don't want to ride on that bike again, since I'm so spoiled with my new bike.

Sometimes I Fear . . .

. . . that my life is some kind of a hidden camera reality show for someone with a twisted sense of humor.

I'm still struggling with this lack of motivation issue. (Also, I'm still struggling with moderation, which will become clearer later on in today's tale.)

Since I had no daughter at home today, I thought it would be a brilliant idea to run the errands I had to take care of by bicycle. They were all little things and the distances didn't add up to much, so I thought it would be perfect: enough to get some exercise, but not enough to overdo it.

Yeah, yeah, I clearly don't know what constitutes "overdo" it when it comes to myself, stop laughing.

The Plan
Bike to the post office, where I would drop off a package and pick up mail for the preschool.
Bike to the preschool president's house, where I would drop off some of the mail.
Bike home.

Simple, right?

I even mapped out the route, using Google to include bike-friendly directions. Knowing I couldn't check my phone for every turn while riding the bike, I copied down the instructions on an index card, which I taped to my bike frame.

Before I go into the actual tale of my ride, I will say that by time I got home and was recounting all the things that went wrong, I realized it would be much faster to list the two things that went right:

1) I made it there.
2) I made it home, eventually.

What Happened Instead/What Went Wrong
1) It started raining
2) I couldn't figure out if the instructions were wrong or I missed a turn, but I got lost.
3) Apparently I am in worse shape than I realized as I was pretty tired when I got to where I was going.
4) Whether I missed a turn or not was irrelevant as on the way home it was clear that the Google instructions sent me through parks, down streets that didn't go through, and down imaginary streets.
5) I got a flat.
6) My CO2 cannister didn't fit my bike pump, so I got to manually fill my tire with my "backup" pump (which takes no less than 300 pumps to fill a single tire)
7) The tire went flat again.
8) It hurts to walk home the last 1/4 mile in my bike shoes.
9) I ended up with a migraine.

So the day started with me planning out this little "excursion" and thinking, "YAY ME!" because I was being active. Instead, by the end of the day, I end up thinking, "Way to go, dumbass," and wondering why it gets so hard to motivate myself to go out and do something active again.

Rough Race

My sister, in her enthusiasm for my continuing athletic participation (which often seems to exceed my own enthusiasm), called me prior to our trip to ask if I would like to participate in a 5K race for the Fourth of July. There was also a kids' 1-mile race, so she signed up the 4-year-old cousins as well.

My back has been gradually aggravating me more and more through this trip and I have to say I have NOT had the training time (or motivation) necessary to make any kind of improvement in this race over previous ones.

We had to drive a fair ways to get to the race, had challenges finding parking, and then had to walk quite a ways to get to the packet pickup area. My husband decides that he would like to run in the stroller dash, which started 15 minutes after my race, so he registered. We got everyone all organized, set out a space for ourselves on the sidewalk, and waiting for the race to start.

since it was already hot and I had no delusions about improvement, I started at a slow jog. Immediately my back started hurting and I figured I'd try to just work through it, hopefully loosening up as I went.

I think I made it maybe a mile before I had to walk. The hot knife pain in my lower back was severe enough I debated turning around and just going back, but forced myself to try and keep up a good walking pace.

Then the first stroller racer passed me. Granted, the guy was going fast, but I had a 15-minute head start and I hadn't even passed the halfway mark. Another stroller.

The third stroller to pass me was my husband.

Okay, so he's in WAY better shape and can run three miles in just over the time it takes me to run one mile.

Still. Depressing.

I continued to waddle along in my this-is-as-fast-as-I-can-go-shut-up-and-leave-me-alone-I-hurt walk. I haven't yet mentioned this, but immediately following the race, there was to be a huge parade on the same route. People were lining up in chairs and staking out space. No big deal, right? Lots of people there to encourage.

Wrong.

Since I was, again, one of the stragglers in the race, all the soon-to-be-parade-spectators were all over the race course. There were no officials or tape or signs or anything preventing them from blocking the road. I wasn't even one of the last people as there were a lot of walkers, but having to ask people to please move so I could finish my race and then being treated rudely like *I* was the one doing something wrong really ticked me off.

I was so sore by time I got to the finish that I was planning on just heading back to the car as I couldn't find my husband and daughter anyway. However, I really didn't want to miss her race, and I did get to cheer her across the finish line. It was awhile though before I saw her cousin come around. He's taller, has longer legs, and truly, is just simply faster than her, but apparently today he didn't feel like participating. My daughter was so proud that she beat him and kept repeating it to me.

I have to admit, that even though it was probably just because she was excited to run and he was too hot to care and just wanted to be somewhere else, I was proud of her and happy for her, although we had numerous chats about how it is not nice to keep telling your cousin you beat him. I reminded her that Auntie beat me significantly, so it balances out.

After the race, I went ahead and walked back to the car. I was not feeling well with the heat and I was pretty hungry. I had a snack and just as I was finishing, my husband called and asked if I wanted to go out to lunch with my sister and her family, so we went and grabbed some not-quite-Mexican food.

The plan was to go to this "great surf spot" and let my sister, her husband, and my husband go surfing. I was NOT looking forward to this. Between my back hurting, having sat on the beach and watched the kids for several days in a row and being out of reading materials again, I was actually rather annoyed.

We pull in to the state park, which actually had a long line stretching back down the highway with people waiting to get in. Once inside, we discovered they only take cash for parking, and we only had our debit cards on us, so I pulled out to leave. My sister, who'd driven in first, had left her cell phone in my car, so we couldn't reach her. My husband insisted that I wait for her and when she pulled up behind us, we hit a new plan.

I'd leave my husband and his surf gear with them and take my sleeping-in-the-back-seat daughter back to my sister's house--I had a key and a pass for the security gate, so I could get in.

My sister was SO WORRIED that I would be upset at not getting to stay at the beach. Here's where the disconnect comes in. I didn't want to go. I was tired of getting sun/windburnt, sitting in the heat, in pain, out of reading materials, and I was tired of all the sand in and on my car. After I assured everyone about twenty times that really, truly I was fine, I happily went back to my sister's house. My daughter even stayed asleep as I transferred her from the car to the bedroom.

When everyone got back several hours later, I had to again assure them that I was fine about coming back, actually I'd preferred it, they still couldn't seem to believe me. The guys got started on the barbeque and I began packing, which was actually quite an ordeal as 1) we'd bought a suitcase in San Diego and had to figure out how to cram that into the car and 2) my husband hadn't packed anything and I needed to load in his larger bags before I could start packing all of the small stuff in the car.

At 9:00, when I was running around in near panic because the car wasn't loaded and I was pretty much stuck on getting anything else done, they started teasing me, which didn't help my stress levels. I knew what had to be done, I knew I needed a good night's rest with a 16-17 hour drive for tomorrow, the rest factor was diminishing by the minute, and still hadn't eaten, nor was I watching the fireworks.

Tomorrow is going to be a long day no matter what.