My Girls DO Love One Another

I have known for a long time that these two girls love each other.  And from time to time they show me.  Today was one of those days.....

Nora, having dinner with her favorite person:  Big
(On Anna's 19th birthday)

This morning I was TIRED and I did NOT want to get out of bed.  

Not when my husband kissed me goodbye.  

Not when I heard Nora padding down the stairs in her stocking feet.  

Not even when Jack started whining, because he needed to go outside.  Just ONCE I wish that dog could simply follow David downstairs in the morning.  Afterall, he's already up!  And he'd be happy to let him out.  To play with him.  To pet him.  To love him, before he has to leave for the day.  But no!  Today, like always, Jack waited for me.    

Not even when I rolled over and came face to face with Big.  Anna, my fully grown, soon to be headed back to college, nineteen year old, was sound asleep RIGHT NEXT TO ME.  She'd had a bad dream during the night, and like her sister had done the night before, she crawled into bed next to me.   How could I leave?  How often do you get the chance to snuggle with your grown up girl?  So I lingered.  Just a few more minutes.  

But then, she, too, got up.  Ugh!  I rolled back over, cracked open one eye,  (I didn't have the energy to fully open both of them yet) and shouted,  "It's 6:49 a.m.!  Why is everyone up already!  Mom's tired!"  Or, at least, I tried to shout.  My cries came out much more muted and garbled than I'd hoped for.  And I'm sure neither Jack, who is deaf anyway, nor the girls, who were already downstairs at this point, even heard my complaints.  

So I laid there, listening.  I heard the back door open when Jack, happily, went outside.  I heard it close again, after he, even happier, came running back in,  expecting a treat from the pantry.  I heard the sound of dog food hitting his empty food bowl.  I heard cupboard doors open and bowls clang onto the counter.  I heard the rattle of spoons as the silverware drawer slid open and shut.  Life was carrying on.  

Reluctantly, I threw back the covers, wrapped myself in my robe, firmly grabbed hold of the handrail, (I was still functioning with only one eye) and ambled down the stairs.  When my eyes focused, I found the girls in the TV room with Jack, on the floor, at their feet.  Anna was checking in with her world via her phone, and Nora was knitting.  

What was going on? This was NOT our normal morning routine!  Normally, Anna wouldn't even be out of bed at this hour!  And, while Nora would be out of bed AND fully dressed, she'd still be sitting in her bedroom reading.  Unless she was really hungry.  In that case, she would carry her book and her pink blankie downstairs, to her stool under the kitchen island, and read quietly, while she patiently waited for her breakfast.  

Just how long had I stayed upstairs?  I never fall back to sleep once I've woken up, regardless of how tired I am.  (It's a curse.)  But, apparently, I slept this day away.   So I looked to the kitchen for signs, clues that would prove to me my name was not Rip Van Winkle.  And there, on the counter,  they were:  an empty box of Life Cereal, and a dirty bowl and spoon which had yet to make it into the dishwasher.  Okay, my world was still right.

"You guys already ate?" I asked.  

"Ya, Anna fed me.  And I fed Jack," said Nora, without even looking up from her work.  

"Well, what else do you want,"  I asked Nora, while opening the refrigerator door, expecting to pull out more breakfast items.  Certainly one bowl of cereal wouldn't be enough.  Not when yesterday's breakfast consisted of two waffles, two bowls of cereal, and two glasses of juice!  But I didn't hear her reply; because staring back at me, from the second shelf, all dressed in its new black lunch bag, was Nora's lunch!  

"Did you make your own lunch?"  

"No, Anna made it for me."  

My head was spinning.

  

Nora fed Jack. 
Anna fed Nora. 
AND Anna made Nora's lunch.  

Said lunch was comprised of one sandwich, one baggie of goldfish crackers, one box of orange juice, one chocolate pudding and one Hershey Bar.  (Anna's all about nutrition) Attached to said Hershey Bar, was a sticky note that read, "a sweet treat to get you through the day."  Or something to that effect.  I didn't see it all.  When I realized I was reading something private and, obviously, not meant for my eyes, I closed up the bag.  

Instead, I asked Nora if she wanted to swap out the o.j. box for an apple juice.  When she said, "No.  That's okay,"  I knew.  She loves her sister.  A Lot!  So much that she'll even drink orange juice if that's what Anna gives her.  And Nora HATES orange juice.  

But Nora loves Anna.
And it appears Anna loves Nora.  

Big snuggling with Little earlier this summer

And it appears my morning jobs were done.  All before I'd even had a cup of coffee!

So what did I do?

What I do best:  I went to Starbucks and got treats!  Because I love both of them!

xoxo--
S

Let's Party!... Not!

Recently, I was invited to a "party" at my neighbor's house.  And the minute the invitation was placed in my hand, I knew I would not go.  But I took it anyway.  I smiled and listened to the details; the time, the date.   I looked through the pamphlet at all the deliciousness for sale and nodded my head at the appropriate times trying to keep up with her enthusiasm, leaving her, I'm sure, with the idea that I might attend. 

I should have been straight with her.  I should have told her right then.  But I didn't.  And when I saw her name on my phone screen the day before the party, I didn't even answer.  Coward that I am, I just sent it to voice mail. 

You see, I have a problem.  I simply do not go to "parties," which demand require that I purchase something.  

I don't like being forced to buy something I don't need and/or don't really want.  I don't want to sit on someone's couch flipping through the glossy pages of some catalog, hoping to find something that I can use, or at the very least, that's not too expensive.  And I don't want to sit through The Spiel:  The Host describing how her products are simply better than any of the others on the market.  And  how buying said products from my friend, (right now!) will put her well on her way to becoming the next in a long line of Independent Consultants.  How her family will reap financial freedom simply by hosting three parties a month!  And how,  I too, could have all this and more (what's more than financial freedom?) if I just signed up (right now!) to host my own party.  (Not that my husband wouldn't love it if I could bring in a little cash from time to time.)

So I don't go.  Yet, still, I get invited.  As a matter-of-fact, I have a friend who has been begging me to "host" one of her jewelry parties for over a year.  And with the exception of my wedding ring, and the occasional pair of earrings,  I don't even wear jewelry!  I realize these hostesses don't really care if I am there or not.  I am simply another body, another potential customer.  Another name to add to the list, thereby improving their chances of having a good turnout, a good sale. 

Does my choice not to attend make me a snob?  I hope not.  But just so we all understand my rejection isn't personal, let me explain. 

Just because I am not shopping from you, doesn't mean I am secretly shopping elsewhere.  I'm simply NOT a shopper.  It's not something I like to do.  Unlike many girls,   I don't rely on "retail therapy" to get me through a funk.  I'm not a clothes horse, a shoe addict.    Heck, I don't even buy the everyday things I need until I'm in DIRE need of them.  I have a few staples in my closet that I wear over AND OVER AND OVER.  I only stop wearing them when they become old enough to get transferred to the "clothes for yard work"  shelf.  

So I avoid The Mall.  Unless it's Christmas, or one of my kid's birthday, I rarely go.  And I NEVER  wander the stores aimlessly, just to browse.   If I'm actually taking the time to go to The Mall, I know what I want.  I get in.  I get out.  I always feel bad for those old men sleeping  waiting in the over sized massage chairs while their wives stroll, without a thought of their husbands' comfort,  through Sears and JC Penney.  I don't know how they even fall asleep under that horrible fluorescent lighting and constant chatter from the pesky girls asking to straighten my hair, or trim my eyebrows--with string!? (Not that I don't need both of those done on a regular basis, but....ew!  Where have those strings been!)

This declaration does not, in any way, mean to imply that my family goes without.  Because, believe me, they DO NOT.  Especially BIG.  She has PLENTY of clothes, shoes, handbags.  And she has jewelry spilling out of bowls, glasses and boxes.  Little, too, despite being less interested in clothing at this point, has bookshelves SO FULL of books, they have begun to appear in stacks on her bedroom floor.  Or in boxes she dragged up from the basement (to keep things neat, Mom).  Or piled high on her night stand and window sill. I do not, however, shop for my husband.  Over the years, I have tried.  And I have failed.  Because the man is six foot six.  He weighs 190 pounds.  And, simply put, he has to try things on, because returning things to the mall is about as much fun as shopping in the first place.  

So, there you have it.  In today's consumer driven capitalistic society, I am a freak.  Right?

Wrong!

I said I don't like going to The Mall.
I said I don't like buying clothes.
I said I don't like people telling me what to buy.
I did not say, I never buy anything.   There are a few frivolous items I spend money on.  In completely random order, here are a few of my necessary evils.

Although I have a perfectly good coffee pot sitting on my kitchen counter AND a working espresso machine hiding in my pantry, I buy overpriced coffee.  Sometimes twice a day!  (Oh the shame!)  And despite the electronic age that I am living in (and typing on) I still buy books.  The old fashioned ones; with the pictures on the cover, the pages made of paper, and the photo of the author in the back.  And I buy plenty of books for my kids.  As demonstrated above, I should own stock in The Scholastic Book Company and Barnes and Noble.  (My husband,  the Family Gadget Guy, has advanced in this department ahead of the rest of us.)

And I buy shampoo.  Yes!  Shampoo!  The expensive kind.  I know, go figure.  But this is a new development.  And while this goes against every fiber of my being, (or at least everything my dad ever taught me about spending) a few months ago, my hairdresser had me try a new shampoo and I "fell in love" with it.  And I don't "fall in love" with things often.  But this shampoo, has helped my poor old itchy scalp like no other shampoo has.  And I have tried them all.  While I could easily give a glowing report on this product,  (this is neither the time or place) suffice it to say, if I could find a shampoo that performs as well in a cheaper bottle, I would be in heaven.  But I have not.  So, I simply shell out the bucks, and justify my spending by looking inside my closet.  Now, if I could just get my teenager to keep her mitts off it!  

Finally, I buy flowers.  I love container gardening.  I love putting different plants together to see how they look.  I love watering them, tending to them.  Recently I saw a sign that read, "I love gardening because it always brings a promise of tomorrow."  I loved that! While I don't need don't need candles, jewelry or prepackaged dips in my pantry, I do need tomorrow.  Or at least the promise of tomorrow.  I need to know that I'm going to wake up, get a goodbye kiss from my husband and see my daughter off to school.  I need to know that I'll be able to go for a run, or ride my bike.  That I can dig in my garden.  Or, drink a cup of coffee while tapping away on the computer, or reading a good book.  Because these are the things that make me happy.  

So, to all of my friends who have invited me to candle parties, jewelry parties, and Mary Kay Make-Overs, I'm sorry I couldn't didn't make it.  More importantly, I'm sorry I didn't just tell you up front that I wouldn't come.   I didn't want to hurt your feelings.  But if you ever decide to throw a coffee, book, or gardening party, I'll be there with bells on!

xoxo-
Sonja

Well, Shoot...Summer's Over

Hard as I tried, I could not stop the inevitable.  Labor Day did actually arrive, and with its passing came The First Day of School.  I had been dreading this day for weeks.  Summer had been a great one this year.  The weather  had been cooperative and Anna was home. We took some great short trips with friends, rode our bikes, and hung out at the pool where Nora Jane grew gills and fins and became a fabulous swimmer.  It was the perfect balance of productivity and leisure.  Mostly, though,  I just enjoyed being Nora's mommy.  Anna is nineteen now and far too cool independent to hang out with her mom for too long.  But Nora's only eight; so I'm still cool, still funny.  And she delights in everything and anything we do.  Whether it's a walk to the park to play with friends,  a bike ride around the neighborhood, a day of boating, a trip  to the local street fair to listen to music and eat junk food, a camp trip,  or a patient wait for Old Faithful to erupt followed by  ice cream cones from the gift shop (along with about a million other Yellowstone tourists.)  It's all fun to her.   

In short, she was simply fun to be around.  And she was my buddy.  The buddy Anna used to be.  And I didn't want her to leave.  Because life would once again be quiet. And it's only third grade!  Who really needs third grade? :)  But mostly, because I would miss her.  I mean just look at her.  Wouldn't you miss that face too? 

Nora Jane and her bountiful strawberry harvest

I even told her so.  She indignantly replied, "Mom!  I'm only going to be a minute away!"  Apparently, she was ready.  

Oh, I wasn't in complete denial.  We had gone school clothes shopping earlier in the summer.  No waiting around til the last minute this year!  No sir!  My kid is going into third grade, and I am finally going to be one of those well prepared parents.   But then I wasn't.  I didn't want to be.  Not yet.  So, the thought of everyone returning to school, simply got pushed to the furthest recesses of my mind.  I wasn't going to think about it.  I was going to live in the moment.  I was going to enjoy the sunshine and the barbecues, the s'mores roasted to perfection in the back yard, the bike rides to the frozen yogurt shop, which opened up much too close to my house this summer.  

But, as we all know, time stops for no one.  Not even me.   And as summer was coming to a close,  and our long awaiited vacation to Colorado to watch the U.S. Pro Cycling Challenge became a reality,   I knew I couldn't live in denial any longer.  Or could I?  As I closed the back hatch of the very full van, the night before we left on vacation, I, once again, closed the door on school.  I was going to keep summer going, just a little longer.  

Packed and Ready

So, with just over two weeks of summer left, I postponed the purchasing of  paper, binders, and unsharpened pencils.  We weren't ready to go home and   spend what seems like hours sharpening them to perfection.  I put off buying  sticky notes, erasers, and red correcting pens, that only seem to come in bags of twelve, although your child only needs two.  Instead, I spent money on campgrounds and hotels.  T-shirts, hats, and water bottles from cycling races. Swimming sessions at pools and reservoirs.  Meals eaten out and meals cooked over camp fires.  And, of course, coffee.  There was The Very Good from The Laughing Goat Coffee House in Boulder, Colorado.  Then there was The Very Bad from some coffee shops that should be ashamed of themselves!  Oh, and gas.  To Colorado (and back) is a long drive.  

And we had a great time.  

And then, all too soon, it was time to go home.  And everyone knew it, except me, apparently.  Anna, who had stayed behind to tend to the cat and the house and that pesky summer job, texted and said, "are you guys heading home soon?"  And on what should have been our second to last day, both Dave and Nora agreed that it was time to get home.  (Even though we were still thirteen hours from home.) "That's okay, mom," said Nora.  "You guys can just take turns driving and if I get tired, I'll just go to sleep."  And at 8:00 p.m., that's precisely what she did.  She closed her book, turned off her headlamp, snuggled under her pink blankie, and said, "Goodnight!"  Well, there was no stopping at that point.  Spokane was in the headlights.  Which meant home was a mere five hours away.  So we made the big push.  

Waking up the next morning, (IN MY OWN BED!) having slept through the night with ABSOLUTELY NO FEAR of being eaten alive by a hungry Grizzly Bear, I realized, through my fatigue, that I had only one week left.  A mere seven days!  But I didn't think about any of that, for I had STUFF TO DO!   Our fridge was empty.  I don't know what Anna ate while we were gone.  The grass needed mowing, the flower beds needed weeding and watering, the dog needed to be picked up from Grandpa's, and the sun was still out!  So, instead of going school supply shopping, I threw back the covers and informed Dave that we were going for coffee.  And we were taking the car, (despite having just completed a 2200 mile road trip,) because I was too tired to walk.     

And Nora didn't want to go supply shopping either.  "Maybe tomorrow,"  she said.  Cool with me.  But, eventually, she, too, realized summer couldn't last forever.  So on Tuesday, September 4th, (the day BEFORE school started) with our supply list in hand, off we went to Target.    And, of course, they were out of almost everything.  But we got what we could, threw it into the van and walked across the parking lot to Office Depot where we bought the rest.  We drove it home, spread it out on the dining room table, where she reveled in her  booty like a kid on Halloween night.  Then, with Sharpie in hand, she labeled everything,  put it back into the bag, and set it by the door,  where  it sat until we marched it to her classroom later that afternoon for the Meet-n-Greet with her teacher.  

And then it was here:  The Big Day.  Unfortunately, this was one of those days when I needed to be in two places at once.  Since this was impossible, I left Dave in charge of First Day of School, while I drove Anna to WWU to meet with her academic advisor.  I was sad to have missed Nora's first day, but since I am a Control Freak, I left Dave with strict instructions for breakfast, hair brushing and, most importantly, the taking of The First Day of School Porch Picture.  Which he did.  

Wearing her U.S. Pro Cycling Challenge T-Shirt!  

And the BFF picture.  Which he also did.  

NJ and Mer: Ready to face Third Grade Together!

And then it was 3:30.  And we were walking home from school.  And she was telling me her teacher is really nice.  And they'd already taken some tests.  And it's going to be a hard year.  

And it was like Summer had never even been here. 

xoxo--

Sonja

Meet The Dirty Girls

Friday, after dropping Nora Jane off at school, I drove to McCormick Forest in Gig Harbor where I met up with The Dirty Girls.  The Dirty Girls are a group of women who like running, trails, and mud.  I had heard about this running group from the Route 16 Running Store and thought they sounded like my kinda people.

By the time I arrived at the parking area, however, the girls had already set out. So, not sure which trail to take, I opted for the one "to the right."  I'm not sure why, I guess it just looked "more open."  Just a short distance ahead, I encountered the first group of Dirty Girls, complete with the official "Dirty Dog," a Doberman decked out in a jacket to keep warm.  These ladies referred to themselves as "the slow group" and I was about to settle in with them when a second group, aka the faster paced group, met up with us via another trail.  Someone called out, "this is Sonja,  a new girl!"  I felt like a kid, on my first day at  a new elementary school.  But these girls, too, were all smiles.  So, I said hi and fell in with them.  

So, just who are The Dirty Girls?

Well, Gwen and Nicole seemed to be the co-leaders of the pack, or, at least, co-navigators.  Gwen, with braids bouncing off her shoulders, was up front calling out directions as she lead us through the woods,  warning us of upcoming dangers (i.e. roots, rocks) on the trail.  Nicole did the same, but from the rear.  She seemed quieter than Gwen, but mentioned that she's recovering from a kidney infection and in her own words,  was "feeling the burn."  Well, no wonder!  

In the middle, were Rebecca and Meredith, who also is recovering from kidney surgery.  So when I mentioned that I, too, am trying to "get back into shape," they said I had come to the right place.  And I think they were right.  I don't know the last time I found myself around such positive,  encouraging women.  Several times during the run, we passed the first group and they all cheered each other on, even high-fiving as we shared the trail on a hill.  

And there was good conversation;  except up one big hill, then it got pretty quiet.   Meredith  said they mostly talk about food, sex, and something else.....I don't know why I can't remember the third one. Something about memory loss, perhaps?  But, they talked about everything:  food, husbands, injuries, physical therapy exercises, piriformis pain.  Piriformis pain!   I felt like I was home...

So, as you can see, I am so glad  I made the drive to Gig Harbor.  I am so glad I didn't just go run Point Defiance, like usual.  Because it was such a great morning, even though, near the end of our run, Rebecca said to me, "Can you slow down?"  and then turned to Meredith and asked, "Can you lead?" 

Oops!  


Hopefully they won't hold that against me, though, because I CAN'T WAIT to run with them again.  I mean Meredith said she likes coffee, running, and wine!  We are DEFINITELY gonna be friends!  :)  

Maybe next time we'll even encounter some mud, or that VERY BIG PUDDLE I heard all about.  


xoxo--
Sonja

Outta the Mouths of Babes.... I Mean Nora Jane

Dinner--Last Night

Nora:  "Mom, can I have more broccoli?"

Me:  Mouth agape, unable to comment, let alone remind her that it's may I have more broccoli?

Me again:   I simply nod.

Happy Birthday Big Lar!

When my husband was gone, a few weeks ago, Nora and I had to come up with creative ways to entertain ourselves, in his absence.  

Luckily, for us,  I received an email from my High School BFF (although I still consider her my BFF) complete with photos of her Dad's recent birthday party.  I always loved this man.  Being Italian, he liked to joke, sing, drink wine, walk around the house in his shorts and black socks, and invade my VERY BIG SPACE with lots of hugs--TIGHT hugs. He was funny, kind and, ya, he  could scare the crap outta me when needed.   

The Birthday Boy:  Not ONE BIT Scary :)

The real deal:  Look at those meatballs! Yum!

But think about it.  I was a teenage kid from a totally dysfunctional family dealing with a lot of stress.  And we were Lutherans!  Of Nordic descent!  Which explains my Big Space Issue.   

Despite my afore mentioned description, Big Lar could also seem quiet,  stern.  Now, having played the parent card myself, I can guess he was probably just tired.  He worked all day as a Very Important Person at a Very Important Company, and he commuted to and from his Very Important Job (I just love saying this)  by ferry, making his long days even longer.  Not to mention,  by the time I met him, he'd already raised 4 other kids:  putting them through college and getting them settled into their careers and marriages.  So I'm sure he was just too damn tired for any of our teenage tomfoolery.  

When he came home from work tired and hungry,  all he wanted was a kiss from his wife, a hot plate of pasta, a chair where he could put his feet up and not be bothered for a few quiet hours.  Or wait, was this MY dad?  (minus the wife, and of course my dad would've called them Noodles)  At any rate, he didn't want to have to deal with all the troubles we got into.

I don't know how this man felt about me then, but because he and his wife so graciously accepted me into their home and family during my teenage years and put up with all the shenanigans his daughter and I got involved in, I hope he knows how grateful I am for that.  Not that we were bad girls, by ANY stretch of the imagination.  But girls, as I have come to learn, can be emotional and tiresome and pains in the ass.  So, because Big Lar and his wife loved and comforted me, when my family was failing in that area, I wanted to take the time now to wish him a Very Happy Birthday and to let him know that those days I spent with them will always be special and important to me.  

So that's just what Nora and I did:  We had a Happy Birthday Larry Party.  

There was music:  The Italian Mambo Station, provided by Pandora

There was a pasta dinner; which I would NEVER feed to him!  I mean sauce from a jar!  Egads!  I did, however, throw in some fresh onions, and lots of garlic, and something green, apparently.  

Not even close to The Real Deal

And since Dave was gone and NJ eats like a bird,  (especially at dinner) we skipped the salad and opted for sliced cukes and baby carrots.  

And, of course, there was the wine!  

Now Jr. did not have wine, obviously.  She only looks like she did.  

Like I said:  Eats Like A Bird!

And I only had one glass.  Yet,  due to Nora's photography skills (or lack thereof) I only look intoxicated!

First Try at "Capturing the Moment"

Second Try....

I haven't seen Big Lar in a number of years, but keep up with him via my friend,  and I think of he and his wife, D-, often.  Just as Lar was the father figure I needed back then, D-was really my mom.  In fact, she probably has no idea just how influential she was to me.  I can't count the times, I have asked myself over the last four or five years, as the mother of a teenage girl, "WWDD?"  I should probably write to her and thank her.  Thank her for loving me.  Thank her for teaching me.   Thank her for letting me come over to her house after school EVERY DAY and watch Little House on the Prairie, while eating her popcorn.    And Thank her and Lar for all the crap that her daughter we did back then.   

But that will have to wait!  Ha!  Because this is Big Lar's Post:)  

So Happy Birthday Big Lar from Two Stone Cold Sober Nordic and Not-So-Lutheran-Anymore Girls!  

SALUT!

And, yes, somehow I STILL look slightly tipsy!  

xoxoxo
Son

P.S.  I should thank Edye for letting me Steal the photos of Big Lar and his lovely pasta dinner.  I probably should have asked first, but since my "blog" seems more like an online diary and I only have five followers (ha) I figured she wouldn't mind.  Thanks E- :)

Back in the Race

I am pleased to announce that I am "unofficially" off the injured list.

Didn't know I was injured?  Yep, for about a YEAR now.  A YEAR!  Or at least it will be November 4th.  So, close enough.  

But those days of achy feet due to plantar fascitis and achilles tendonitis are over forever!  (I hope)  And to prove it, I even "raced" last Sunday.  And when I say raced, I mean I started a race with a group of silly people all dressed in costumes, and proceeded to run a total of 12 Kilometers through the trails of Port Gamble, Washington.  Okay, I did walk a little.  But only up some of the BIG hills.  I mean, it had been a year!  

But I don't even care, because Sunday was the annual Spooky 12k trail run, (part of the Roots, Rock Trail Run Series) and it's one of my favorite races of the year.  And it didn't let me down this year:  it was wonderful!  The weather was beautiful! The leaves were beautiful!  The runners were beautiful, except the weird ones brave ones who actually dressed up in costume.  Heck, I even felt beautiful, even though all I'd done that morning was brush my teeth, put my hair in a pony tail, don my cap, and slap on some under eye concealer.  Some things simply cannot be omitted, even on race day.

And I felt good!  I was doing what I love, with people who love it as much as me.   The pain in my feet was minor and my very unused leg muscles were carrying me through the woods.  Until the kind folks at the last water stop said, "only one mile to go!"  

Now I should have known this, I've run this race many times before!   But on this day, at this point, after a year "off," I was feeling the burn and I was done.  Or ready to be done.  My 12K should have  been a 10k.  But, I trudged along.  Off the road, onto the single track trail, down the hill, across the creek, over the oh-so- slippery logs, back up the hill on the other side, across the "meadow" and through the finish chute.   

After I crossed the finish line, I hugged my husband, who had probably been thinking, "where in the HELL is she?  She should be here by NOW?" Then I grabbed a cup of orange Gatorade (YUK, I thought it was water), my banana, and my fresh, homemade pumpkin cookie, complete with cream cheese frosting, (yum!) and walked (slowly) to the car.

"What?  You don't wanna stick around for post race activities," asked my well trained husband.  "You might get a prize!"

I would have laughed at this, but I was too tired.  And prizes were not what this day was about.  This day was more about the journey than the time.  It was about gettin it done, and then going to Dad's house for waffles; which were delicious! Thanks Dad!

And thanks, as always, to my biggest fans, for coming out and supporting me even though my "journey" took longer than usual, and you had to entertain yourselves with books and DVDs in the van, because it was so cold outside.  I love you people!  

xoxoxo--- 

Speaking of Junior, she decided to run her own race:  The Kids' Spooky 1 Miler.  Unfortunately, I didn't get to see her and cheer her on, as her race took place after I had hit the trail.  But I hear she took off from the start line like a bat outta hell, hair flying wildly behind her.  She turned around at the mid-point, got tired, slowed to a jog, then a walk, only to be told by her Dad that a girl was coming up behind her!  Well this was the kick in the ass that she needed, apparently, because she turned and looked behind her to confirm this information, and then put it into gear to get up the hill and across the finish.

I'm so proud!