What are you looking at?

Freezing that frame

My newfound interest in training for a 5K has resulted in a few other areas of my life taking a backseat on this blog. Well, backseat no more! Here's what's been going on at casa de Frema.

 

My long-anticipated Tori Amos concert took place two Fridays ago at the Murat Theatre here in Indy, with my coworker watching my two sickish children and Luke coming along as my "more enthused than he was for Billy Joel and Elton John but not quite as excited as he would be for, say, They Might Be Giants" date. This was my third Tori concert and definitely the one I appreciated most, seeing as I become a more involved fan every year. I saw my first show as a college sophomore in the Chicagoland area and my second two years ago (again at the Murat) when I was hugely pregnant with Kara. I've loved Little Earthquakes and Under the Pink since high school, but for the rest of her albums my listening strategy has involved latching onto a handful of songs that don't leave me scratching my head or clinging to blankets in fear. For this concert, though, I revisited those older albums to get a better appreciation for them, and that made this setlist much more memorable for me. I recognized almost all of the songs instantly and felt more of a personal connection to ones I was already in love with. I even got a picture of her onstage with my work smartphone! But not so much with the successfulness.

 

I seriously considered live tweeting the show, but Luke just shook his head and gave me a look that said, "You could do that, yes, but then I would have to wear a paper bag over my head to avoid being associated with the likes of you," so out of respect for The Look I passed. However, I did tell him that for the next tour I want to attend more than one show, thus increasing the odds that I'll hear more of my favorite songs and also that I will embarrass myself in public.

For those of you who care (or even those just interested in checking out the "the Amos," as my sister Ryan likes to say, as if her music were a sexually transmitted disease), highlights for me included "Jamaica Inn," "Hotel," "Cooling," "Horses," "Strong Black Vine," "Raspberry Swirl," and "Big Wheel." In hindsight, "Gold Dust" during her solo set was haunting and beautiful, but I didn't know the song until after I reviewed the setlist and went back to the album version, so I appreciate it much more now. The title to this blog post comes from that song. You know, because of all the pictures.

</End of dorky concert recap, you are welcome> 

 

These children are mine, and they're spectacular. Albeit a little crazy.

 

Kara turned 20 months old yesterday, and Nathan is half-way through six months. She's talking, he's crawling, and they're both taking turns waking up in the middle of the night, which is just peachy for their father and me. I'll write a longer post about Kara's language development one of these days, but for now I'm just happy to say that she's finally starting to use speech as a way to articulate what she's thinking and what she wants. She likes to wash her stuffed animals in Nathan's old infant tub, and she can identify numbers one through ten as well as several letters, and she loves the books she got from her cousin about going pee-pee on the potty, and she sat in her brand-new booster seat for the first time this morning, and somebody hold me I am going to LOSE IT right here if I don't start talking about something else.

 

The last time we spent the night at Luke's parents house in July was the last time we would spend the night at that actual house, as they've purchased new property in a more secluded area in a neighboring town. Luke was brought home from the hospital to this house, so naturally he's sad about saying good-bye. I'm glad we have memories of Kara and Nathan here.

 

My nephew. How cute is Danny Jr.? Pretty damned cute, if you ask me. He officially turns one year old today, but his party was the day after our Tori Amos concert, and since the kids were still sick and even Luke himself wasn't feeling well, I made the drive to Chicago myself to shower him with presents and visit with everyone. I never get enough time with him, especially when both sides of his family are together, but I did get to feed him roast beef and potatoes and change a number two, and I was seriously happy to do both. Seriously.

 

Luke and I continue to drag our children to various family walks around town. The above picture was taken at "Circle the City" to raise funds for the Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra. Nathan has time of his life parading through the streets strapped to my chest, while poor Kara sulks over her closeness in proximity to butts, thighs, and ankles. Luckily there are free cookies at the end.

Here's a shot from the "Race Away from Domestic Violence" 5K that started at IUPUI's downtown campus. I walked the whole 5K with Nathan in tow, and yet my son is the one who got all dramatic and passed out before crossing the finish line. What a slacker, that one.

 

Again, Kara was less than impressed with the actual walk, but she made her own fun afterwards. Look, Daddy, a two! And a three! Holy crap, this is awesome.

 

At six months, Nathan can now be trusted to hold onto a lovey without his parents worrying that he'll use it as a possible suffocation device. If this isn't the cutest thing you've seen in ages, then wow, that is one black heart you've got there.

The last Forrest Gump reference, I promise

Yesterday, as I pulled into my driveway, Mother Nature bid me a hearty hello by way of darkening clouds and a cool breeze that sent shivers up my spine. Ever the optimist, I reasoned, At least I'll have a more comfortable time out than Luke did on Monday. Poor guy was dripping with sweat before his feet even hit the trail. The smell of his workout clothes permeated our master bathroom for the rest of the night. THAT was fun.

I walked into the house and promptly into Kara's arms, who knows to associate the sound of the garage door opening with my arrival home from work. Luke got dinner started while I hung out with the kids, and then I thought I really ought to get upstairs and into my running gear. I also wanted to jump online to compare the two couch-to-5K training plans I had at my disposal: the shredheads one and the reader-recommended one offered by Liz and Katie.

I was changing into my shorts when I heard the clap of thunder. I was looking up stretching exercises when I saw the downpour of rain.

My heart sank as I came back downstairs.

"I don't know if I'll be able to run today," I said to Luke, gesturing to the raindrops outside our window. "I can't very well go out in that."

"Well, some people do," Luke replied, "but it's probably not the best thing for a beginner."

"Maybe it'll let up soon," I said, and to pass the time, I picked up The Everything Running Book Luke's been holding onto for years in the event he ever got back into the sport. I skimmed information about safely building a mileage base and keeping a training log and how to buy running shoes and types of running shoes and the PARTS of a running shoe and even running socks. Socks! Why didn't I think about socks? I don't even have a damn wristwatch and now I need to worry about my freaking socks.

And I thought about the couch-to-5K plans and how on one hand the shredhead route seemed really easy to follow but the reader-recommended one was better suited for endurance and I wondered if I knew enough about stretching to avoid injuries the first day out and what if I didn't do the right stretches or stretch long enough and OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD. My running career was over before it began.

I felt a lot like that college-aged kid in Jerry Maguire who shrugs his shoulders (after back stabbing Tom Cruise by going with another agent, the bastard) and says, "I just wanna play football."

Half the time I wait for the ideal moment to begin something new, and the moment never comes. As much as I love organization and structure, sometimes you just have to do.

So I turned on my Shred DVD and did stretches from the first two levels. I butt kicked and touched my toes. Then I grabbed my cell phone--my two-years-old, ancient cell phone with no picture-taking capabilities but was perfect for keeping track of the time--and walked out the door.

The rain had slowed to a drizzle, and the sun was already out. I took my time walking on the path through my subdivision that leads into the trail. At 5:43 p.m., I was off.

I...was...running! My six-month-old, newly crawling son could have outpaced me there and back, but still. I ran for five minutes straight just like I originally planned, and it felt wonderful, so quiet, no music, no conversation, just me and my thoughts and concentrating on getting to 5:48 p.m. And when I got there, I turned around and walked home, which was more than sufficient for a cool down. By then, the drizzle was a welcome relief.

And that was it. I had completed my first run, without so much as even one sore muscle the following day.

I know there are better ways to go about this. I know I might change my mind about how to achieve this goal. But right now, I'm running, and that's good enough for me.

Run, Frema, run!

So! Last week, I signed up for a 5K run as part of a local athletic challenge involving 100 central Indiana businesses. Yes, you read that right. Me, the girl who often gets winded just from climbing up a flight of stairs, the lazy-ass who hasn't run regularly since high school (thank you, varsity soccer) and who has never labeled herself a runner of any kind AND who can't even follow through with a commitment to exercise for twenty minutes a day, has committed to flailing around Forrest Gump style on a 3.2-mile course this September. In front of her coworkers, no less!

I'm nothing if not ambitious. And stupid.

First, some backstory. One thing I've learned in this half-hearted quest to become a healthier me is that I get bored with exercise pretty quickly. For instance, take the Shred. I heart the Shred. I love that as of 5:45 this morning I can say I've lost ten pounds since the end of May. I see the difference in the fit of my pants and the shape of my face. You don't have to convince me that smart eating habits and regular workouts do a body good. I'm living proof, even if on an extremely small scale.

But when times get tough, all this knowing is not enough to inspire the actual doing. So instead of continuing to try and push a square peg into a round hole, I'm simply going to admit that I'm just not into the Shred right now and pursue something that will rejuvenate my interest in fitness again. Which right now is taking the form of a 5K.

Part of me wonders if I'm an idiot to even attempt this. Aside from my above-mentioned stint with varsity sports, my only other experience with running took place about six years ago while I was living and working in Rensselaer and a coworker and I got together on a semi-regular basis to jog through town. On colder days, we ran the track inside Saint Joe's field house. It didn't last long, and I never once progressed beyond the constant huffing and puffing that plagues those at the beginner's level. I never kept track of my speed. Hell, I didn't even LIKE it half the time. But I did enjoy how good it felt to move my body, and I've always admired those actively engaged in the sport--how focused they are on their goals, how dedicated they must be to follow such rigourous training schedules, how effing COOL they look wearing their branded shorts and headbands.

A leaner, stronger body would be nice, too. Running it is.

One thing I've got going for me that I didn't with the Shred is the benefit of a living, breathing partner in crime right in my very own home. Luke used to run in college, and while we can't go out together because of the kids (also, he and his six-foot-four-inch frame would totally leave me in the dust, speed-wise), we've already mapped out a rough, every-other-day schedule to follow, with him starting today and me beginning tomorrow. As Parents draws to a close and we completely revamp our budget to accommodate the loss of income, we can't afford a gym membership or a treadmill, so we'll use the walking trail that curves behind our subdivision. Also a no-go is the purchase of any fancy running gear or clothing, and at first I was fretting over this, because how can I be a successful runner if I don't have a wrist watch to clock my distance or shorts that won't bunch around my thighs or cute little tee-shirts with Nike logos embroidered on them or blah de blah blah blah. Finally Luke was like, "BREAIN. It's called RUNNING. All you have to do is run." Thank you, husband of mine/perspective. At least I have new sneakers, a comfy pair of running shoes I bought last month just before getting the Parents axe.

Like the shredheads before me, I'll attempt to follow the six-week couch-to-5K program outlined here, only it'll be more like seven weeks because even though my first race is slated for Saturday, September 26, I don't want to wait any longer to get started. Luke has one of those Everything Running books I can flip through to figure out what the hell I'm doing, and I'll have the added wisdom from the shredhead archives, too.

Though I haven't even started yet, I already know this endeavor will prove to be a good thing. Not only am I pumped about exercise in a way I haven't been since June, I'm also psyched to do this with Luke. For the last couple of months, we've been allowing the logistics of our everyday lives to get in the way of spending any meaningful time together, and I love that we can use this as a way to stay connected and also get back in touch with our pre-baby counterparts, too. Not that complaining about the size of my ass while watching The Soup in pajama pants and eating sorbet straight from the carton isn't romantic in its own right. (Nothing but love for you, Joel McHale.)

Wish me (us) luck. Or, if you're one of those seasoned runner types, a few tips to stay on track and injury-free.

Not sure why we thought polka dots were gender neutral

Let it be known that on Saturday, August 1, 2009, Mr. Nathan Byron initiated his first encounter with solid food, transitioning into the relationship with the ever-famous, ever-bland rice cereal.

Though sitting in the high chair would probably have been excitement enough.

 

I don't know why I'm in a girly plastic seat confined by stroller-like straps, but I like it! Dance for me, minions!

 

What's with everyone trying to cram things in my piehole? Wasn't it enough that the Eucharistic minister offered me wine last Sunday at church? (OH, YES SHE DID. Maybe the parish is just really progressive?)

 

I suppose I can forgive your presumptiousness. On an unrelated note, let me brace myself for the delectable joy that lies ahead.

(Note from Management: I feel the need to point out that this shot and the next feature Luke's hand, not mine, as evidenced by usage of the right hand and the trail of hand hair. Thanks.)

 

For heaven's sake, Daddy, YOU ARE TOO SLOW WITH THE JOY. Give it here.

 

What, no wine?

Whose horse is this and why am I beating it to death?

Listen.

It's been almost two weeks since I attended BlogHer '09 in Chicago, and the longer I wait to reflect on my time there, the less interested we all become. To be honest, I'm half-way there already, but it's important to me that I document this for my archives. Plus, I really think I can write about it in a way that highlights my unique experience instead of rehashing everyone else's talk tracks. So here I go.

To start: this has been a weird blogging year for me. On one hand, I'm the diligent worker bee, consistently posting updates to Parents.com three times a week (except for those first months I had Kara and Nathan. Slacker!). I rack my brain for story ideas. I follow comment threads. Occasionally I add to the conversation. And while I've never been the most sought-after blogger over there, my traffic is consistent and respectable. And that's the goal, right? A frequently touched blog with vibrant signs of life? All of that should have left me in pretty good spirits about going to BlogHer--meeting readers, sharing my blog with others, even just feeling like an active participant in the blogosphere as a whole.

It should have. But it didn't. Not when it's such a tightly controlled space representing such a segmented part of my life. And I when I say that, I don't mean that the editors influence our content. We've always been given free reign over the topics we choose to write about. No, it had more to do with a sense of longing on my part to reconnect with THIS blog, where I first fell in love with blogging. This is where I can paint a picture of my life using broader brush stroke, where I can curse freely and post silly little writings, where my history includes a life before children, before marriage, before my graduate degree and move to Indianapolis. It's the URL I type in whenever I comment on somebody's site (admittedly a rarity, these days) even if the most current entry is three weeks old because this blog will live longer than any freelance gig, and it's the one that best speaks to who I am. I have thousands of readers on Parents and only a few hundred here (Red Rover, Red Rover, let Parents.com readers come over), but on the World Wide Web, this is home. And I miss it. So, so much.

(Thus ends mushy love letter to a non-living entity. Get a room, Frema!)

I was so excited to attend the conference, but once I got there, I was surprised to observe how disconnected I felt from everything. For BlogHer 2007, I had a close-knit group of online gal pals to have dinner with and attend sessions with and overall just have a good time with. I even had a real-life blogging buddy as a roommate! And in the weeks leading up to it, we were in constant contact with each other through e-mail and comments, so by the time we finally met each other, we didn't miss a beat. We talked about our non-bloggy lives and rubbed bellies (well, mine got rubbed, anyway) and took pictures and laughed and hugged and enjoyed each other's company. BlogHer WIN.

This time around, my buddy didn't come, and I chose to bring my family instead of looking for somebody else. I didn't take part in any meet-ups or even make a concerted effort to find out who was going. My hectic schedule has resulted in me falling out of touch with most of my old blogging circle, so while I did chat with these ladies for a couple of minutes at the start of the conference, unfortunately, that was the extent of it. (It was so good to see both of you, though!) And I found that inserting myself into situations with new people (which I did during lunch and between a few of the sessions) wasn't actually the best way to connect with them. I much prefer doing that in the context of being around people I know and who know me.

Pair my loneliness with keeping tabs on work, learning quite suddenly about my Parents contract being allowed to run out, mourning the relationship I used to have with my personal blog, missing Luke and the kids, and feeling conflicted about the increased marketing presence (yes, I'm grateful lunch was free, no, I don't want my picture taken with a life-sized jar of spaghetti sauce), and it's no wonder I looked like a deer in headlights the entire time I was there. My sincerest apologies to those of you gracious enough to approach me and introduce yourselves, as I know I wasn't the most engaging or captive audience.

To top it all off, I only took two pictures while I was in Chicago. This one of Luke on the Dan Ryan driving to the hotel:

 

Taken with my smart phone for work. Fancy!

And this one of the "Room of Your Own" session featuring the women of MamaPop:

No, I'm not a professional photographer, why do you ask?

That all said, I did have a good time. I walked (most of) the BlogHer 5K hosted by PHAT Mommy, Nathan happily in tow via baby carrier, and after the stress of the last few days, it felt so good to just hang out with fellow shredheads and cuddle Nathan close as we traipsed along the lakeshore. I also liked most of the sessions, though a gem to keep in mind for next time is to attend sessions based on the speakers even if the topics themselves don't grab my attention as opposed to going on topic alone, because the former were the ones I found the most entertaining. Another nugget would be to attend on my own dime, because while I did glean some tangible to-dos for my company's social media strategy, I often felt restricted in how I spent my time. The MamaPop session was one of the few guilty pleasures I gave in to.

As I wrap up my time with Parents, I'm allowing myself to feel the loss of a job that, while tedious, also provided a legitimate reason to write about the minutiae of my life as a new mother, minutiae that otherwise might have gotten lost in the shuffle. I have a four-part birth story for Kara's baby book and monthly updates for Nathan's (your story's coming, son, I promise). I have a shiny new bullet point for my resume and a much better handle on how to negotiate a freelance contract, the details of which I will be more than willing to share with you when it's appropriate. Finally, I have a chance to return to my blogging roots and relax a little, to post because I want to and not because I'm being paid for it. Though I am still interested in being paid for it, so long as it's managed differently and the content doesn't compete with what already appears here. Amalah and her various columns for Alpha Mom spring to mind as an ideal compromise.

So, despite my personal turmoil, BlogHer '09 couldn't have come at a more opportune time. And when the logistics didn't meet my expectations, I thought about how much I loved loved LOVED meeting blog readers. Seriously, you guys can't fathom how much you made my day just by saying hello. Who knows? Maybe BlogHer '10 will be even better.

That is, if I can afford to get there without being sponsored by a jar of spaghetti sauce.

(Not that there's anything wrong with that.)