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Belated thanks

Because it's never out of season to count your blessings, even three days after Thanksgiving.

I am grateful for so many things:

A job that is more than just a job; a job that provides a handsome paycheck, family-friendly work environment, flexible hours, and supportive coworkers (who baby-sit!). An interest-free loan from my employer allowed Luke and me to paint and carpet the house before move-in last fall. Six weeks of paid maternity leave saved me from using all my vacation time to recover from Nathan's birth. If there is a better workplace in Indianapolis, I have yet to find it.

A house with plenty of space, and bedrooms, in close proximity to a kick-ass walking trail/park system, that we can afford on one income. We have a back yard and a garage and more bathrooms than a family of four could possibly need (though we've found a way to use them all).

A husband who is patient and kind and a devoted father to boot. He knows how to leave his ego at the door and rarely ever raises his voice; when he does, it's usually because I've done it first. He doesn't flinch when I return from a shopping spree (in my defense, after two years of maternity clothes, I've earned it, dammit) or when I come home late from work. He manages the kids when I'm away overnight and is already asking what I want to do for my birthday in January (the big 3-0). So lucky, am I.

Happy, healthy children who search for me when I'm not in the room, who reach out for me calling, "Momma, Momma." They clasp their arms around my neck and rest their heads on my shoulder when I go to them in the middle of the night. They lift their faces for kisses and open their arms for hugs. They frustrate me like nobody else can, but just as quickly as they press my buttons, they melt my heart.

A daughter who speaks freely and often, putting my fears of language delays to rest.

A son who finds joy in everything, even when that joy means cleaning squash from his socks, the floor, my pants, and in between his fingers.

My ability to conceive and maintain healthy pregnancies (minus that tiny bout of pre-eclampsia with Nathan, of course). I read stories from women who have lost children, who struggle to get pregnant, and I cry for them. I pray to God that their wish for motherhood be granted.

The closeness in age of my kids. I would never have planned a 13-month gap on purpose, and the first few months bore some of my worst moments as a mother, but to watch them now, playing and laughing together, I am so, so happy it turned out this way.

Running, which I suspect will be key to regaining my figure and maintaining my sanity.

A strong, able body that is up for the challenge.

Friends I can spill my guts to, who know when to speak and when to just listen.

New friends I am just beginning to know.

My siblings, and that I have so many of them.

My parents, and that they are both living.

My parents-in-law, for who they are and their unconditional support.

My new Aveda shampoo and conditioner. After almost a year of resigning myself to drugstore products, I splurged on hair care last week, and it was awesome.

Accepting that I will never be the type of woman who "puts on her face" in the morning but acknowledging that blush and eyeliner are worth the trouble for a night out. Now it's just a matter of replacing my essentials, seeing as all of my products are at least three years old and cracking, which I discovered in dismay yesterday morning after deciding to take inventory.

My new jeans, a beautiful, baggy size 12, a far cry from bulging in my post-partum 14s back in March.

Making time for a dust and vaccuum roughly once a week. I remember when even once a month seemed impossible.

Two and a Half Men, and The New Adventures of Old Christine, and The Soup (edited to add: and 30 Rock! How could I forget 30 Rock? What the what?), for making me laugh.

Fringe and Lost, for taking me to worlds where anything is possible.

Man vs. Food, for inspiring future vacations.

All My Children, for indulging me in stories of babies switched at birth and spouses brought back from the dead.

Our digital video recorder, which allows me to skip between AMC scenes and breeze through commercials more efficiently than I ever could with our VCR.

 

Having two cars at our disposal so I can drive to and from work and Luke can get out with the kids at the same time. Both paid in full, no less!

The financial means to stay current our bills, save for our future, and give to those in need.

The ability to dream and the power to make them come true.

The willingness to learn.

My flannel pajama pants, sheets, and pillow cases. A necessity for winter.

My desire to start reading again. In the last couple of months I finished two books (Eat Pray Love and The Lovely Bones, both excellent reasons to pick up the habit again), and before 2009, I hope to add one more (Dave Sedaris's latest memoir, which I started back in January--good reading but not exactly a page-turner). When I was pregnant and also in the trenches of those early months with Kara and Nathan, this was something that fell to the wayside, save my yearly revisiting of Flowers in the Attic and no-brainer Archie comics. I feel more myself when there are books on my nightstand, and I hope there are even more in 2010.

Social media outlets that reconnect me with old friends and provide an outlet for communicating when a blog entry seems like too much effort.

 

Max and Ruby, which has the power to end temper tantrums.

Swiss Miss hot chocolate mix and hoity-toity coffee drinks from Starbucks. Yes, I'm officially one of them.

The compliment that Kara looks just like me. I never get tired of hearing that, ever.

Living in a city with an affordable cost of living that doesn't compromise culture.

Finally having the gumption to turn my house into a home.

Marathon phone calls that last well beyond bedtime.

Ribeye steak from Harry and Izzy's in downtown Indianapolis. It's a pricey plate of meat, and I've only had it twice during sales dinners for work, but oh, Lord, is it delicious.

Being a wife.

Being a mother.

Laughing in response to my children.

Forming a relationship with God that isn't based on guilt or obligation.

Getting to know myself again.

Having no fear of turning 30.

Being a member of the most amazing family of four. I look at pictures on the walls of our living room and am awestruck to see myself holding babies who came from my physical body, a result of my bond with this incredible man. It is better than I imagined and more than I will ever deserve.

Believing with everything I have that life couldn't get any better, while knowing the best is yet to come.

 

Happy (belated) Thanksgiving to you and yours.

Scrambled, grounded

This past Saturday I thought it would be a neat idea to run through five miles' worth of trails, ravines, and puddles in the woods.

On second thought, "run" probably isn't the best verb to describe my experience. When I first signed up to do the Outback Scramble at Eagle Creek Park back in October, I pictured jogging on an easy to moderately difficult trail while admiring the splendid reds and oranges of the changing leaves, smiling at chipmunks as they crossed my path, and bobbing along to Miley Cyrus on my iPod as I slowly but steadily made my way to the finish line. I ran two to three times a week after work and eventually hit four miles in preparation for the event to up my chances of completing the course, if not score an impressive finish. My company paid the registration fees for employees and a plus one for each of us, so I invited Katy of Must Be Motherhood--my Mini-Marathon training partner in crime (MMTPIC?)--to be my guest, and since Katy is a more seasoned runner than I am, I assumed the Scramble would be a fun way to gauge how we gelled together, pace-wise. Sure, the ads warned we'd get wet and dirty, but duh, we were running in the woods; I could handle some raw Mother Nature. I threw on my crappy maternity lounge pants, stashed a couple of towels in the car, and figured I was good to go. Having one 5K under my belt helped to soothe my fears about performance so much that my sole focus was making sure I arrived on-site in enough time to pick up my tee-shirt.

It wasn't until I found the entrance and spotted a sign that read "Are you sure you want to do this?!" that I started questioning my ability to, well, do this.

By the time I parked my car, encountering a helpful "Last chance to turn around!" sign just before pulling into a space on the grass, you could say I was a bit nervous.

I found Katy a couple of minutes later. We didn't know what we were in for but were optimistic nonetheless.

The calm before the storm.

Even talking with several experienced Scramblers and learning we'd made a crucial mistake in neglecting to bring gloves wasn't enough to faze us. "We can finish this in an hour, right?" I said to Katy as we took our place within the crowd. "Five miles at ten minutes a mile should have us done in about an hour."

"I hope so," she said.

You're smart people. I think you know where this is going.

Roughly an hour and twenty-five minutes later, we crossed the finish line--mud caked into the cracks of our hands, gym shoes soaked to the bone (at least mine were), and aches in muscles I didn't even know I had. Meanwhile, the awards ceremony was more than halfway through; I later learned that another member of my department finished the race in 45 minutes, arguably leaving us with a tiny window for improvement next year. Teeny-tiny. Positively miniscule, or whatever.

As you have no doubt already guessed, this was more than just a casual jaunt through the woods. In total, I would guess we only ran about a mile of the entire course; the rest of the time we were parting through trees, sliding down ravines, hiking up the opposite side, and generally praying to God for that branch not to break from the stress of our body weight or our toes not to lose their fragile grip on the various footholds barely visible beneath the earth. We dashed over puddles and balanced on tree stumps. We pulled up on bungee ropes and slid in the mud. And the kicker is that Katy and I weren't even all that slow; we never collapsed in a heap on the grass or took a sitting break or even stopped for very long to catch our breath. It's that the people in front of us wearing their afro wigs and mismatched pajama bottoms combing the grounds for rubber snakes and party hats just to shave a minute off their time were batshit insane.

 

My shoes will never be the same, will they? Sob.

Despite the face that my left arm and both thighs still ache from climbing around like a jungle cat, I would do it again in a second. I had a great time talking with Katy, who I first met at a local blogger thingy at Rock Bottom way back in March 2008, not even a full week after returning to work from my maternity leave with Kara, unfamiliar with the role of working mother and missing my baby something fierce. I felt supremely out of my element that night, to say the least, and quickly declined an invitation to bowl after dinner so I could rush home and cry into Kara's shoulder, clutching her with all the strength inside me after being separated for just two hours. Afterwards, I tried to keep up with everyone's blogs, anxious to make friends in a city that after three years still felt so foreign to me, but I was barely able to stay connected to the bloggers I knew while keeping my own site fresh and making sense of my routine. Failing on all three accounts, I quickly lost touch with everyone, and friendships were formed without me.

You'd think that living in the same city would have me at least bumping into someone at the grocery store, but almost a year and a half would pass before I saw Casey and Emily again, at BlogHer this past summer, once again during an emotional low point as Luke and I had a terrible time managing the kids and I was reeling from the loss of my Parents job, in addition to seriously examining the role that I wanted blogging to play in my life. I wanted to be approachable and happy, I hated being on the verge of tears in my sweat pants at 8:30 p.m. while they were dressed to the nines en route to a party, but I didn't have the strength to be anything else; those three minutes I spent avoiding eye contact in the elevator with a tight-lipped smile frozen on my face were the most awkward of my trip. I can only imagine what they thought of me, if they thought anything at all.

It's only now that Kara and Nathan are older and I'm feeling more confident in my ability to work and parent in tandem that I'm finally ready to reach out, only I didn't have to because Katy did it first by suggesting we train for the Mini together. In addition to enjoying the easy conversation, it felt good to know that at least one mom from that night would get a chance to see the real me feeling comfortable in my own skin. Plus, it was awesome to push my body in ways I've never used it before, on a beautiful day, with the sun shining brightly and Indianapolis fall weather at its best.

Not a bad way to earn my second number.

   

My nine-month-old...

... clocked in at 19 lb 7 oz and measured 28 1/2 inches long at his last well-baby visit, though we're pretty sure that's at least a full pound short since the boy was writhing and screaming bloody murder the entire time Luke had him on the scale.

... says "Momma"! In addition to his typcial mamamamama stream-of-consciousness babble, just as often he'll stop after the second syllable and look directly at me. Hello, heart-breaking!

... points at things he's interested in, especially during reading time. He's also taken his sister's cue and started pressing his face against the pages when he sees something he likes, giving his best imitation of a kiss.

... claps just as enthusiastically whether he's happy or ticked off.

... has decided that Hand, Hand, Fingers, Thumb, his former Most Favorite Book in the Universe, is now tainted with evil. You can bet any amount of money that the tears will fall before the first monkey can even think about laying a hand on his drum. Current loyalties lie with the Animal Babies series, Kate Tom's Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star, and Inside, Outside, Upside Down.

... will get two or three Cheerios in his mouth for every twenty placed in front of him. We'll find them under his legs, in between the folds of his shirt, on the floor, and sometimes on his chin.

... is still happily eating level-two jars of baby food. We've tried chunkier ones, but he has difficulty swallowing the pieces and ends up gagging himself. (Luke still makes his own occasionally, but in the depths of all the sickness we experienced last month, it fell off our long list of priorities.)

... can hold his own bottle but seems indifferent to it these days. There are times when he either stops after a couple of ounces (that alone taking twenty minutes to accomplish) or refuses it altogether. The nurse at our pediatrician's office explained that sometimes when babies are teething, it hurts for them to suck and drink. Or he could just be growing tired of the bottle. No complaints there, so long as he continues to take in an ample amount of formula.

... has two whole teeth (with more on the way, if his nighttime waking is any indication).

... fights diaper changes every. single. time. EXCEPT when he's on a public changing table. Thanks, I guess?

... is cruising along furniture and pulling himself up on any available object (or person) in arm's reach.

... celebrated his first Halloween as a pumpkin, just like his sister did, except that his costume came from my co-worker's sister because Kara's was size 18 months and Nathan is just now fitting into 12-month clothing. Samantha, Dan, and baby Danny (who's really not a baby anymore, why do I keep calling him that?) came from Chicago to trick-or-treat with us in our subdivision, but since he and Kara both spiked a temperature that evening, our visitors had to go solo.

... was baptised on the first of the month, with Molly taking on godmother duties and Luke's best friend Tom as godfather.

... adores the quilt Molly made him in honor of the occasion. He loves to roll around on it and study the patterns.

... can entertain himself for several minutes just staring out the window.

... laughs like a hyena. I don't know how else to describe it. He's always sounded this way, but the older he gets, the more pronounced it becomes and therefore more contagious to anyone within earshot.

... considers diaper wipes to be a suitable snack and will zero in on the container whenever it's in his line of vision.

... still fits comfortably in our Chicco Key Fit 30. By six months, Kara's legs were dangling over the seat, but Nathan just might last until his first birthday. (Kara was in a convertible at this point.)

... behaves splendidly around family and friends during daylight hours, but at night, only Momma or Daddy will do. (One of several reasons I've been dragging my feet on the whole "finding a baby-sitter" thing, though I did ask one of my co-workers for the names of his sitters since he was gracious enough to offer. I don't actually have the list yet, but good intentions and all that.)

... isn't as comforted by his bedtime lion as he used to be.

... continues to have dry, extremely sensitive skin and requires several applications of lotion plus one treatment of cortisone cream a day.

... embarked on his first "Mommy and me" road trip two weekends ago so that I could see my sister Ryan while she was visiting from Germany. She came to Nathan's baptism and got to meet him there, but only for a few hours; our original plan was for the whole family to make the drive, but then Kara got sick in addition to putting on a fantastic show at all hours of the night, and there was no way we were putting ourselves through that hell in someone else's house. So Luke stayed home with Kara while Nathan and I went to Chicago, and this will sound silly, but I was so nervous because it was my first time traveling alone with one of the kids, and I was afraid I would forget Nathan was with me and, I don't know, leave him at a gas station off I-65, but it was great. He was a dream for ninety percent of the car ride, and he only woke up a couple of times that night, and he so loved all the attention he received. Plus, it was such a treat to spend that one-on-one time with him--a rarity with second children, I'm fast learning. But he takes it all in stride.

-------

And now, because I am a mother wracked with guilt over posting her son's update more than half-way through the month, allow me to bombard you with pictures.

Under normal circumstances I would consider this picture too blurry to publish, but I know you, Internet, and I knew you would want to see Cheerios' newest poster child in action.

 

The cutest, manliest pumpkin-and-monkey set you ever did see (at least in the state of Indiana).

 

The birthday buddies together for the first time, with proud Daddy D waiting his turn and little Jack chillaxing in the background. (Doesn't Ryan look fabulous? Marriage and Germany so agree with her.)

Enjoying the fruits of his godmother's creative labor. 

 

Checking out the cool toys at Auntie Samantha and Uncle Dan's house.

 

My boy and I at our favorite apple orchard in northwest Indiana, taken mid-October during a three-day weekend with Luke's parents.

 

Working on becoming the next Houdini.

Fireside chat, Internet-style

I think my children are trying to kill me.

For the entire month of October, it seemed, Luke and I were staring into the pit of hell. We slept in couple-hour patches as Kara and Nathan found various reasons to cry their bloody heads off in the middle of the night. Kara was sick three times, the most recent ailment rearing its ugly head over Halloween weekend in the middle of hosting Nathan's baptism. It was especially scary because her highest temperature clocked in over 105 degrees, and she felt so hot I swear I could have fried an egg on her forehead. We debated taking her to an urgent care center or ER but decided the drawbacks of being stuck in a waiting room with the possibility of receiving zero guidance in terms of treatment outweighed any possible benefit. Instead, we made an appointment with our pediatrician for Monday afternoon, where I was privy to the joyous experience of observing my toddler daughter's catheterization to make sure her recurring fever wasn't a symptom of a raging bladder infection. Her culture came back negative for a UTI, so apparently it was just another virus doing a number on her immume system.

So that's (mostly) why I've been MIA 'round these parts, what with the crying from all four of us and no sleep and taking off work to keep a cold washcloth on her face while ingesting hours of Max and Ruby episodes with the occasional Little Bear. As a result, there's a week and a half of unwatched All My Children episodes on the DVR and two layers of dust on this here blog. The hodge podge of images in this entry were uploaded and saved in draft form more than two weeks ago, with the intention of publishing them shortly after my last post. This means you're getting up-to-date content married with outdated photography, which was slightly outdated to begin with. But you're a go-with-the-flow type bunch. You can handle it.

 

Kara, Nathan, and me in the dolphin dome at the Indianapolis Zoo in September. Ah, memories of healthier days.

Let's transition from talk of sick children to my biggest piece of news, an idea that has consumed the majority of my non-parenting-related thoughts almost the entire time I've been away. You know that whole "half-marathon next fall" plan I came up with after my first 5K? Deliberately shelving it until next October so I would have plenty of time to train without overexerting myself? Yeah, well, I've since decided that moderation is for the birds. Not only have I upgraded my registration in the Indianapolis Mini-Marathon from a 5K to the real deal, I also signed up for all three training races that take place beforehand--a 5K in February, 10K in March, and 15K in April--as tangible motivators along the path to race day, set for Saturday, May 8, 2010. According to the Web site, "The Mini-Marathon is the largest half-marathon in the U.S., and overall, the fifth largest running event in America. The 2009 event sold out on December 26, 2008."

And I'm going to be part of it.

When I first learned about the Mini through work (God bless my employer for covering registration fees to such things), I was perfectly happy with running the 5K and absolutely terrified of committing to anything more strenuous than that. I'm new to running and swamped with responsibilities at home and still spotty when it comes to hitting the pavement on a regular basis. Of course I needed more time, right? Surely there were more appropriate endeavors to consider before taking on a lofty pipe dream. Not to mention that it's already November and the race is in the spring and how in the world am I going to train when the sun sets by five and there's snow and ice beneath my feet? It's not like I have a treadmill at home or free time to hit the gym.

So I went for the 5K, and encouraged Luke to do it, too, and that was that. End of story.

Luke and the kids in front of the elephants, Kara doing her best imitation of a stageshow diva.

Except that it wasn't the end. Suddenly I couldn't go a day without learning about somebody finishing their first half-marathon or training for that half-marathon or taking on a half-marathon in New Orleans four months from now or an entire group training for the race together. Marry that with the knowledge that a local blogger was willing to run the race with me, and my coffin was sealed. Suddenly I went from "Oh, HELL, no," to "Why the hell not?"

I've got some programs to review and some races to run before the end of the year, and in January I'll start training hardcore. I have no goals in regards to performance or rank or how much to run and how much to walk, and I still don't know where I'm going to find all this time to train. All I know is that I want to do this. So I will.

These years with young children and modest earnings are full of joy but also limitations. Luke and I won't be tackling an overseas trip anytime soon. We have at least five years before we can think about moving into a nicer house or investing in a better family car, and I don't have the intellectual gumption to focus on learning another language or picking up another degree, despite their attractiveness on my dream list. But completing a half-marathon? That's attainable now. I can run on the trail in my neighborhood or on the streets within my subdivision. I can take advantage of the free gym membership I'm offered at work and come up with a schedule to get myself there. I can train in ratty old tee-shirts and pants or I can pick up some gear from Target. I can change my eating habits. I can cross-train at home with The 30 Day Shred and other videos. I may not win this race, but I can definitely finish it. Is there a better way to celebrate your thirtieth year on Earth?

 

Nathan and I at the White River Gardens, adjacent to the zoo. He's excited about the race, too.

Last week, for the first time since before Kara was born, I clocked in below 140 pounds on the scale. This monumental achievement happened mostly by accident--when Kara got sick this last time I was too busy freaking out to remember to eat three meals a day--so when I weighed myself last Monday and the second number held steady at three, I was like, "Huh. Whadda know," and didn't think much of it. I figured it wouldn't last. Eating and running well enough to stay below 143 pounds is easy; it's pushing myself over the hump to shed another eight to ten pounds that seems impossible. But as of this morning I weighed in at 139.2, so maybe it's not a fluke. My current pair of jeans--size-fourteen, Old Navy jeans that were originally purchased after Kara was born, post-partum transitional jeans that I couldn't button without gasping out loud yet still had to wear to have lunch with my boss the week before I went back to work in March--are distastefully too big. I can put them on and take them off without undoing the button while the butt cheeks sag and reveal the waistband of my underwear when I bend over, so maybe it's not a fluke. There is still Halloween candy in my house a full week after Halloween.

So maybe, just maybe, it's not a fluke after all.

 

Luke and Kara at White River Gardens, admiring some lily pads.

One of my big projects for work last week was to itemize my budget for 2010, and one of the most notable changes from last year is the increased focus on travel. The second half of 2009 has me reaching into different sales territories for field visits and presentations, and that will continue next year, in addition to attending some conferences for my industry and for professional development purposes. Ninety-nine percent of them will be short overnights not requiring even a full day away from home, and I actually enjoy getting out into the field and learning more about what we do, not to mention being able to indulge in a book for hours at a time while I'm waiting at the airport/in flight/passing time at my hotel. Still, though, the thought of missing bedtime even one night a month (roughly) makes me a little sad. I went to Chicago this weekend with Nathan to visit with my sister Ryan, who was in from Germany, while Luke stayed home with Kara since she was so recently sick and also not sleeping well. And even though I had a blast with my family and enjoyed the extra one-on-one with my son, who turned out to be quite the easy travel companion, part of me felt so off because Luke and Kara weren't with us. I never realized how dependent my own personal balance is upon simply having the four of us together.

Kara and I looking for airplanes during one of our after-dinner walks.

That said, I think a key component of 2010 will be placing a stronger emphasis on Luke and I spending more time together as a couple outside of being Mom and Dad. A lack of family nearby and a very tight budget means we haven't solicited baby-sitters unless there's an evening work function I need to attend (awards dinner) or the occasional non-work-related event that doesn't allow for children (Billy Joel/Elton John concert in May, Tori Amos concert in August). And frankly, I am starting to feel the effects. I miss my husband. I want us to spend time together outside of watching Man vs. Food while we fold a load of towels in our pajamas. I want to go out with him wearing boot-cut jeans that fit my ass properly and a little eye shadow and talk over a nice steak and see a movie. Hell, at this point, I'll take sporty sneakers and soup and sandwiches at Panera. I just want us to have the occasional luxury of just paying attention to each other.

Of course, to make this happen, we need a baby-sitter we trust completely who won't charge us an arm and a leg to watch our children, and I still get weirded out at the idea of bringing a stranger into my house. However, the longer we go without spending any real quality time together, the closer I get to believing even that option isn't unthinkable. There are coworkers I know and trust who are willing to do this for us, but they live on the other side of town and, well, they're ADULTS, not twenty-year-olds looking to score extra money for gas or the junior prom. It's hard to muster up the courage to take them up on their generosity, as if they have nothing better to do than keep an eye on kids they aren't even related to. If only we had family nearby to hit up once and a while. If only we lived closer to where they are. But right now, we are here, and we need to embrace it, and I need to stop being afraid of what other people think and start doing whatever is necessity for my family to live a life full of color. And right now? That means finding a baby-sitter.

We have been making an effort to attend church more regularly, and my hope is to find someone there who takes to my kids instantly and is looking to sit at least one night a month. That's not so much to ask, is it? My marriage is worth at least that, right? (God, I'm looking at you. Hook a daughter up.)

Luke and the kids on the way to our walking trail.

There are so many posts brewing inside of me--a nine-month update for Nathan, Christmas shopping, ramblings about my house, more reflections on family planning and life with two children--but on my lunch hour I'm more inclined to click through my blogroll than hammer out a substantial thought track, and when I get home my top priority is to throw on my running clothes, stretch, and get out the door as soon as possible (and it still only happens twice a week!). Then it's bedtime and dishes and tallying receipts and comforting a child who is sick/teething/wet/poopy/determined to see that Luke and I sleep no more than five or six hours a night. I know it'll get easier, but I find myself growing impatient with the timeframe. Will I ever again blog with any sort of consistency, or will it always be feast or famine? Will the puzzle pieces ever just fall into place, or will I always have to work this hard to score any time with myself/my husband/my friends/hobbies, etc. etc.?

 

Don't ask this guy. He's one of them.