Our Bold Adventure Continues

First, you have to resign yourself to being tired. As fun as Christmas is with kids, and it really is now that they're old enough to get it, there is an endurance aspect to it all. But, once you accept that there is a fatigue you cannot escape -- because Christmas Eve is never an early night and Christmas morning comes early -- it's wonderful. It's wonderful to listen to M explain that she REALLY heard reindeer on the roof last night, and watch O be more intrigued with the mechanics of her new Zingo game than the game itself (it's a bingo-like game with a little dispenser for the chips, and woah! is the dispenser fascinating). They're old enough now that they thought to distribute gifts as well as dive for the ones with their names on it, but they're young enough still that there was a steady chorus of "I want to open another one." The opening was over, breakfast was yummy, and then we had the time-honored, chaotic tradition of Christmas phone calls to

When alloted one piece per night -- provided they a) finish their dinner and b) remember to ask -- it takes four-year olds from Halloween night until December 5th to consume all their trick or treating candy. Reeses Peanut Butter Cups were the hands-down favorite. Tootsie Rolls were also quite popular, but Three Musketeers bars were thrown-away half-eaten.

Last year at this time I filled this blog with my somewhat arcane knowledge of Thanksgiving , thanks to the work I did on my master's thesis. Most everyone I know has heard this information now, so I won't rehash. I'll let a few years go by, and assuming I'm still in the blogosphere then, I'll let 'er rip again. This year I'm focused on family, and how nice it is not to travel -- which in many ways is an oxymoron since we have no family here. I'm focused on what a nice place Boulder is to call home, and I'm not just saying that because it was 70 degrees and sunny today. I'm focused on my new hobby of running, and how I never thought I'd be one to plot when I could squeeze a run in. I'm focused on the fact that I was a moron for waiting until the last minute to go to the grocery store, but I'm enjoying the smell of baking sweet potatoes. So I'm focused on some good things. But also, it seems I'm NOT focused in some important pl

Woo hoo! I ran my first road race this weekend, a 5k. That's about 3.1 miles, for those of you who don't speak metric. Not far by some standards, but considering that 12 weeks ago I hadn't run since I was 17, it's far enough. Here I am, in the second row with the blue pants on. Not a great photo, but it's all I have. The woman with the short hair on the right is our coach, Pam. It all started with the Avon Walk . After a spring and half a summer of long-distance walking I was completely over the idea of walking as serious exercise. It takes too long -- who has five hours to walk 20 miles each weekend? So running was the next logical thing to try. I trained through a local store, Fleet Feet , and a program called No Boundaries specifically for new runners. I had two coaches and a group of ten or so folks to run with each week. I enjoyed the training more than I thought I would: it turns out that running is fun. It took a coach to show me that I was trying to go to

Election Day morning: O: Daddy's getting on a boat. Me: Oh, really? Okay. What kind of boat is daddy getting on? O: He's going to a boat for Rock Obama. Me: You mean daddy's going to VOTE for Barack Obama? O: Yeah. Election Day afternoon: M: Where's the line? Me: What line? M: Rock Obama and John McCain are in a race, so where's the line? Me: There is no line, sweetie. M: But if they're racing and tonight we'll know who wins, there must be a line. Me: It's not that kind of line. They're not really running like mommy goes running. M: Then how are they running if they don't know where the line is? The day after the election: O: Now that Rock Obama won he gets to dress up and be president. Me: Dress up? O: That's what the president does, he dresses up. Me: Oh. I see. What else does the president do? O: He just dresses up and talks. Me: I see. O: Will John McCain get to be president next time? Me: Oh, you want it to be fair. No, sweetie, he proba

M+O's school just started a letter-based show and tell once a week. There's a letter of the week and kids bring in something that starts with that letter's sound. The letters are in random order and M+O's teachers gave us a handout and a list of each week's letters through the end of the calendar year. The first week I nearly blew it with "m," but as we raced out the door I remembered and directed the kids to grab something. O found a stuffed mouse and M brought in a couple of magnets (noting, of course that SHE began with the "m" sound so she didn't actually have to bring anything). This week I vowed to be better. The sound was "t" and the night before show and tell we went all over the house collecting "t" things. It was a game, and we all had fun with it -- their phonics skills are good enough that with most things they can tell you what letter a word starts with. We made a little line of our finds: truck, train, tambo

With the economy depressing us all, I thought I'd post something to make us laugh. This first one is my favorite of the three. There's a buzz about this first piece, both with people I know and now on NPR. It's funny. But it's for real -- really trying to get Jewish people to get their relatives in Florida to vote for Obama. (Don't take the language seriously.) The Great Schlep from The Great Schlep on Vimeo . This parody of the Vice Presidential debate will make you laugh. Or else, you're a McCain supporter and we probably shouldn't talk politics right now.

There are days when I fantasize about having free time the way a person dying of dehydration must fantasize about water. Those days are frequent. But there are also days when I think I have it together pretty well, even though I know things below the surface, or in my laundry room, or desk, or bills pile are about to explode. Occasionally there are times like tonight when Jon is halfway around the world and the house is quiet, kitchen is clean, lunches are made for tomorrow and I look around content. While there are things to do, nothing seems urgent, but then I find something un-done that's been un-done for a long time, like the photos I still haven't finished pasting into my wedding album, and I realize it's all a ruse. Even when I feel I have everything all together, I don't. Having it together seems unattainable. Many of my friends are moms who don't work. Conversely, few of my friends are working mothers. Most of my working mother friends have older children, c

I've been a reluctant exerciser most of my life. I participated in track and cross country in high school because being on a sport got me out of gym class. Running didn't require a try out and it was way better than gym. William and Mary had a four-semester gym requirement which I met with one dance class, two ropes course classes called "Adventure Games," and bowling. In my post-college years I did no serious exercise at all, and stayed sedentary even as each of my parents suffered (and survived) heart attacks. Age caught up with metabolism around age 30 and I began to half-heartedly work out at a gym. Close to my wedding I worked out with a trainer and actually enjoyed it, though that spell was short-lived. Soon grad school, and then kids, sucked up my energy and time. Inertia set in. But Boulder has a way of wearing off on a person, and it turns out that if I make it fun I don't mind exercising so much. Hiking. Rock climbing. Riding around on my bike, pulling

We've been married eight years today. Eight years of marriage, ten of conversation, and there are still occasionally things he says about himself that I didn't know — recently, a story about grade school, rotating seats in math class, and waiting for it to be his turn to move to the front row. There was a girl involved, and teasing, and I'd never heard a word of it. It's nice when after so many years there's still something new to share. The old things are nice, too. It's nice to know how much cheese someone likes in their quesadillas AND which newspaper columnists they turn to first. It's comforting to know a routine so well that I can time my morning shower to come downstairs to be on kid duty just as his cereal bowl enters the sink. It's nice to know he's cheering for me when I have something big going on, and it feels good to support him in his endeavors. Mostly it's just nice to be together. And to be a family together. My love blossoms furt

Or, "Don't worry about me, I'll just be here in the back." I've joined a women's hiking group. By "joined" I mean I have been twice, and by "hiking" I mean walking up a very steep natural stair stepping machine. They meet every Monday evening from April until September and hike a different hike around Boulder. (For those of you not in Boulder, I'll let that sink in -- yes, there are that many different hikes in and around Boulder.) They hike throughout the season and then as fall approaches they hike a "14er," or a 14,000 foot mountain. Then, they hike "the three mountain challenge," which is hiking the three major mountains in Boulder in a single day. So, you can imagine my wonderful timing in joining this group when everyone else is in peak shape, all prepared for their two big events of the year. They're hiking their 14er on September 6th, so this was the last regular Monday hike. I'm sad to see it go eve

I canned peaches today, my inaugural canning experience. Loads of fun and not at all difficult, it's just that there are a few rules to pay attention to. The first thing to know is that Colorado peaches are divine. I'm not sure why people in Georgia are all ga ga over their peaches, because there is no way on god's green earth they're better than these mountain beauties. The line for them at the farmer's market is always 15 or 20 people deep, and every week I'm in it buying my fix. A neighbor told me she cans a bunch each season and they make winter more bearable. I'd been wanting to learn to can; I asked if she'd show me how, and of course she said yes. So, a couple of neighbors, a couple of boxes of peaches, and a couple of hours later, I'm practically an expert. Well, close enough that I'll try it on my own next time. First we sterilized the jars. Then we washed, halved, and peeled the peaches (that order worked best). Then we put them in jars

One year ago today I was on an airplane moving to Boulder. Funnydad and daughters had come ahead, leaving me an un-populated house to prepare for sale. And leaving me plenty of time to brood about Change, the nature of Home, and just how the hell we were going to sell our house in a declining real estate market. The house sold lickity split for our full asking price, which I took as a good omen. A year sounds like a lot when you say it out loud, but it's really short when you live it. Here I am a year later trying to make some sort of sense of it all, realizing I'm not sure there is sense to be made. Boulder is a great place to live, no doubt. About its only major drawback is that it's so far from family. Everything else agrees with us: the weather, the community, the culture, the politics, the geography, our quality of life, even the availability of ethnic food. So then why don't I feel all nestled in and not new anymore? And what does that even mean? We've done a

M has an imaginary friend. In the car today she was telling me a story about her friend "Ima" (Eema?) and the things they did together today: swinging, pretending something was a ship, etc. I asked if Ima was a new friend at summer camp. M said, "no, mom, I made her up." "You mean she's not at school?" "No, I said I made her up." Later, when M+O were talking about their birthday in September (which they know is "soon" and discuss almost daily) unprompted, M said Ima would not be able to come to their birthday party because she had a doctor's appointment that day. I wouldn't have expected a twin who has a constant playmate to have an imaginary friend, but she does. Wonder if Ima will stick around? (I found out later that funnydad knew all about Ima. She's been with us for a month or more he reports. Where have I been? Yeah, I'm the Best. Mom. Ever.) * * * O: At school at circle time sometimes the teachers say a boy ha

When M grows up she wants to be "an excellent drawer." She also wants to be a "snork snickeler" which is their word for snorkel (a thing they'd never encountered before last week). O wants to be a snork snickeler, too, and an "art maker." I guess she's not limiting her medium just yet. We learned these things while on our vacation back east. It was fantastic to spend 11 days with our kids as a family. Somehow, when separated from regular life, the same kids who can sometimes drive me up a tree became a near-constant delight. We watched them play in new spaces and make up wonderous games. We spent more time together just hanging out and learning their versions of songs ("it's one-two-three strikes and you'll be happy at the old ball game") and hearing about their newly-formed career plans. Until now the "when I grow up" conversations have been limited to things they can't have yet. Like gum. Or cockatoos. Or sparkly p

Amy, me, Monica, and Elizabeth a few miles into our walk. Note that no one looks tired, sore, sick, or injured. So I did it. I put one foot in front of the other and completed the Avon Walk. It was, quite honestly, a lot harder than I thought it would be, and every bit as rewarding. It was a lot of things, actually. Fun, inspiring, parts were easy, parts were miserable, some of it was boring, the scenery was beautiful. Mostly, I'm glad it's done. Step by step it's not that hard, I mean it's walking not technical climbing or anything. But all those steps build up and after a dozen miles or so you feel it. By the end I was gimpy, having strained the top part of my calf muscles. Those muscles and general fatigue made getting up at 5:00 a.m. to walk again on Sunday super hard, but I did it. The event was a lot of monotony because as I've explained, long-distance walking is more a mind and time game than an endurance contest. As I walked a seemingly endless path I though

It's now the week before my big Avon Walk. I walk next weekend, June 28-29. If you'd like to donate, there's still time. If you're tired of my groveling for dollars, you can ignore me guilt-free: I made my fundraising requirement. I'd love more support , but I am cleared to participate now that my many friends (and some strangers) have coughed up $2150. (Though, if I raise another $50 I get a baseball hat.) I am sure I'll post more after the Big Event, but the truth, dear blog reader (both of you), is that I'm kind of over this whole Avon Walk thing. It's dragged on too long. The lead-up has been too slow. I signed up sometime last fall, jazzed and excited, so thrilled I literally jumped up and down when I decided to do it. My concerns at the time were about raising the money, not completing the walk. Turns out, fundraising was a challenge and I didn't enjoy it, but I got it done with only minor stress. It's the training that had me in tears. Not

I'm back from the wild west. Last week I traveled to Worland, WY for a short business trip. The trip went well, but the place is what merits mentioning here. Worland, WY is not just a small, rural town. It's a small, rural town more than an hour from the closest Target, Wal-Mart, or interstate. It's a place where the only national chains are a McDonald's and a Burger King. It's small, and not in a quaint way. It's got appeal -- mostly from outstandingly friendly people I met while there and the unique land that surrounds it, but this factory town with a wild west history is certainly dusty around the edges. The plane trip in shows you how remote Worland is -- nothing to see for miles around -- and the town feels very flat. Maybe there were a few two-story buildings, but apparently it's cheaper to build out than up. It all felt dwarfed by the space surrounding it. I came home humming Cole Porter's song, "Don't Fence Me In." I flew in on a bu

Me and 54,250 of my closest friends were part of the biggest timed road race in the country today. I wasn't exactly racing, but there were those who were. I walked the 10k course along with thousands of other people -- the Bolder Boulder is open to everyone, and has a large contingent of walkers in addition to some serious runners. It's been going on for thirty years and attracts people from all over the country. And it's right here in Colorado (which I recently heard is considered the nation's healthiest state). It was fantastic, and I can't wait to do it next year. Who wants to come to Boulder and do it with me? Ten kilometers (roughly six miles) isn't a tough walk, and for someone training for the Avon Walk it should be like a warm up. There were 85 start times to stagger the elite runners from the slow-poke walkers -- I left in a fast walker group at 9:10 a.m. (9:10:40 to be precise, and as they shuffled each starting group to the starting line, they actua

Someone brought an archery bow for target shooting in to my office. Because that’s just the kind of outdoorsy place Boulder is. Or ECOS is. Or it’s what kids do. I’m not really sure what collection of reasons combine to make this seem like the sort of thing that happens here, but there she was with a bow in her hand, flat and unstrung. Her kid doesn’t use it anymore, and another colleague’s kid may use it for summer camp. Like the proverbial person who gets on a bicycle after years of not riding only to pedal effortlessly, I knew what to do. I strung the bow in about two seconds, gently threading my leg through the loose string, placing the lower end over my left foot and the center of the bow on the outside of my right hip. A gentle push out with my hip and down with my right hand, and the job was done. I haven’t even thought about archery since the summer I was 17, and yet I remembered how to string a bow as if I’d just emptied a quiver. Isn’t it funny what a person keeps locked awa

I hope every single person reading this has a friend this great. She's using her blog to help me raise money for my Avon Walk. Rock on. And thanks -- to all who have supported me, and to the ever-wonderful Lynsey.

Some people have pointed out that I've been a little lame in my blog posting of late. Sorry. I've been busy. Already I'm in over my head with my gardens (yard and vegetable) -- who knew you had to water every day here beginning in April? That is, on the days it doesn't snow. It's a lot of work and so far I'm doing okay, though only okay. Martha Stewart won't be giving me any gardening awards this year. My onion tops got a little scorched and my strawberries didn't transfer well. But I have pea sprouts and small spinach plants. There are tiny lettuce heads growing, my beets and radishes are coming up, and the broccoli looks great. My carrots are slow to send up shoots, but I have hope they'll get with the program soon. There are weeds between the rows, but I've been vigilant about the rest. This weekend I hope to install my drip irrigation watering system which will be on a timer and should help me not kill things as the heat sets in. There's

As a new backyard birdwatcher I marveled at the Very Busy House Finches building a nest under the eave of our porch. It's an old house finch haunt, apparently; they come back to the same nest year after year. The previous owner told us about the nest, and said it'd been there since they bought the house. They'd never had the heart to take it down -- even though over a sliding glass door doesn't seem like an ideal location. Someone put a little ledge up there to encourage nest building, and it works. Each spring the birds spruce it up with new, found materials and get busy. We have lots of house finches on our feeders, but two chose to call the nest home, and I was thrilled. All spring I've watched these busy birds swoop in and out, and I've just been waiting for the day I hear little peeps. It's been tough to wait, especially since I don't know a typical house finch schedule. When should I expect babies? Larger, heartier birds like eagles have had their

In spite of the happy windbreaker story, it appears that our dear, sweet daughter, M, is still terrified of wind much of the time. If it's just breezy she's mostly okay. The windbreaker helps, and the other day we actually colored with chalk in the driveway while wind rustled the trees. I had to explain that wind doesn't come from the trees, but I'm not sure she got it. Light breezes are okay, but if a gust comes sweeping by, heaven help her. It's so terribly sad to watch your child be tormented by something you have no power to stop. The weather continues to be a tease here, but when it's nice, it's really really nice, and the other three of us are not keen on staying indoors. So, we're continuing our balance between compassion and reality, thinking that she'll outgrow this fear in time, and until then, small exposures will help desensitize her a bit. So, last weekend we made a BIG DEAL of going to get a kite. The girls, especially M, have been aski

Funnydad phones from work to say he's bored. It's Friday afternoon and he'd rather be home with us. Bored bored bored. O ponders this for a moment and says, "I don't want daddy to be bored." I tell her not to worry, he'll be un-bored soon. M asks, "How did he get bored?" O explains, "Maybe a magic witch came and made him bored." M says, "Yeah, a person with a wand waved and he was bored." O adds, "Magic people can turn you into lots of things. They can make daddy bored." I ask the girls if they know what bored means. They say, "Yeah! Yeah, yeah it's ... um, um. No." And go back to their play-doh.

M is deathly afraid of the wind. She'll throw herself on the ground in terror, huddle in a little ball, scream and cry until we carry her to shelter. And, if you've never been to Colorado, I'm here to tell you we have some wicked wind in this state, which doesn't help. Wind whips around along the entire Front Range -- something about being on the leeward side of the Rocky Mountains and cool air coming down from higher elevations. This time of year is the worst. We've tried everything we can think of, stories about how the wind is our friend, discussions of nature and rain and sun and fluffy bunnies and how they all like wind. We've read books about wind, we've tried ignoring M and her fears, we've tried cowtowing to her. O, for her part, plays the good twin, never complaining, and occassionally proclaiming her love of wind. After a couple months of this, we're tired. Our new approach is balance. Sympathy tempered with tough love, understanding mixed

March may go in like a lion, but our lion has a split personality. It was in the 50s today, though there was a dusting of snow on the ground early this morning. After work Funnydad brought the girls to a playground in the bike chariot, taking immediate advantage of the extended daylight and our quixotic weather. Last week we built a snowman. Two weekends ago it was warm enough to wear short sleeves while doing yard work. The weather here, in the shoulder seasons at least, is wacky. My friends in Minnesota are still dealing with snow and temperatures below freezing, and this is the time of year I'm gleeful to have left the upper Midwest behind. We always want the best of everything, so I'm sure summer will have me wishing for one of those 10,000 lakes and a cabin. But for now give me my quirky Colorado March weather. At any rate, it's time to get started on my garden. Go Time. No time to putz around, there's a lot to do. Time to get excited, dirty, eager, and almost cert