These are the Days

As I drove through our neighborhood today, I saw moms with their toddlers at the park as well as parents dropping off their preschoolers at an in-home preschool.  I remember those days, and I'm glad our family is past them.  Last night I was talking to Brian's mother, who's staying with his brother for a few days now that their baby has arrived, and I couldn't help but reflect on how difficult those first few weeks of motherhood were.  That overwhelming sense of responsibility kicked me in the pants hard.  But now that my kids are ten and seven, I feel like they are at the perfect age.  They don't need caring for like infants do, but they're not yet old enough to go out alone or drive.  Also, they tell me that they love me and are not embarrassed by me yet.  These are the times to remember 'cause they will not last forever.

I'm determined to remember these good times.  I tend to focus on the hardships of life more than the things for which I should be grateful.  I don't know why I do that because there's so much more of the good stuff!  I need to forget the past, stop worrying about the future, and simply enjoy the present.

Out of It

In sixth grade a classmate said to me, "You're so out of it."  Twenty-five years later, her words still ring true in more ways than one.

I don't deny that I am not on the cutting edge of technology.  In fact, I acknowledge that my life would be so much better without it.  To this day, I lament the purchase of my smart phone, which is what I would consider the worst piece of technology that I own.  What's so smart about it?  It makes me feel dumb, makes me look dumb, and encourages me to do dumb things.  It's dumb.  And such a time suck.  Yet I feel dependent on it to some degree now that I've had it for two and a half years (Yeah, that's right.  I'm not an early-adopter, either.), and if I know one thing it's that I don't want to ever be dependent on anything.  So I'm trying really hard to use it only when I need it so no more evenings are wasted away looking at things on it or checking things with it.

As a result, I've been slowly weaning myself away from Facebook.  Again.  It's easier than the last time I "swore off Facebook" because I feel everyone's getting burned out with it.  Even people who routinely posted several times a day have slacked off.  It's too much and not as many people care anymore.  I'm glad for it.  Then again, there's always something else that comes along.  A few weeks ago a friend asked for input regarding allowing her 12-year-old son to get a Facebook account.  Another teenager chimed in and said Facebook is no longer relevant (not in those words) and that instagram, snapchat, ask.fm, reddit and "a bunch of sites that parents don't even know about" are what parents should be concerned with now.  Okay, so I've heard of instagram....

You're so out of it, Sara.  Despite what Huey Lewis told you in the grocery store today, it is not hip to be square. Geez oh man.  Do you need further proof of my uncoolness?

I've been thinking about social media and its effects on our society for a few days because at our girl scout meeting over the weekend some girls were talking about videos they posted.  To what?  I don't know.  What I overheard was, "The one of me and you had 24 likes, and the one of me and Elizabeth had 18 likes."  Naturally, Elizabeth heard that and felt slighted.  I heard it and felt like screaming, "What video?  Where is it?  Show it to me now!"  

Be cool, Sara.

I asked about it calmly later, and I guess it was nothing more than Elizabeth working on her rainbow loom while her friend gave a video tour of her room. Still.  She's only ten, and knowing that she feels bad about not receiving as many likes as another friend saddens me.  If my own experience on social media is causing me to dislike our world and how we interact, now that my children are getting older and facing these issues I'm really starting to hate it.  Declaring that social media sites are the current versions of popularity contests is nothing new, but as someone who was never popular I find them to be one more way for sensible and sensitive kids to feel snubbed, embarrassed, ashamed, or even rejected.

Must we accept such intrusions into our lives with an if-you-can't-beat-'em-join-'em attitude?  Or will the prudent rise up and revolt?  I don't think it can start with me; I'm not very loud or persuasive.  But if you say you want a revolution...I'll help you change the world.

Say Uncle!

Brian's an uncle!  His brother Jason and sister-in-law Meg had their first baby yesterday morning!  Jonathan is a beautiful and healthy baby boy, and we can't wait to meet him.

Meg is fun yet calm so I know she's going to be the best new mother.  Plus she's a nurse, and I believe that nurses in general tend to not get too stressed out over the small stuff (because, really, how could they without having an anxiety attack at work daily?).  He is certainly in good hands.  J's going to be a fun dad, too.  And Jake the dog will probably wonder what all the fuss is about at first but then come around just like what happens in "Lady and the Tramp."  

As you can see, he's a perfect newborn.  Matthew, like the 7-year-old boy that he is, likes to toggle between these two photos and make his cousin stick out his tongue, and then back in, and then out, and then back in....   :-)

Welcome, Jonathan Scott!  We're so excited you've arrived!

Happy Trails

Or they should have been in today's race.  For the most part they were, and I know I should spend more time thinking about all the positive points of the first half of the run.  But you know me....

Some friends and I ran the San Tan Scramble 9K this morning.  It was 5.8 miles of trails through the foothills at San Tan Park.  It was gorgeous and the air was crisp; it was the perfect time and perfect day to run a race like that.  The first three miles were awesome, but I was starting to huff and puff even on the downhills a little after the halfway point.  I also felt like I was slowing my pace because my legs were getting tired and I really, really, really, really didn't want to fall, turn an ankle, or wreck my knees.  But at the bottom of one of the hills my mind surprised me and all of a sudden I was walking.  I hate when my brain takes over my body like that.  There was no, Should I walk?  Should I keep running?  No.  My mind didn't even allow me to consider it.  I just stopped running and walked up that hill.

That hasn't happened for awhile, and it was a setback in confidence.  There are eight days to go before my redemption run, and I really didn't need that.  My mind is elsewhere though, and when mind and body aren't in sync, things like that happen.  I believe my run could have been better if my feet were both firmly planted on the trail instead of having one in my mouth.  A few days ago, I may have unintentionally offended someone through an email.  Tone is a tricky thing in that form of communication, and my congratulatory and supposed-to-be humorous message was met with a terse reply.  Who hasn't said or written something excitedly to only later realize that it came out wrong or was read in a different way than it was written?  Everyone has.  However, I feel like I'm in this position too often (really, once is too often), and the wrong things may fly out of me more than I realize.  It should be an easy fix but responding could potentially make the situation even worse, so what's done is done and I'm left to wonder and worry and acknowledge that this is something I should be more mindful of in the future.

In the meantime, I have to let that go and get my mojo back.  Things were really clicking at the right time, and I was feeling good.  Perhaps channeling the disappointment of today's run will help me next week in a don't-let-that-happen-again kind of way.  I need to turn a negative into a positive.

Orange You Glad?

It's citrus season in Arizona!  That means my three backyard trees are producing more than we can eat.  Let's face it; there's only so much you can do with lemons.  Unfortunately, they last on the tree only about two months so we gotta use 'em or lose 'em.  I don't like to waste food so I pick a basket's worth and leave them in the teachers' lounge at school a couple times a week.  They disappear so it's good for the lemon tree and good for the teachers.  It's a win-win.  When the kids have friends over, I send a bag of lemons home for their moms, too.  So yeah.  When life gives you lemons, share them.

That basket didn't even make a dent in the bounty because my lemon tree is bonkers.  Even though it practically split in half this fall, it still produced hundreds so there is plenty to go around.  She's a spitfire, and as you know, I like to name things.  So my tree is Liz.  Liz Lemon.  I mean look at her!  She's a spaz just like her namesake and my hero.

Citrus trees grow more like bushes than trees.  Either that or we're doing it wrong.  I like to believe that because we have plenty of fruit, then we're doing it right.  Here's a snapshot of our Gilbert Grapefruit tree.  He's probably our favorite.  Brian and I enjoy the grapefruit in February and March, and the kids have fun climbing on his limbs and relaxing in the shade he provides in the hotter times of the year.

Last but not least is Orange Julius here.  He's the youngest of the bunch, so this is only his third year producing fruit.  Every year he gets better at it so we're enjoying some fresh oranges now but, sorry, we don't have enough to share with anyone but GiGi yet.  Maybe next year.

But if you need lemons, you know where to find them!

Love and Moral Support

I adore this commercial.



Every time I see it, it reminds me of Brian checking up on me while I was running the marathon.  And I cry.

When I told him I wanted to run a marathon, he never said, "Why?" or "That's crazy" or "You can't run a marathon."  He didn't mind all the training that had me gone three weekday mornings a week as well as runs on Sunday mornings that led to afternoons and evenings of me doing nothing else but moving slowly and moaning.  He bought me Gu and Nuun, went with me to get new shoes, helped me plan out my training runs, bought me gloves after he had to warm my hands back to life with a hairdryer after one ridiculously cold and wet morning run, and he never, ever, ever complained that I was gone running.

On the big day, he was there to cheer me on.  He drove my friend and me to the race start with his bike strapped to the back of our car because he figured it would be easier to get around the city's closed streets and race traffic on two wheels.  He was right.  He really got around.  I mean he didn't ride his bike next to me the entire time, but he showed up quite a bit.

I saw him at Mile 3, and I was able to hand him my mittens.  I saw him at Mile 7 and he told me my friends were at Mile 11.  I saw him around the halfway point, and he lifted my spirits when they were starting to get low.  He showed up at Mile 16 (one of the hardest parts of the race for me), and he empathized.

Me:  This is so hard.
Him:  I know.
Me:  I'm so hot.
Him:  I know.  It's warm out today.
Me:  I feel like I'm going to die.
Him:  But you look better than a lot of other people out here, Sara.

At Mile 20 he said, "I'm heading to the finish now.  Aimee's at 21.  You can do this.  I'll see you there, okay?"  I said, "Okay," and I watched him pedal off and I whispered, "I love you so much.  Thank you for loving me so much."  Because he was there.  He was there for me.  On his bike!  Taking photos, encouraging me along the way, letting me know where my friends were so I could try my best to look strong when I saw them.  He could have dropped us off at the start, had a nice breakfast (and lunch, turns out), and met me at the finish, but instead he stayed with me throughout this ordeal on that day and all the days leading up to it.  

And he was there at the finish, beaming and so proud of me even though I was out there for five hours and three minutes.  I was disappointed in myself, exhausted, hot, and looked awful but he hugged and kissed me anyway and then took me out for pizza and a beer.

He was the best part of my marathon.

Why I Run

I didn't write that, but I feel like I could have.  I never thought I'd be a runner, but after four years of hitting the pavement I feel like I'm finally doing it consistently enough and well enough to call myself a runner.  I started relatively late in life at the age of 33, and sometimes I wonder what might have happened if I had started earlier.  Though, if those two days on the seventh grade track team are any indication, not much would have come from it.  That's right.  I quit after two days.  You know why?  Too much running!  Though in my defense, "couch to running for an hour straight" is not a good introduction.  I couldn't walk easily for a whole week.  And that jerk Kevin kept passing me and mocking me.  I still hate him.  I remember you, Kevin.  I'll always remember you! You may have been a speedy little skinny kid, but what are you like at 37?  Maybe we should meet at the track.  Huh?  You might get smoked by this old lady!

With my luck, the dude probably does Ironman races now.  Nevermind!

That story aside, I'm not running to get back at Kevin.  I'm running for me and me alone.  I'm still not the fastest and I can't go the farthest, but what I get from running I can't get from anything else.  It's a lung-strengthener, muscle-toner, head-clearer, and mood-lifter and all it takes is a little time, some good shoes, and my iPod.  The neighborhood and park are my free gym with no contracts. No treadmills for me.  I feel alive and strong when I'm running out there, and I'm grateful to my body for allowing me to do it.  The runner's high and the rush of crossing a finish line (even if it's a block away from my house and nothing but the end of a three-mile training run) are two of the best feelings in the world.

You should try it.