Hail State!

Last night the fantastic baseball team from my alma mater made history. My Mississippi State Bulldogs played for the national championship in college baseball. They ended up second in the nation for the year, capping off the best season in MSU baseball history. I couldn't be prouder of the way those guys worked, played, and represented our university and the state of MS.

During the previous games in the tournament, the ESPN commentators sounded almost complimentary of our team, extolling the virtues of our stadium, our cooking, and our hospitality. They bragged on our coach, even if they seemed to wonder about his methods at times, and helped to showcase our players as the incredible athletes they are. They even went so far as to say if you are a college baseball fan, you should make it a point to get to Dudy Noble Field at least once in your lifetime. Pretty impressive stuff. As a State fan, it's not news to anybody that the crew at ESPN hates our football team. They pick against us at every opportunity, seem very surprised when we win, and show blatant favoritism to the other team when they call our games. So watching the College World Series had been a refreshing change. Maybe our good looking, respectful, hard working Southern gentlemen were finally getting some of the respect they deserved. Good for you, ESPN.

And then they blew it. In almost casual conversation during a lull in the game (for those of you who are not baseball fans, there are a LOT of lulls in a baseball game) one of the men remarked that MSU had an enormous fan base that had showed up in Omaha to support the team. So far, so good. Nothing wrong with that. And then he added something else. I won't quote him, but the gist of it was that so many of these MSU fans can't afford this long trip out here, but they came anyway, to support these kids.

Um, excuse me? There were professionals of every kind who are MSU graduates there watching, many of whom arrived on their private planes. I have traveled to almost half of the states in this country, and in each and every one I visited I saw less-than-affluent areas. And that's putting it nicely.

As if that weren't enough, after the game ended last night and Sportscenter came on, yet another brilliant talking head, upon seeing a crowd shot of the MSU faithful with their cowbells, exclaimed, "Look at those fans. They're all like 'Y'all ain't gone win it tonight!' (In a high pitched, pitiful excuse for a Southern accent.)

So I stand corrected, ESPN. You have not made progress in your observations about Mississippi State University. (I spelled out the name, because half the time you get us confused with Ole Miss.) You're a bunch of mouth breathers who obviously don't know how to recognize a group of amazing athletes who also happen to be respectful, intelligent, and upstanding gentlemen when you see them. By the way, we have the best, most loyal fans in the country. We love each other, we support each other, and we believe in ourselves and in our teams. State fans are kind, considerate, and helpful. They will go out of their way to assist a total stranger or invite you to share their tailgate meal without a second thought. They also happen to be veterinarians, doctors, lawyers, teachers, authors, musicians, athletes, other professionals and most importantly, for a few years or for a lifetime, MISSISSIPPIANS. We are strong, we are intelligent, we are athletic, and we are wealthy in ways that you would never begin to understand. Hail State!

Still Here!

For those of you who have wondered, I'm still here. I would like to tell you that my life has been so busy I haven't had time to blog, which is mostly true. I suppose there are moments in my day when I slow down long enough to crank out a quick blog post, but the truth is that lately when those rare moments arrive, I just want to sit down and close my eyes. I used to think my mom was so silly for setting the oven timer and taking her ten minute "power naps." Now I find myself doing the same thing. I have pulled out my tablet to blog several times during the past week, but the truth is that my brain was still trying to do so many things at once I couldn't translate the fog inside my head into a complete sentence. Well, either that, or I would read what I had written and then lean heavily on the "backspace" key.
I am still trying to run 20 miles a week, keep two horses ridden, and be Supermom. And by the way, my alma mater has made the College World Series, so I've been forced to watch baseball games all week as well! Apparently this is the latest in a baseball season MSU has played in 123 years. That's pretty special. Being a Bulldog fan is tough. Football season can get really ugly. Sometimes you have to take what you can get. Play hard, boys!
As you might have guessed, it's not going so well. I just need more than 24 hours to get all my stuff accomplished! And since this pitiful body requires a certain amount of sleep (8 hours if I can get it) that really cuts into my "getting things done" time. I do have to admit that I sleep well. People complain about not being able to sleep...five miles in the morning will help you sleep like a baby! It will also make you sore and grouchy if you aren't careful. I mean, I've heard that it will...
Running helps you find all your sore spots (and helps create new ones). It also causes you to sweat in places you never knew existed. I have had sweat run into my ears, eyes, and countless other places. I read somewhere that sweat is your fat crying. If so, my fat has achieved professional mourner status. I can think about running and break into a sweat. I hope that's a good thing.

Cancer Doesn't Discriminate

Today my heart is hurting for a family that I don't know well. A vibrant young mother has been taken from her family far too soon by cancer. I met her years ago, when she and her sister were teenagers, and the heaviest thing on their minds was which rodeo they were going to the next weekend. Haley Thompson was a barrel racing and all around champion in junior high and high school rodeo, even going on to compete and win at the next level. She was young, she was beautiful, she was tough - not at all the kind of person you would think of when someone said the words "cancer patient." Unfortunately, I know for a fact that cancer does not discriminate. It attacks the old, the young, the healthy, and the sick. It seeks out mothers, fathers, children, sisters, and brothers.
I hadn't seen or talked to Haley in years, but to be perfectly honest, I prefer to think of her as young, vibrant, and beautiful, and that's how I'll remember her. Many people I am friends with on social media sites have written that they are praying for her family. I hope that they are, and I truly hope that those who wrote that they are her friends were also there for her during her life. My most sincere hope is that they will continue to be there for her children.
As a mother, my heart hurts for Haley's mother. Losing a child, no matter what the age of that child, is an exquisite agony that no parent should ever have to live through. I can't think of anything more horrible. As someone who lost their mother to cancer, my heart hurts for her young sons. Losing a parent, particularly your mother at a young age is a pain like no other. Each milestone in their lives, whether they are children or adults, will forever be bittersweet because she's not there to share it with them. I'm so sorry, boys. May God bring to you the peace that passes all understanding.
I chose to use the news of her death last night as a reason to thank God over and over again for my health and the health of my children and husband. I am reminded today that we shouldn't take a second of our lives for granted, particularly if we are lucky enough to share those seconds with the people we love.  

The Elvis Run

I started my day yesterday with a little workout. A five mile workout. I am mentioning that fact basically for posterity, because that is the farthest I've ever gone in a single session. I'd like to say that I really enjoyed it, but the truth is it pretty much sucked. Today I started my day the same way, with a 4.25 mile run/walk. That puts me at 9.25 miles for in two days, which would be impressive if I weren't thinking about running 13.1 miles in one session this December. I have to admit that it's hard to wrap my mind around going that far at this point.
I've gotten quite an education since I started running. I've learned about things like chafing, shin splints, and blisters. I've learned how much difference a twelve dollar pair of socks and an expensive pair of running shoes can make. Most importantly, I've learned that running is neither the fastest nor the easiest way to lose weight. According to my calculations based on the work I've put in, I should weigh approximately 98 pounds by now. Anyone who has seen me recently can attest to the fact that I am not anywhere close to 98 pounds.
My husband and I ran our third race together this past weekend, the Running with the King 5K. It was held in Tupelo during the Elvis Festival, which is why most of the locals just call it the Elvis Run. The race route goes past the birthplace of Elvis, a tiny shotgun house turned museum that I must confess I've never been inside, even though I've lived minutes from it for 11 years.
This race even offered an award for the best dressed Elvis who ran. It turned out to be a guy we affectionately referred to as Karate Elvis with Sharpie sideburns. Kirk almost beat him, but not quite. Oh, well, at least it gave him something to think about during the race, trying to run down Karate Elvis.
My own personal battle was with an old man who bore a striking resemblance to Santa Claus. He was  dressed all in white, a little overweight, and looked like every step was painful. As I was sprinting to the finish (because that's what I do...I can't make myself walk across that finish line) I saw him, laboring along. Now don't get me wrong, I was laboring along as well by this point, but I am still a competitor. Over the sound of my panting and my leg muscles screaming for mercy, a little voice inside my head said, "Oh hell, no! You are not getting outrun by Santa Claus. You are half his age and you run nearly every day. You better speed your ass up, girl!" So I found another gear and got it done. 
I almost ran a personal best, even though my average pace was just slightly faster than that of a turtle. As I was bent over trying to catch my breath just beyond the finish line, a runner I had swapped places with for the entire race came up behind me. "You did so good! I was able to stay up with you most of the way!" I took me a moment to realize that she was talking to me. For real? I mumbled a "thank you" and then resisted the urge to add, "Hey Toots, keeping up with me is not a big deal. If you are using me as a measure of how you're doing, you'd better raise the bar!"
On another note, I have heard the term "runner's high." I have never experienced such a thing, nor do I have any idea what that is. After gutting it out to beat Santa I felt lightheaded and thought I might pass out for a moment. Somehow I don't think that's what the term means. I guess that's what you get for outrunning a childhood icon. Sorry, Santa. Nothing personal.

Full Disclosure

In the age of Facebook and Twitter, it occurred to me that a lot of moms only share the wonderful things about their kids with the world. I mean, let's face it, nobody wants to talk about the days when your offspring climbs up on your last nerve and proceeds to bounce up and down. Or the days that they say something and you respond with, "I brought you into this world and I will take you out! And it doesn't matter to us - we'll make another one that looks just like you!"

In the interest of full disclosure, I have to say that I know people whose portrayal of themselves and their kids online couldn't possibly be any further from the truth. Let it never be said that I didn't share the good, the bad, and the ugly about me and my kids. Sorry girls, it's for the greater good. There's enough nastiness out there, and people need to laugh. If sharing our stories lets just one mom know that she's not alone in her misery blissful motherhood experience, then I feel like I have done something for the greater good.

For some strange reason, people are under the impression that my kids are sweet all the time (yes, even people who have actually seen them in person.) Allow me to rain on your parade. Not long ago, I took my girls to Chick-fil-A to play on the playground. I mean, let's be honest. They don't go there to eat. They agree to let me order a kid's meal so that they can get the toy (because we all know they don't have any) and then consume about a fourth of it. Basically, they sit there and pick at their food until I declare that they have eaten enough and can go to the playground.

In my mind, I was going to use the time they spent playing to get some work done on my computer. In reality, I spent my time shuttling them back and forth to the bathroom and helping them put on and take off shoes. This particular day was a little unusual in that we had somewhere to be. My sister-in-law was being honored at a retirement reception, and we were headed straight there when we left the restaurant.

Having been a mother for several years now, I am very familiar with the different types of playground equipment. The type at Chick-fil-A just so happens to be the kind I loathe. It was obviously designed by a man, as it is the kind that your children climb into and then are out of your reach. They come out when and if they want to, and unless you are, in fact the same size as another child, you can't go in there to get them. No woman in her right mind would have designed something so stupid. Keep that in mind, as it is about to become an integral part of this story.

All good things must come to an end, and our trip to the playground was no different. When I announced that it was time to leave, my big girls did their usual whining and eye rolling, which I'm used to by now. And then the baby decided to test her boundaries a bit.

My youngest child refused to come out of the playground equipment. In the beginning, she was afraid to slide down the slide, which was the logical choice for getting down from her perch near the ceiling. She was also afraid to come down the steps backwards, which would have been required for her to get down. And thus began one of the most epic battles of will since I became a parent.
Okay, so she was afraid. Poor kid. I really did feel bad for her at first. So I tried to coax her out. I used my softest, mommy-will-make-it-all-better voice. No luck. If anything, she cried louder.

I then proceeded to employ every weapon in the mother's arsenal. I begged. I pleaded. I attempted to bribe. I threatened. Taking a deep breath, and in my very best mom voice, I ordered her to come down. Naturally, since I really neeeeded to lose my temper, there were other kids in the room. I became acutely aware that the parents watching through the window from inside the restaurant were keeping tabs on what was going on. Excellent.
At least half a dozen times, the baby started to back down the stairs. She would get to where she was about six inches out of my reach and then stop. All I could think was, "If I get my hands on you, I'm gonna..." And then she would move back up and cry some more.
Thinking that perhaps it was time to get creative, I decided that maybe if I threatened to leave her in there, she would come out. Like all good plans, this backfired royally, and I ended up with three wailing kids instead of one. "Mom! You can't leave her here! Please don't leave her here! We love her!" My older kids were borderline hysterical. Now the super parents were really paying attention. Three screaming kids gets you even more smug looks than one.
Taking a deep breath, I took off my shoes. My older kids both bent over and covered their eyes, looking like two turtles. Awesome, guys. Could you make me look any worse? As I was wearing a dress (of course) I couldn't help but wonder how many people watching the saga unfold were going to see my ass when I climbed up inside this stupid piece of playground equipment. I leaned over and then thought to myself, "Oh, hell no! I am NOT climbing up there to get her. She is coming out, and that's that."
After what seemed like at least an hour of listening to my kid scream, "It's NOT time to go! I don't want to leave! I want to drive that little car!" I finally called for backup. I psyched up my older kids and gave them their marching orders. "Go in there and get her! Drag her out if you have to, but get her down!"
And so, my six year old went in, grabbed her sister, narrowly avoided several kicks and punches, and at last drug out my wailing, screeching two year old. I cannot possibly convey how much self control it took for me not to cause my daughter serious bodily harm in that moment. All I could think was, there may be a social worker in here. Keep it together, Mama!
Arriving at my car, my child finally got the tune up she so desperately needed. I feel sure she got more than some parents would have given her and less than others would have given her. But she apparently got enough, because now every single time we drive by that place, Sheridan yells, "Hey Mom! That's where I got in trouble!" Yes, yes it is.