Meet the Teachers

Last night was open house/meet the teacher night at my children's school. For  the first time I would have more than one teacher and assistant to meet, as we decided to put my twins in different classes this year. As luck would have it, yesterday was an extremely rough day for me. I was on the second day of an all out migraine headache, from which I finally got some relief after my husband made a trip to town expressly to refill my Relpax prescription. (Thanks, hon.)  Anyone who has ever had a migraine and then taken a Relpax can appreciate the condition that I was in, suddenly pain free for the first time in 48 hours, exhausted and now slightly drunk. I arrived at the school with the traveling circus that is now my life, three kids and two enormously heavy bags of school supplies in tow. Scooping up one brown grocery bag of supplies (only one of my bags had handles) I then grabbed the other one while simultaneously attempting to keep my kids from getting run over. Reminding myself that reinforcements were on the way in the form of my husband, I trudged into the school. Naturally, I had parked in front of the school so that I would have to walk at least half a mile to the gym carrying the supplies. It didn't help my feelings when I remembered that there was a parking lot immediately adjacent to the door I needed to go in, or when I saw that it was approximately half full. By the time we all made it to the gym, I was sweating like the proverbial whore in church. I could feel the sweat rolling down the center of my back and into my underwear. As the rows of chairs finally came into view, I was thinking I couldn't remember a time I was more excited to sit down. Heading toward the promised land, I heard an extremely perky voice coming out of a smiling face. "If you'll just sign one of these sheets..." the voice said, and its owner motioned toward a table of sign in sheets. Allow me to remind you of the situation here. Picture me, aggravated and sweating, exhausted and sort of drunk, carrying an extremely heavy shopping bag and balancing an equally heavy one on my hip, with three small very excited kids in tow. I didn't say a word, but the look on my face probably said a lot. I was thinking, "REALLY?" but I'm pretty sure it came across as "Go to hell." (Which was totally and completely unintentional, by the way. It definitely was not the sort of first impression I wanted to make.) She sort of backed up a step and then stammered, "Uh, you can put your stuff down first." I managed a weak smile and a nod before bulldozing my way to the chair that was calling my name. Fortunately, I think I was able to come across as not a complete witch to my kids' teachers. They were thrilled, one mostly because her classroom is in the yellow hallway, which is apparently much more grown up than the red one that  her sister's room is on. Who knew? Anyway, everyone and their brother has offered their opinion on whether we should put the twins in different classes. So here's my story and I'm sticking to it. We are trying to do what is best for each of our girls, even if it means that things are more difficult for their parents from time to time. We want to encourage them to be individuals rather than just part of a set. And for the record, I was an only child. We are totally making this up as we go. But don't tell them that.   

Goodbye, beach!

Today was my last morning at the beach. Something about the sights, sounds, and smells of that place just makes me want to sit in a chair and do absolutely nothing for a few moments of bliss. I could listen to the seagulls and the waves crashing on the shore for hours at a time and be completely content. But I miss the heck out of my animals, so we are headed home. We farmed out a horse, a cat, and a dog for this trip, so I know at least three creatures who are really ticked at me. The corgis had company last night when the neighbors came to swim, so they shouldn't be too miffed. Honestly, it's our menagerie of animals that keeps us from traveling more than we do. Time to thin the herd! (Yeah, right.)

My big girls spent their beach time with their grandparents, so the baby was on her own with us. She wormed her way into our bed for the first time since she was a crying, nursing newborn this weekend. It was just too hard to turn her down when she opened the door and said, "Can I sleep with y'alls?" (Y'alls is the plural of y'all, for those of you who don't speak Sheridan.)

She may have been in bed with us, but there sure wasn't much sleeping going on. She tossed, turned, flipped, talked, sang, kicked us in the back, smacked us in the face, touched our faces, pulled my hair...pretty much anything and everything she could do but let us go to sleep. She has been sleeping with her sisters all summer (they fight over whose turn it is every night) and sometimes they will say, "I'm just too tired tonight. I don't want her to sleep with me." Now I know EXACTLY what they mean by that. It is by no means a restful sleep when Sher is in your bed.

We are almost home, and I can't wait to see my animals and sleep in my own bed. I have a new barrel horse that I love, and it almost killed me not to go barrel racing this weekend. Our beach trip was planned long before we got Hank and we were all looking forward to it, so off to the beach we went. It was oddly quiet this weekend, as the baby didn't have anybody to fight with and could watch whatever she wanted on tv. Now the gang's back together again, and if you're wondering how long it was before they started fighting, wonder no more. It was at least 30 seconds.

Beach Vacation

Hello again! For those of you who wondered if my little darlings had tied me up and set me on fire, or perhaps that I had met some other unfortunate end, let me assure you I am alive and well. My life has been moving at the speed of light the last few weeks, and I simply haven't taken a moment to sit down and write about it. I've been too busy living it!
At this very moment I'm sitting in one of my favorite places on the planet, a balcony overlooking the beach in Orange Beach. My husband is not a beach person (we went snow skiing on our honeymoon, for crying out loud) so I haven't been down here for at least 11 years or so. Even though this hasn't been the lazy, lie around and nap/tan/write/cross stitch beach vacation I had in mind, it has still been wonderful. My fabulous, hard-working husband has a very difficult time relaxing. Doing nothing is not really his thing, so in thirty minutes we are going parasailing.
I can't put my finger on just what it is about the beach, but sitting in a chair listening to the water just makes something in my soul happy. People watching reminds me that I have nothing to be self-conscious about, as anyone down here will rock a bikini, no matter what her age or size. (I however, will not.) I needed an extra swimsuit, and your choices down here are dental floss bikinis or plus size. Since I am not currently in either of those categories, I decided to just wash and dry the suit I already have.
My babies are seeing the beach for the very first time. My big girls went with their cousin and grandparents, so the baby has had her dad and me all to herself this weekend. I have to say that yet another thing I love about my husband is his willingness to let a three year old plan our day. She slept until lunch, we went to the beach, and now we are about to go on a dolphin cruise. I know she won't remember this trip, but it has done us a lot of good to spend some one on one time with her. Mom and Dad's undivided attention can be hard to get at home.
I had grand plans about writing a bunch of blog posts, but I think I'll go enjoy my family instead. I could come here alone and write for days. Something about this place just lends itself to creativity. But my baby girl will only be little once...

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.