Running truths...

I've discovered a few things since that fateful day in 2010 when I decided, at 38 years old, I could be a Runner.  Some ancient truisms are, indeed, true.  Others? Not so much.  And I've come up with a few all on my own.

Sweat may possibly be Fat crying, but Pain is not Fat leaving the body.  Sometimes the pain can be walked out, worked through or pushed passed.  But sometimes pain is pain and needs to be recognized.  Sometimes it takes ice and few days rest.  Other times it takes medical attention.  "No pain, no gain" can get you killed.

Running in high heat and humidity is Stupid.  And is also on the list of Things That Will Get You Killed.

Know your body and know your limits.

A bad run is better than no run at all.

There's really no wrong way to run.  Again, know your limits.  Know when to stay within them and when to shove them aside and blow right passed them.

Other than the $100 pair of shoes, running is the cheapest form of therapy available.

At the risk of sounding too much like a girl, a good pair of shoes really does make all the difference.  Same goes for a sports bra.

I'm a much better Person, Woman, Wife, Mom and Co-worker when I run.

Running in the woods trumps a treadmill run any day!

I will probably never win a race.  But I've never quit one either.

I'm not the only one who throws up after 13.1 miles.

My back appreciates the yoga stretches after a run.

Fruit gummies are the perfect running fuel.  But they will melt after two hours of being stowed in a sports bra on a long run.

But the most incredible thing I've learned? Running is actually Fun.

Dynamics...

A large-ish flying bug had the gall to enter our home tonight.

All animals were on Full Alert.

Cats were showing amazing prowess and aerial acrobatics, meanwhile, Bella T. Doggie casually wandered over and licked the Bug off of the wall.

The cats were less than impressed.  And a little annoyed.  And convinced the Bug still flys free.

There's a very satisfied doggie laying at my feet.

The real fairy tale...and an apology to my parents.

Himself asked me for spelling verification on my sister's middle name.  When  I asked what he needed it for he replied that he was working on Important Legal Stuff.

Me:  Why? Are you sick? Did something happen at work today? Was someone shot?!

Him:  Because it needs to get done.  And no. No.  You know, you look like a normal person...

Later...

H:  Whenever you get a chance, I need your parents' US address and phone number.

I told him the street address but not the zip code...

H:  I sort of need the zip as well.

M:  Geesh.  I always have to look it up.  It's not like I actually write them letters.

Later...

H:  Don't worry...I looked up the zip and I found their phone number.  Now I just need their birthdays.

M:  Oh my LORD.  I'm trying to raise your children here!  What else do you want from me?!

H:  Um...just their birthdays.

I dug out my Official Birthday List and read off their full names and birthdays.

H:  And the years?

M:  Gah! Details. One of them was born in '45?  But I don't remember which one.  How old do you have to be to start Medicare? 64? 65?

H:  I think it's 65.

M:  Ok.  So I made the Medicare cake for my dad...what? Two years ago? So whichever age you have to be to start that, subtract that from now...minus (or plus?) the two years and then figure out which one was born in '45 because there's two years between them.

H:  Seriously.  You really do look normal...for someone who is obviously insane.

M:  What? You're the one making feel like a compete failure of a daughter!

Years ago my mom put together these amazing family memory books for my sister and I.  And it was almost like she knew that one day I'd need to know this information.  I pulled my book down and next to the picture of her with her seven siblings was a list with all of their birthdays--including years.  Come to find out...neither of my parents were born in 1945.  Apparently my brain just likes to throw out random numbers.

Once we got the birthdays sorted out he double checked the spelling of my mom's name.

H:  Two L's?

M:  Yep.

H:  And it's e-y?

M:  No.  It's a-y.

H:  Wait.  Kyleigh's middle name is spelled e-y and they're the same.

M:  No.  Your daughter's is a-y as well.  And my mom always thought her's was e-y until some official document showed up somewhere in someone's possession that had it spelled a-y.

Crickets...

M:  Soooo all this time you've been spelling your child's name--the child who loves you more than life itself and all of her princess movies--wrong?!  And you call yourself a Daddy.

H:  Don't you have important child raising things to do?

M:  Nope, they're fine.  I'm just going to stand here for a moment and bask in the beauty that is you, for just this once, being Wrong.

**Edited**
It has been brought to my attention that He had his daughter's name spelled correctly on his own Important Information list.  So...he wasn't wrong after all.  Joy and Elation are such fleeting, fickle emotions.

For an entire week...

No alarm clocks...at least none that I have to be concerned with.

No packing lunch boxes the night before.

No morning chaos of keeping a 6-year-old on task and out the door to catch the school bus.

No reminding a 4-year-old that we have to leave earlier for school three days a week because Mommy now works there and if we're late then she gets to explain to the preschool director why we're late.

No reminding the Boy that he can only read one chapter of his book upstairs before he has to turn out his light.

Limitless early morning cuddles on the couch...I'll even sit through Disney TV for that.

No plans, no schedules to keep.  No one antsy about it.

Days spent like today...outside, soaking up sunshine and nature.

Bliss.

Sharp dressed man...

I really want to wear a tie for picture day!


You don't own a tie.


But we can get one, right?


Yeah...but it's not just a tie.  It's the button down shirt to go with it.  And you don't own one of those either.

Seriously..."Sunday best" in this house is, "Are your jeans clean and hole free?" Good. Go.  Which is actually a little ironic when you think about it...because one would think holy jeans would be the very definition of "Sunday best." Or maybe that's just me.

The hunt for a tie took place on Saturday.  And by "hunt" I mean, of course, one kiddo clothes resale store and then Target.  No luck on the tie but he did pick up two snazzy button down shirts at the resale store.

He really, really wanted to wear a tie.  I have no idea where my children get this from!  I'm pretty much a jeans and t-shirt kinda gal.  But I do know how to google.  I found a wonderful little tutorial on cutting down a man's tie and making a boy size tie.  His dad donated a man size tie to the cause and, et voila...one happy boy for picture day!

He did wear a t-shirt underneath the other shirt so after pictures he can lose the tie and button down shirt.  Now that part he gets from me!

The goofiness? I totally blame that on his dad!

Let me sum up...

I suddenly found myself employed.  You know...as in a j-o-b and steady paycheck.  Trust me, I'm just as shocked as everyone else.

It began innocently enough with a blurb on job openings at the wee girl's preschool next year and I filled out an application.  Then morphed into, "Oh, and by-the-way, this one person is resigning...how would you like to take her place for the remainder of the school year? Beginning in two weeks?"

Since, apparently, crazy doesn't just run in my family, it lolly gags around and hangs out for Sunday dinner, I acquiesced.

Last week was my first week.  And the only member of this household whose schedule wasn't completely turned upside down due to the change was the boy's.  Because I still get to be home to get him off to school and to meet his bus when he gets home.

I haven't worked outside of these four walls in four and a half years.  Last Friday was the first time in that long that I've even noticed it was Friday and rejoiced.  Well, I would have rejoiced if I'd have had the energy left to do so.  Himself came home Friday afternoon to me laid out on the couch, wee girlie tucked beside me, the boy snuggled and leaning against my bent knees and watching a movie...a doggie stretched out on the floor beside us and two neglected kitties tucked into any space not already occupied by humans.

Yes, there's stuff to get used to.  I actually have to be in and out of the shower before 8 am.  But we've been a part of the preschool's family for the past three years.  We've been active parent volunteers.  I've subbed in several classes numerous times.  The main difference is that now I'm actually receiving a paycheck for it.  My commute is two minutes.  Three if it's garbage collecting day.  My work wardrobe doesn't change--I've worn jeans, t-shirts and my Earth shoe sandals all week.  There's no question of my daughter and I being a package deal.  Teacher work days? She comes in and hangs out in their daycare room and it's a play day with her friends.  Our county decided to make this Friday a holiday...snow days we didn't get to use.  Since it was such short notice, any of us effected by the change are welcome to bring our older kiddos into work with us.  No, the pay isn't the greatest.  But the benefits far outweigh those short comings.

If I were going to write out "My Perfect Job For Right Now"? This would be it.  Probably.  Because, of course, the perfect job would be to actually be paid what I'm worth for what I do just being the Mommy.