The Last Lecture

I'm sure you've heard of it by now. Especially since it's been in the news that the author just died. I borrowed this book from my sister and finally got around to reading it this week. It's not any great work of literature, but it chronicles an interesting life and the lessons the author learned along the way.

Randy Pausch was diagnosed with terminal pancreatic cancer, but was determined to spend the last few months of his life really living. And leaving a legacy for his children. I think that's the part that got to me the most; the fact that he was making arrangements for his family to go on without him. So the book chronicles his life so that his kids will know about him as they get older and he's no longer there. He had a very interesting life and accomplished virtually all of his childhood dreams. He wanted to be Captain Kirk on Star Trek, he wanted to work as a Disney Imagineer, he wanted to be a teacher, among other things.

His three children are too young to understand that he is going to die, so he doesn't tell them. Instead, he spent every moment making memories with his kids. Some of them were big ones so that they were sure to remember it when they got older (he took his 6 year old to go swimming with dolphins--by his account, swimming with dolphins is something you don't forget). Another thing that got to me was that in every experience he was having with his children, he was saying good-bye, but they were unaware.

He also spent some time talking to children who had lost one of their parents when they were younger. He wanted to know what some of the most special memories or keepsakes were from their parent. Randy learned that the thing these kids who grew up without a parent most loved, was hearing about how they interacted with their parent before he/she died. They liked knowing that they had a relationship. So Randy started keeping a record of all of the things that he liked about his kids and all of the things that he enjoyed doing with them.

On that note, here are a few of the things that I like about my two kids.

Caeden--I like the sound of him sucking his thumb--it sounds kind of plastic-y. I love the way he is so interested in books. I like that he says, "Mommy, look at this!" whenever he is doing something new or entertaining (like balancing with one foot, or jumping as high as he can). I like watching him water the plants because he enjoys holding the hose so much. I love the way he talks, "Mommy, a rick (drink) a pees (please)." I like the smell of his favorite stuffed animal, B, because it smells just like him. I like the way he grabs his sister's head and plants a kiss right on the top of it, leaving a little wet mark.

Avery--I like the way that she takes your head in both of her hands and smashes her little face against yours. I like that she laughs so hard when you tickle her little leg rolls. I love that when she pulls herself up and is able to stand on her own, she gets so excited that she falls down. I love the way she jumps as hard as she can in her exersaucer. I love the way her puffs get stuck on her face without her even knowing it. I like the way she opens her mouth, just like a baby bird, when there is a spoon full of oatmeal coming her way. I love how when she sees you in the room, she abandons whatever she was doing to crawl over anything that is in her way so that she can be close to you.

Operation Cry-It-Out

My darlin' little sweetie is almost 8 months old. That means that for 8 solid months I have not had a full night's sleep. Sure, she's gotten better...now she usually only wakes up once a night. But still....EIGHT MONTHS. About a week and a half ago, I thought, "I've had it. This girl is going to sleep through the night," and decided to let her cry it out. For those of you out there who aren't parents, that means basically what it says, you let your baby cry until he/she/it realizes that you have decided not to come in to give him/her/it a bottle, or a pat on the back, or help finding the pacifier, or in my case all three, anymore. Sure, it sounds fairly horrible. But after eight months, c'mon!

So, I moved Avery's crib into the basement so that her crying would not wake up our other little rascal (who also has been waking up a fair amount during the night lately). I brought my own pillows and blankets down into the basement too, because although I was perfectly willing to let her cry for as long as it took, I wanted to be right there in case she needed me.

The first night she cried for an hour and a half before she finally fell asleep on her own. What is especially difficult about this for me is that Avery is probably one of the most easy-going babies out there. I seldom hear her cry at all during the day. So crying for 90 minutes means she had a pretty rotten night. The next morning she woke up hoarse and with a runny nose. She was also in a foul mood. I felt horrible. Throughout the day she got worse. She even spiked a small fever. Eventually I saw that her gums were also red & swollen. She had decided that now was a good time to invite two more teeth to descend from her gums into her mouth. This is a physically painful process for a baby, so--you guessed it--I had to abandon my plans to let her cry it out. You're not supposed to do it if your baby is sick or in pain.

The next night Avery cried for two hours. Not because I wanted her to or because I wasn't giving her a bottle, patting her on the back, or helping her to find her pacifier (or in my case all three), but because her sore little gums wouldn't give her a moment's peace. The rest of the week passed in runny nose, sore gum misery.

Until last night. Last night she could finally breathe through her nose again. Two little teeth have indeed poked through. And, you guessed it--operation cry-it-out is in the plan for tonight.

5K

Avery and me before the big event.
All five of us before we started the run. Laura, Erin, me, Angi, and Michelle
All five of us with our new shirts on after the run.


I just finished my first 5K race ever. No, that's a bald-faced lie. I've actually been in two previous 5Ks, but I was pregnant both times, so I walked them. I just finished running my first 5K race, there, now that is ever so much more truthful.

I woke up this morning at my usual time thinking, "No big whoop. I'm running a 5K. I've been running longer than that for a couple of weeks now. " But I had some jitters about it. Running by yourself is one thing, running with a pack of sports-bra wearing, high-pace setting, 'I've-done-this-a-million-times' racers is something else. My one goal today: break 35 minutes.

So I got together with my running friends and together we wound our way down to Lake Nokomis. The air was festive, music was playing, people were jumping around in the runner's equivalent of a pre-boxing match warm-up. I was getting pumped. The 10K was just finishing up, so like all the newbies, I pretended I knew what I was doing and lined the end of their race to cheer them on. Once the final runners from that race came in, the event leaders herded all of us to our own starting point.

I got my spot right up front. The announcer came on and made a few announcements, then said, "For those of you running a 20 minute or less 5K, please come and line up in the front." I scooted back. "Okay, now those of you who are running a 22 minute or less 5K, please line up right behind them." Seriously? I scooted back. "24 minutes?" Now I feel lame. "25-30 minutes?" Sheepishly, I joined that pack. What? So my goal was 35 minutes. That's close enough, right? Plus, I didn't want to be at the end of the line.

After a few more announcements, they sounded a blow horn, and we were off! At this point it was probably about 8:45 and the sun was creeping ever so much higher in the sky in its attempt to reach its full 86 degrees. No matter, I could run the race on pure adrenaline.

An interesting thing happened at about mile one. There were people lined up alongside of the race holding out small glasses of water for the participants. I thought, shoot, I'll take some of that. While trying to keep my pace, I grabbed a dixie cup from someone's outstretched hand, tried to drink it, ended up splashing it all over my face, coughing, and then tossing it into a nearby garbage can. Now I know. Stay away from the dixies.

The rest of the race was fairly uneventful. I found a pace and stuck with it. It was much quicker than my normal pace, but I knew I could do it. When I hit the 2 mile mark and my watch read 20 minutes, I knew I was cruising (for me). I ended the race at 32 minutes 10 seconds. While I was not the first person through the balloon columns designating the finish line, I was also a good ten or more minutes in front of many others. I got passed. I passed others. All-in-all, a descent race. All five of us finished in 38 minutes or less. Not too shabby.

While my running friends know my end time, there are a few things about the event that they didn't know. Here are a few:

• This morning I hopped in the shower to shave my pits, but left my legs untouched. I ran with hairy legs.
• Before I started the race, I popped a piece of gum into my mouth. That's become my habit. It is to me what a basketball player's number of dribbles before they shoot a free-throw is to them. I pop it into my mouth, let my tongue turn it into a nice ball, and then tuck it up neatly on the top of my mouth. Not entirely sure why.
  
• As the race was beginning, I was looking at the people who were wearing headphones with envy. The rules clearly said that they were not allowed. I wished I'd been gutsy like them and brought mine anyway.
  
• About one minute and thirty seconds into the race I thought, "That's it? Only one minute has gone by? Uh-oh."
• At about mile two I was thinking, "Remember when we didn't make it into the 10 mile race and we went ahead and signed up for the half-marathon thinking, 'What's three more miles?' Well, this is it. This is 3 more miles. What in the world am I in for?"
• At about two and a half miles I was thinking, "I really should have gone to the bathroom first."
• I got to the place where I thought the finish line should be (the place we started), but it had been moved and I thought, "Blast those race workers."

Although it was a challenge, I think I fared well. Next up: 10K! September 6th. Uh-oh!

Saint Elmo's DVD

I think there is a special place in heaven reserved for Elmo. Aaron has been feeling under the weather for the past few days. We went tubing the other day and while he was being thrown, bashed against the waves, tube leaping in the air, he must have picked up some water in his ear. This has made him feel very dizzy. When he turns his head it takes a moment for his senses to catch up to him. Walking has even been difficult. We've been looking online on web m.d to find if his symptoms mean anything more serious, but it seems that water is indeed the culprit. We've even tried a home remedy; I filled his ear with vinegar and something else (his concoction) in an attempt to dry it all out. Hopefully that'll work.

Meanwhile, we've got two little ones that need caring for. Enter Elmo. On days like these, I am not too proud to put in a dvd and let the kids veg out while I do the dishes or prepare dinner. And while Elmo is singing the praises about being a dog or a cat (his latest dvd being about pets), I am able to grill up a chicken breast or cut up some watermelon.

'Tis better to give

For a long time, I've been a taker, not a giver. I have fought against the adage that it is better to give than receive. I much prefer receiving.

Around Christmas time one of my favorite things to do is read Christmas letters. There is something about reading a year's summary of one's life that just gets to me. It has become a sick obsession; I even read Christmas letters at other peoples' houses--letters from people I don't even know. Yet, I have never once written my own. I prefer receiving.

Blogging has been the same way. I have many friends' blogs bookmarked and saved to my favorites. Every day, sometimes more than once a day, I check to see if there has been something new posted on their blogs. If there has, I read them over and chuckle to myself (I have very witty friends). If there isn't, I curse them...."Do you mean to tell me that it has been ONE MONTH since you last posted??" But have I left any comments? Do I invite them to view my blog? Nope. I prefer receiving.

My hypocrisy smacked me between the eyes yesterday. I was talking to one of my sisters, in essence saying good-bye because she's off to Germany to be an exchange student for the next year. As I was saying good-bye, I said, "You know what you should do? You should start a blog so that I can stay updated on your life." Read: give me more, more, more.

So finally, I decided that I'd put my own voice out there. No sooner had I decided to write my own blog than the disclaimers started flying. I'm not as interesting as my friend Shiloh. I'm not as good of a writer as my friend Erin. I don't know how to turn every little thing into a hilarious story like my friend Jenny. I'm not experiencing life in a new country like my sister Hannah. I don't have as much as what I like to call "cool" knowledge as my friend Ann. All those thoughts shot rapid fire, but then I thought, all of my friends already know that about me.

So, blogging world, here I am. This blog is what it is. This is my attempt to give a little instead of always receiving.