Hell Week

Hell Week is kind of like Shark Week, but instead of sharks, it’s filled with trips to the pediatric emergency room.

I’m going to write this in the past tense in a hopeful/defiant middle finger to the universe and a way to proclaim that it’s over. That THAT was last week, and this week will be a spectacular return to the mundane.

Like the week before last, when I was just worried about getting my runs in each day, and what time the kids napped and went to bed at night. And that my four year old didn’t like soccer that much.

This week we didn’t even try to go to soccer, or preschool for half of the week. It was pure survival mode.

Last weekend we celebrated Henry’s first birthday with a trip to the farm with hay rides and giant swings and cupcakes decorated like pigs, cows and duck-chicks, and on that day it became known to me that there was a family health crisis going on, no not Henry’s, ANOTHER one, then I spent the next few days stressing, but then started to come up for air on that one, Tuesday Henry started having a runny nose, no big deal, Anna had had a cold a few days before, wasn’t a bad one, just involved copious amounts of nose running, he was running around happy as can be, went to bed Tuesday night, then at some point when I was nursing him around 5 a.m. the next morning, I felt him making a weird thumping with his stomach against me. He was asleep so I figured he was dreaming, you know how you can sometimes make involuntary movements while you dream? But then I turned on the light to check and realized he was having a little trouble breathing.

Am I overreacting? Am I delirious? Please don’t be this breathing shit, God knows I can’t handle this, can’t handle watching stomachs and necks and fingertips and lip color like we did when Anna was three months old and sick with RSV bronchiolitis do I wake up my husband? Yes I do, check Henry, yes he agreed he was wheezing a bit, do we watch him, do we go to the after hours urgent care do we go to the hospital where are your shoes do we call someone to watch Anna no get her in the car no warm it up I think cold air is bad for breathing or is it warm? I can’t remember is there time for Googling no, no Googling, that’s panic inducing let’s go, call the pediatrician on call my phone is dead get your phone Anna is crying where are we going is it morning no it’s not morning yet

is henry getting worse in the car why yes yes a little bit

drive to the urgent care, they are closed, who invented an after hours urgent care clinic that is closed ever?

and so on. ER visit, diagnosed a reactive airway situation, gave steroid shot, three treatments of Albuterol, sent us home with a nebulizer. Second night, rinse, wash repeat.

So Thursday morning we got back from the ER around 6 a.m. The kids wouldn’t go back to sleep, because why would they possibly sleep after being up at 4 a.m.

By nightfall the following had transpired:

My phone had gone missing. I assumed it fell off the roof of the car somewhere between our house and the hospital.

That morning the street sweepers came through. They come through maybe twice a year, but of course they came Thursday and sucked up my phone (?).

Henry managed to throw his mesh feeder into the toilet just as Anna was flushing it. A plumber and $300 later the rubber gasket blocking the pipe was removed.

I went into the backyard and realized the ground was squishy beneath my feet. I had turned the hose on to water the trees THREE days before. The hose had been on since Monday.

Henry peed on Walt’s sandwich.

We were too tired to make another one.

And that was just Thursday. You see how this is going.

I’m glad the week is over. I will never take health and sanity for granted ever again. Right now Henry is still on the nebulizer but I’m hoping he’s finally on the mend. I also got sick and couldn’t run so I was even more of a basket case of stress than you’d imagine, and I just tried to run this morning and had like a lack of air/asthmatic type coughing afterward so who the hell knows when health will return to my house.

I’m doing woo-woo crap I don’t normally believe in, anything, kale shots, burning mugwort, positive thinking, all hands on deck, get me to health week.

Hell week is for the sharks.

La Mia

Today is Henry’s first birthday but I haven’t yet written about Anna turning four. It’s been a busy whirlwind since traveling, coming home and jumping back into the preschool year and routine, and both birthdays. The school year has been off to a rocky start. Jet-lagged, overwhelmed, Anna balked at the five mornings of institutionalization (plus soccer on Sundays!) and we are slowly getting into a new groove.

Wake up, preschool prep, walk to school. We walk every day we can, which is the best new ritual ever. I run with Henry in the jogging stroller while Anna is in preschool, so Anna hitches a ride on the end of the Bob, or walks a bit.

Henry’s not sure he likes it. He kicks her and she screeches in mock annoyance which is actually joy. She loves when he pulls her hair, when he wrestles her and they roll around on the floor, when he sits on her head and grunts. She’s pretty much the best big sister that ever could be, and he can do no wrong in her eyes.

Now that’s she’s four her eyes are all brown. They’ve lost all the hazel of her babyhood, and even though she’s a petite flower of a four year old, clocking in at 32 pounds and 36 inches tall, four years old can no longer be mistaken for a baby’s age.

Except it can, and in between her adult-like interactions, hobbies, loves, dislikes, habits and conversations a wide-faced baby lives. One that gets way too tired after being forced to go to school five days a week and wants to be carried upstairs, cradled on her way to pajamas and a book.

Anna the baby is there, but now she just shares space with Anna the mini person, Anna the artist, Anna the athlete whose body sometimes gets ahead of her (“I can’t calm down, Mom!” She laments after whirling and screaming through the house or yard for an hour). Anna the thinker and Anna the girl who loves her princesses and her dress up clothes, who fashioned makeshift Rapunzel hair by finding a long white ribbon that she demands we tie onto her hair, just so, that she then flounces around the room like a Disney heroine on stage.

Anna the ham.

Anna the artist shows the most. Left-handed, right-brained, anti-authoritarian on a tricycle, she refuses to be quizzed.

“Do you know what number this is?” A well-meaning lady at the park asks.

“No.” She answers, factually, even though of course she knows, she’s known since she was two years and zero months.

Her ditto sheets from preschool come home all wrong, all right, with the doodles all over, mermaids and suns and dogs and people with eyebrows and the drawing that’s supposed to be colored in ignored, with the spaces empty and the backside covered in elaborate artwork.

She doesn’t want to be tested. She wants to be loved. On her birthday I read her all the nice comments people left on Facebook about her, about how she was special, and funny, and super kind, and she considered it all, mulling it over in her little doll head, and then she asked, “What else did they say?”

But they couldn’t say it all, and neither can I. I’m just here as co-illustrator, ghost writing credits. I’m still looking for enough words for my love, for the world’s love. What else? What can I say?

What else will they say?

Woman With A Plan

A training plan, that is. This is really the first detailed running plan I’ve ever followed. Last winter I roughly followed a plan for my first half marathon, but it just gave me miles per week/runs per week and not specific workouts with targeted paces. Well, that’s not technically true, I followed a coached plan for a sprint triathlon last year, but it wasn’t running specific.

So I’ve historically never run more than like 15 miles per week consistently. I don’t think I’ve ever run more than 20 miles IN a single week. I just always do three or four runs, one fast and short, one long and slow and maybe speed work if I’m specifically training for a race or something else. I’ve wondered if I could really improve my times with a lot more miles per week. It seems to be what everyone and their motherrunner says: more miles, faster. My body just always rebels against me when I tried to add miles, though, with nagging sorenesses and quirks that I worry might turn into actual injuries.

Maybe I just need to slowly add more miles, get over an initial hump (dead legs, bad runs, a right butt cheek that needs an elbow in it every second of the day, ouch) and then see the benefits?

Or maybe I have a decrepit body that responds better to less miles, just more quality workouts? I keep reading that if you try to get faster by just running HARDER you can make short term gains but then hit a a wall, but if you run MORE you can reach your potential over the long term. I’ve already tried the former (and got faster on it) so I might as well try the latter. I can always find my personal happy medium. It’s like experimenting on yourself.

So I signed up for the 10K challenge that Michele at NYCRunningMama put together. I chose the PR Crusher because I want to crush my PR. I’m a little worried about getting there in such a short time (I want to do the Run for the Warriors in Lindenhurst on November 10th, even though the PR plan goes through November 30). Also, I’m not even BACK to the peak fitness I was at when I got my last PR (my 50:02 on the trails). So how can I expect to BEAT that PR? But that’s what I want to do, so I’m going to try. If not now, I know it will happen soon.

So this week my legs feel like crap and I couldn’t even hit my tempo pace on my tempo run, which I was faster than just like week, and I’m blaming Crossfire, the Crossfit knockoff at the gym I did for the first time on Saturday.

I wouldn’t recommend the following workout. Because apparently it makes you look like a man when you’re done.

Because: 150 kettle squats + 120 jump squats + 90 sumo squats with kettle bells + 60 one leg piston squats + 30 handstand pushups + 400 meter run x 3. No rest. Just leg death. (And I used a 25 lb kettlebell.) Yeah, I hurt my quads. Or at least got so sore it was bordering on injury. Like I was swollen for two days. So every run after that kind of hurt, even though I gave myself an extra full rest day on Sunday.

So I’m hoping that’s what it was, and I can hit my paces and tempos next week. I feel so fancy writing that sentence. I DID hit my speed work paces, mostly, this morning. Although I shouldn’t start off with 5:13 pace. Guess that’s too fast. Who knew? Ha.

So here’s to planning. And running more. And less squatting.

Spartacus Matris

I don’t know how to conjugate Latin. If anyone does, please correct my stupidity above. Do I keep it Spartacus Mater? Nominative? Genitive? Mommy brain? I used to know this stuff.

Anyway, perhaps a linguistics exam will be part of my Spartan Sprint this Saturday in Blue Mountain, PA. I wish there were academic portions of most road races and mud warrior events. I would win things! Someone please invent a Mud-Jeopardy-SAT Question-5K.

So a funny thing happened on the way to the Spartan Forum: We accidentally signed up for the hardest of all the Spartan Sprints, the one dubbed “Mini Beast,” and a race that although advertised as a 5K is actually a five-miler. Did someone over at Sparta HQ mix up their measurement systems? Do they not know about the wacky metric systems those Frenchies are using in Commie Land?

Doing this was meant to be a fun family fluke. I convinced my sister, husband and my sister’s boyfriend to sign up. If we expire in mud, they will most likely blame me in their final throes. They are 25 years old and are P90X enthusiasts and although they only started running to train for this race last week (good job, guys) they are young and spritely and innately athletic so I’m sure they will do fine. Me and my husband on the other hand are of advanced age, which has been accelerated by the process of nine months of slow death by sleep deprivation torture (my hair is turning white as we speak. Oh wait, that’s the dry shampoo I don’t have time to brush out.)

Well, really, I’m mostly affected by the baby’s 1,500 night nursings. But my husband is 12 years older than me and only suffers from couch sleep. He is one year away from the Sexy 45-49 year old age bracket (seriously, that’s a sexy damn age group. Check ’em out at your next Firecracker run) and he is worried he’s too old and crotchety and fragile-of-lower-back-vertebrae to make it through all the obstacles. But with my sleep torture, I figure that ages me a decade so we are roughly on par. Also, there are no Instagram or Tweeting or Googling obstacles because then he would be doing burpees for the next year. The man is 44 going on 104 when it comes to the Social Medias.

We did track work in the heat once. We’re ready! RAHHHHHHH

I also had the brilliance to not change my training at all in preparation for this race since it’s just for fun! Oh so fun! and now I’m not really sure we are ready. It’s kind of like gym class redemption except I don’t know if I can climb a rope any better than I could in 1993 (hint: not well!). But in 1993 my only exercise was eating Pecan Sandies and drinking Schwepps Dry Grape Ginger Ale inside while reading Jane Eyre for the fifteenth time on 75 degree sunny days (hey, that book was not going to read itself for the fifteenth time). I’d like to insert a shout out to my mom for buying my favorite snacks in the dwindling twilight of our unhealthy grocery years. That was before we had whole wheat bread even.

Now I can do three chin ups and 75% of one overhand pull up! I’m good at brute suffering (carrying things, slogging up hills). I am not sure I am bad at aiming javelins but I suspect I am.

I’m going to run in a sports bra so all the 22 year old Spartans will swear off childbearing and the world’s population will stop increasing. I’m running for a cause. Please donate.

Luckily enough we will be traversing our ski slope gauntlet as a team, and my husband is six feet tall so I’m planning to be boosted over walls like a small child. Walls=check. I’m kidding, I’m sadly and misguidedly competitive, so of course I am going to try to do every obstacle by myself, and my goal is not do any burpees.

We have a three hour drive to where we are staying so that’s sure to encourage excessive daytime napping in the children, which means excessive wake-ups the night before, and along with my daughter hating to sleep anywhere besides her own bed (“I miss my dog!” she wails, as soon as we are going to sleep away from home despite not having noticed his existence for weeks before) I will be adding my own personal, highly advanced, add-on obstacle for my Spartan Sprint test of mettle and looking good in mud test:

Racing up a mountain in 90 degree humid heat after being woken up every twenty minute the night before and every couple of hours for the last two thirds of a year.

Beat that, Spartans.

Speaking of nine months, Henry has been taking his first steps. He started with one the day before he turned nine months old and now is doing three or four. He is nine months and four days old. I’m applying for his Junior Spartan race now.

Spartan Race Recap

This post is not sponsored, and I entered the race the plebian way (I paid) but I will be offering a free race entry to a Spartan Sprint later this week in an upcoming post. Check back and be cool and muddy like me.

If you don’t like to read (you should probably find another blog if that’s true then, maybe one with rainbow text and more chocolate Chobani) I offer you the upfront, immediate, Cliff’s Notes upshot of it all:

As expected, I am good at brute suffering, and bad at gym class.

The long version starts with the most challenging of all obstacles faced over our weekend: Traveling with my baby who hates the car.

That was 1,000 times more difficult than the race. Obviously. I guess I should start with an overall recap though.

The Stats

The race: Spartan Sprint, Blue Mountain, PA. Five mile obstacle race.

The team: Me, sister Jess, husband Walt, sister’s boyfriend Alex

The time: 2:23. So at some point it became clear we didn’t care about our time any longer. I tried to do the monkey bars three times for instance. Other times we watched people try to do things like the javelin before we tried, hoping to benefit from hive mind. My good Samaritan husband held the net climb for like ten people after us. Stuff like that. At one point, Walt and Jess spent five minutes trying to open a packet of electrolyte thingies. I yelled “What is this, brunch at Sarabeth’s on the Upper West Side?!” to the amusement of people who probably didn’t know what I was talking about, as we were in the middle of BumbleCowMountain, Pennsylvania. Maybe they were politely laughing at the crazy lady in the muddy sports bra who was breastfeeding her baby at the starting line earlier.

I figured I could make up for agility and coordination with jokes. A crowd favorite was my quip that the cement pull was like being married (well the one person in the vicinity who was over the age of thirty laughed). I thought Take My Wife Please jokes were apropos as were in the Poconos in some deranged summer camp for the slow. Moving. Slow moving people.

The burpees: Alex was the no burpee champ. He didn’t do a single burpee the whole race. Go 25-year-old good at sports guy! You rock. This was made for you. And also you’re a good athlete. I hate you. Except for the part with the hills (we will get to that).

I did the most burpees: monkey bars (this really disappointed me), the rope climb, the javelin, the transverse rock climb wall, and the stumps. Yes, that’s right, I couldn’t do five obstacles. Not impressive.

Jess missed the rope climb, the javelin and the transverse rock climb. Walt also missed the javelin, the stumps, and the transverse walls. So they did 30 x 30 burpees and I did 5 x 30 burpees. That’s 150. 150% suckage.

The training: We just did whatever we normally did. My husband was inspired to do some monkeying around at the playground a few times and was following some silly man Navy Seals YouTube workout with pushups, pullups, burpees and squats but since I’m giving him the award for the Best All Around Spartan Sprint Performance, it must have paid off. Alex and Jess ran once or twice. I just ran and did my normal stuff. I thought I was golden because I can do a pullup now again! Wooo! Shouldn’t I be strong enough to do any obstacle? (No.)

The hard: The hardest part of the race in terms of exertion was definitely the first half hour or so, as we ascended the double black bunny star death star diamond rattleback snake hill or ski slope thing.

You can see it kind of in the photo above. It’s where the ski lifts end. So first we hike up a steep hill and it’s a decent hill. No one can run. We were behind some guys who were kind of huffing it already and they thought they had jokes. They need to take it to the Catskills, buddy, because you ain’t got jokes. Also, they were blocking me. Because, you see, I was ONLY good at the hill part. I needed to keep booking it. My husband called up, slow down, pace yourself, since we didn’t know what we were in for. Now that we did the whole thing, we know we should have went WAY WAY WAY FASTER. Nothing after the top of the hill was aerobically very taxing. Yes, it taxed my embarrassment muscles, as I had to do burpees like a little nerd girl that I am, since I couldn’t even do the damn monkey bars, but no, I did not end the race feeling exerted like I sprinted a 5K or something. Walt did 50 pushups at the end to make it a workout. I see why people did it twice. Once you knew what it all was, you knew where to go fast and how to pace it.

We theoretically could have ran down the hill for the second half but I was slipping and sliding just trotting. My Saucony Mirages were kind of slippery. Maybe trail sneakers would help me run? I also tittered like a lady when I started slipping and my sister and I refused to run down the steep slopes, turn an ankle, only to stop at the next obstacle and wait in line. It made no sense. During the little mud lake we all swam instead of walked to try to pick up the pace.

But back to the first hill. I was kind of passing people on the hill part and feeling good. It was heart pounding in a good way. Then we picked up our sandbags for the final ascent. Men had 40 pounds and women 20 although some of the women were doing MAN BAGS BABY. I considered doing a man bag but I figured I only weigh 125 or so, it’s only fair for me to hoist a delicate ladybag. I stuck that sucker on my belly like a baby and leaned forward so I wouldn’t fall down the slippery grass and gravel. People were falling and stuff so it was legitimately dangerous. So here comes my moment of glory. Don’t worry, it was all downhill after this, literally and figuratively. I was kicking ass on the sandbags. 250-pound muscle dudes were stopping and resting, Alex was dying somewhere halfway down the hill and I just kept going. My strategy was not to stop and it worked. Little clumps of guy teams were like Okay, now let’s rest for ten seconds and then take three steps! Only three steps and then we rest again! And so on. And they weren’t muddy so it’s not like they did it already. Maybe the 40 pounds for guys was exceptionally harder even if you were 200 pounds than my 20 pounds of baby stand-in? Or MAYBE I JUST HOLD A TWENTY POUND BABY EVERY DAY FOR A YEAR? AND BEFORE THAT ROCKED A BIG ASS BABY IN MY BODY? Yay for being good at something.

So I got to the top and generously waited for my husband who did great. Then waited. And waited for the rest of our team. We were all team-like and yelling you can do it! If I was alone I would have been way down the hill by that point and then karma would have come kicked my ass when I needed help on the one hard wall climb and no one would have been there. So it all evened out in the end, but it’s interesting that my favorite part was the part everyone hated? I could have done that like three times in a row. It was awesome.

But the bad thing was that we thought there was MORE stuff like that later in the race, like a bucket carry I had heard about, but there wasn’t and so we were pacing ourselves for no reason.

Other hard things were sports.

I don’t know how anyone did the transverse wall rock climb. This was post mud-pits, post-lake swim, post everything wet and slimy and muddy. I couldn’t even grip one foot on the first nub. Some bearded mountain man appeared (I think he lived there and emerged once a year for the Spartan race) and wisely advised us to pull a clump of grass out of the ground and use it as a glove grip. This helped Alex get across, but none of the rest of us could manage. This seemed to be the hardest of all the obstacles, as 85% of men and women couldn’t do it.

The javelin was also hard…maybe 35% of the people got it? It was kind of a crap shoot. I mean, it’s a target. You either get it or not.

I was really, really bummed I couldn’t do the monkey bars. All the guys could and probably half the women. I just could not for the life of me reach the third bar. It was so far away. I think it was in Pittsburgh. My sister is shorter than me and she did it. She is a monkey-like hominid though, so she had an advantage. Just kidding, she’s just really strong, like if we are in a dark alley and strangers accost us she will flex her biceps and they will run screaming. But I still didn’t GET why I couldn’t do it. I made my team wait as I tried again and again and then did my first burpees of the day. It was a bad moment because I kind of realized once I did the first set of burpees, I wasn’t going to conquer the rope climb, and who knows what else.

The easy: The tires were way too easy. Maybe I accidentally picked a way too light one? There were several of different weights but no way to tell what was what.

The barbed wire crawls were easy. I could have done that all day. I developed a (patent to come) half drag, half crawl method, similar to that weird-crawling baby you know, and it worked well. I didn’t get scratched up badly.

The walls weren’t as bad as I thought. I did the girl versions (used the notches) and the one hard wall was tilted toward us, above a semi-deep mud pit. So you had to scramble over it, leaning sort of backwards, with wet hands. Some girls were falling off and landing underwater in the mud. Jess and I did it the girl way, using the brackets holding it up and a boost to the butt from our significant others. That’s the real world in action, folks. Do you think in a real zombie apocalypse I’m not attaching myself to a capable man and eating his underground bunker baked beans?

The ugly: I ate mud. Yup, I bit it on the rope climb. Made it a few notches and slipped right down, no way to break my fall, face under mudwater. Mud on the teeth, and a mouth full of grit. I think my sports bra may have even migrated. I hope there are no race action shots of that moment. Hopefully someone at Sparta HQ will take mercy on me if so.

After my spectacular rope climb attempt, my sister tried it, made it pretty high (halfway maybe?) and then…yup, slid down, huge splash, face under water. I think I jinxed her. We both thought we could have done it strength wise and yet our skillz were a fail. If we ever do this again, I am training on ropes and monkey bars while it’s raining. It’s the only way.

The deep thoughts:

Okay, so from what I understand, the Spartan is the only timed obstacle race. It seems more serious, and I think it is, and it’s definitely a fun, well-made race. It’s challenging, it’s varied in the fitness demands it makes on runners, and I like that there are penalties for obstacles.

But. I don’t think it 100% makes sense for it to be timed, the way it’s set up now. The only way timing makes sense is for there to be a time penalty for obstacles. Otherwise, there’s really no way to know if running to obstacles and doing 30 burpees is faster than waiting in line and doing the obstacle. If you’re running for time, it might make sense to do the former, but then what the heck is the point of that? The 30 burpees were faster than many of the bottlenecks. Besides the elite racers I’m not sure timing means anything. People stay and help people get over the rope climb, there are lines, there are places you can’t pass people, there is no real monitoring of burpees. People could totally cheat and just not do burpees (why one would do that escapes me, but still).

The sleeping: Henry wasn’t horrible. He slept decently (woke up three times or so between 9 p.m. and 7 a.m.) out of apparent solidarity with our team. So I didn’t feel extremely tired or anything.

Other obstacles: The cement pull was pretty easy. The net climb scared me at first but was easy. The other walls weren’t bad. Oh, the stumps. Those stupid, stupid stumps.

They were slippery. I have pretty good balance. But slipping was almost like the luck of the draw (or sneaker). The pulley weight was pretty easy but I was so paranoid about being such a spaz that I went really slow so it wouldn’t slide out of my grip. The gloves we wore were so helpful for this one.

One part of the uphill was so vertical that we had to use a rope to climb up. That was fun, especially because the bigger people below me holding it were making me sway side to side. I was riding it instead of climbing it. The lake swim was no big deal, and felt really good. There were two or three water stations and one had electrolyte packs. The slip and slide down the mountain into the lake was fun but Alex got a little hurt on a rock under the slide. The mud pits were fun, getting muddy overall was fun. Our weather was really great. 70s and overcast, no rain. Free beer.

Overall, I liked it, and doing a race as a team was a new experience for me. I don’t truly feel like I raced though. I didn’t feel like I pushed myself to really see what I could do. Now that I have one of these under my sports bra, I think it would be easier to know how to push it. I would practice the skills a lot more before the next one. Rope climbing (while wearing Crisco) and monkey bars.

Me and the monkey bars have a grudge match. And I’m glad to know if push came to shove, I can cart my children up mountains, while the frat boys play their paintball games. Just kidding. It wasn’t like a bunch of guys playing games in the woods. Well, it kind of was. I’m making my team do a straight race next time. One of those pump and runs. Bench press and then run.

I’m a crotchety old racer. I will even demand we run in 1970s running sneakers and cotton. Give me an old fashioned foot race, and perhaps a fisticuffs showdown. It was a great day, and I would do another one, but doing the triathlon I did felt much harder. Much harder to sustain a true effort across three sports and the mental challenge of the open water swim felt like I truly accomplished something difficult and comprehensive fitness-oriented. Take this with the concession that we went really slowly and should have probably pushed it more, but we didn’t particularly know what the hell we were doing. And also, I would have broke a leg going downhill any faster. I need my legs to carry my real life sandbags.

Nap Nonsense

When my oldest was a baby, I rocked her, gave her a bottle, laid her in her crib and then she slept for 45 minutes or an hour and a half, in the morning around 10 and the afternoon around 3 p.m. Then when she was around eight, nine months old she started taking one nap around noon for two or three hours in her crib. If she fell asleep in the car, I unbuckled her, carried her droopy warm sleeping body (I love this tactile memory, the smell of her matted hair, her sugary skin) up the stairs, laid her down, closed her door, success…I ran down the stairs and began the race. How much could I do in two hours? Three????

The answer was: a lot. I even briefly held down a full-time work at home job. Naps and play times. I work fast.

Little did I know how lucky and spoiled I was. Fast forward to now.

Henry has acted like his crib is made of hot coals (Damn, shouldn’t have bought the Nest of Rattlesnakes Pattern) since he was first born. He never would nap in there, or go there at night, so I never was able to get him used to it. He wouldn’t go in there awake, he wouldn’t go in there asleep. Almost nine months later the most I’ve gotten out of him was twenty minutes sleeping in there, after something like four hours of putting him down and picking him up. Swaddled, white noise, voodoo chanting, it didn’t matter.

My daughter was plaintively keening for me outside the door, like Mommy? Are you EVER coming back?

You just go run off into the fields and play, ya hear?

So I couldn’t keep doing that. So you might be wondering how does he nap? And oh boy, do I have some fun answers for you.

He used to nap in the swing, approximately 40% of the time. The other 60% of the time he acted like it was a Spanish Inquisition device. Strangely enough, he almost always napped in there for my husband with little to no fussing.
He naps while I hold him. I can walk around, make one-handed peanut butter sandwiches for my daughter, type on the computer with the finger peck method, and read my phone and he will sleep for 30-45 minutes. This is mostly what I do at home because it’s better than him not napping at all and being a cranky mess. This is a terrible option though because well, it’s terrible.

Also, almost-four-year-old girls are bad at being quiet, and if I go sit in another room to read, she invariably follows me (I think it’s like a Don’t Think of a Purple Elephant thing with her and her developmental stage is no match for the temptation) and the tone and pitch of her voice ranges from Minnie Mouse on helium to a sped-up Gummy Bear song vocal to Alvin the Chipmunk doing an exaggerated falsetto in a bad cross-dressing episode. It’s the only sound that can cut through his in-arms-sleeping fog and wake him up. Also, I think he’s only getting a single nap cycle and so he’s cranky anyway.

That brings us to the less worse option: He naps when I drive him in the car.

This is annoying because I can’t be home and doing certain things (housework, exercise) but I can do work because I BOUGHT A LAPTOP FOR THIS EXPRESS PURPOSE. I drive him to a deep sleep, then park at the docks or somewhere scenic (at least give me some scenery in this drudgery of a day) and as long as I leave the car on he usually sleeps. If he stirs, I drive somewhere and repeat. My town has free Wi-Fi, Starbucks has delicious caffeinated beverages, this is not so bad. It’s bad for the environment (sorry) but if I turn the car off, or try to transfer him to a walk (he’s in the Snap N Go) he wakes up. No bringing him into a store or friend’s house and having him stay asleep.

The other problem is my daughter. She’s a good sport, but it’s not really fair for her to sit in a car and unless she’s in preschool, this is a problem. If we are just driving, she might fall asleep and I don’t want HER to fall asleep because then she goes to bed late, wakes up early and is cranky (and she can’t just wake up POOF when we get where we are going, she has wicked big kid pot-nap stupor) and often my best-laid plans go awry and I have a sleeping four year old who can’t be woken up to go run an errand and a crying, not sleeping eight month old. But if Henry does fall asleep, he generally sleeps a FULL nap with several sleep cycles and is good for the day or whatever.

Forget that guy who walked across the Grand Canyon. This is advanced balancing.

I could theoretically give my daughter the iPad to play, but that’s like bottom of the barrel parenting. I try to avoid that. It happens anyway occasionally.

Another place he naps is the jogging stroller. This is fine with me, I run, he sleeps, BUT I have an older child and no double stroller. Shoulda bought the double Bob I guess. This works when she is in preschool only.
The final option is laying down with him and as long as my boob is in his mouth he naps on the bed. I can’t get up at any point or he wakes up. This is good if I want to nap but since I hate napping, can rarely do it no matter how tired I am, and I have the other kid and all, I’ve only done this once or twice. I have to give her a movie and then try really, really hard to fall asleep. (Cut the caffeine drip a few hours beforehand). This also has the drawbacks of all the other methods (I don’t get to do anything or get the psychological break I crave).

Isn’t this ridiculous? I wish there was a magic way to fix this. I guess sleep training is in the cards and maybe it will fix napping. But if there was an easy or only mildly hard way to get him to nap in the house it would have happened by now (see: evidence that once I wrangled a normal baby into normal sleeping). It’s not me, it’s him.

So only hard methods are left and there will be a lot of crying and vomiting (his and mine and his only, hopefully). I’m not looking forward to it, but then again I’m not looking forward to any particular day because…I have to do all these machinations to get a nine month old to take a single, damn nap.

Where’s My Speed Again?

So now that I’ve been running consistently for a few months (in April I was greenlit by physical therapy to go forth and run) I’ve come to realize: I’m not getting any faster.

I am only running three times a week and sometimes only twice. Other days are Spin or indoor bike trainer or strength classes or weight room. I have always struggled with getting more run days in, but I have a weird body that responds to more running with like dead weight legs and injuries. Pre-baby I was able to get faster with this three times a week business and my go-to routine (one day speed work, one day long slow and one tempo day, and other days kill myself in Spin and weights) served me decently enough for a couple of years. I didn’t get injured and I got faster.

the little culprit himself

But now this isn’t working out as well. I have a lot of culprits I’m blaming this on. Breastfeeding hormones, lingering extra weight, lack of sleep. I mean nine months on of never having slept through the night once has to be affecting me somehow even if I don’t feel like death every day (only most days). But I’ve seen other bloggers who are also nursing get right back to their old speed or better. Maybe this is all a big excuse.

Don’t get me wrong, I was never a speed demon. But if I do a race effort 5k right now, like give it pretty much all I have, I’m just breaking 27 minutes. I used to run 23 minutes. And it gets worse with more distance of course. Maybe I should try some speed work? Or try to lose weight (ugh)? I think I will give it more time. But it’s kind of discouraging to be at this plateau now for a few months.

Part of me believes this is my body’s particular idiosyncracy. Breastfeeding means weight and slowness. I guess I will find out in October because I’m committed to 100% weaning at first birthday. I just don’t want to do it any more. I want my body back and hopefully even my bed. I’m looking forward to it.

And maybe even my old paces.

Weighty Matters

I’ve been wringing my hands over a conundrum in the world of exercise and children: the gym day care.

Henry is at the single worst possible age to be let loose in a busy room. At eight and a half months old, he will find every small item and promptly stick it in his mouth (except he’s weirdly slow about it so I usually have time to dive/slide/run/body slam my way over and grab it. He also looks at me, like Baby Can Have Small Game Part?

No, baby. You can not have that.

Also, he pulls up on everything and everyone he can find, even very small children. And then said children run away, and he falls. The gym day care room has a cement floor. Not sure what planning brilliance went into that one, but it’s not even covered with those interlocking rubber floor pieces or anything.

It’s one room maybe 12 x 12. Ten year old boys run around practicing their kung fu kicks and if a crawler gets a knock to the head, well it seems the luck of the draw. They have no cap on the number of kids who can go, and even though I go in the evening at off times, there’s no guarantee there won’t be three crying babies to hold and ten rambunctious eight year old building a teetering tower out of something that will hurt when it falls down.

They have a policy of no chokeable items, but the big kids often bring in their homework, their crafts, their beading necklace sets, their assorted childhood flotsam and jetsam, and if a piece fell on the floor, and Henry put it in his mouth, what are the chances that at that exact moment the caretaker would be watching him closely?

Not good.

He rarely naps/stays in the stroller in there which is another strategy moms of the youngest babies use. This is actually a nice gym that’s not cheap ($60 a month) but the day care is free and since it’s kind of a clique-y place I feel like no one dares complain. Take it or leave it.

So I have a summer workout problem. Running is fine, I can just run at 7 p.m. when my husband gets home and then Anna has two weeks of summer camp so I can run with the jogging stroller then. Then there are lots of vacation days mixed in, and I can do a lot on the weekend, but but but but I need to go to my Monday 5 p.m. Elevated Training class or I will be unfit. It’s like such a must for me. I guess I could pay a babysitter once a week since this little period should be over relatively soon. Once he’s a good walker and out of the peak oral phase the day care will be okay. Maybe by the fall?

Blah. blahblahblah

I guess I can go lift weights at 7 p.m. by myself in the weight room, since I want to focus on gaining strength now anyway.

The weirdos come out at night.

But 7 p.m. is hectic. Dinner, bath, pajamas, family time. Plus I enjoy the time out break that divides up our long days. Without it I’m like killing time and entertaining kids and …. … … …. endless long days and then I’m tired and THEN I have to go work out when I’d rather eat dinner with my husband and kids. It’s not ideal.

But I know this time period is short. It just doesn’t feel like it when you’re in it.

Confessions of a Humblebragger

I’m guilty of the veiled Mommy brag as complaint.

Please consider my extenuating circumstances as you mete out your judgment.

Since my kids were born never sleeping, and my son never napping, and only seldom happy while stationery, I feel justified in distracting myself with any and all positives I can find.

He drew that right before he played a sonata on the piano.

When Henry was a newborn and I had to hold him all day and I wanted to run away hourly I soothed myself by focusing on his beautiful little face and perfection. At least I could dress him up and he could look spectacularly precious in the outfits he would puke on and cry in.

Now that he’s older and not sleeping or napping any better and in fact WORSE I need to find something else to think about, and so I think about and talk about his development.

He’s not winning any baby sleeping prizes? But damned if he isn’t going to walk at nine months. So when I Instagram a photo of him standing alone and then I humblebrag something like “Oh here we go again, guess he’s not happy crawling!” Or whatever stupid somesuch drivel that I type into my iPhone amidst whining and crying and then Anna crying because I said we were going to do something outside today and she “haaaates outside and wants to go to an inside mall” (WTF) and it’s 80 degrees and June and I’m sick and Henry’s sick so we can’t even hang out with friends and I’m so tired I punched a wall the other night (true story) and Henry will only sleep in my arms with a boob in his mouth and I CAN’T GET COMFORTABLE ON MY BACK I need to roll and toss but I can’t because it wakes him up and he’s cranky all day because he’s sick and it’s ONLY 9:47 AM and I don’t know how I will survive until my husband comes home at 7 PM and I CANT EVEN WORK OUT since there’s no more preschool so I can’t run with the jogging stroller and we can’t go to the gym and I was too tired to run last night (I can’t believe that- I’m still so mad) and I want to run away again.

Ah life is such a joy with young kids. You will miss these days. They’re so easy when they’re this young. GO EFF YOURSELF NEXT PERSON WHO SAYS THAT.

So don’t hate me when I post some precocious shit my three year old said or drew. I have nothing else, people. Leave me my advanced baby and my photo milestones. Let me humblebrag the day away.

It’s really hard to clean all my stainless steel appliances!

It’s so taxing being a stay at home mom who is financially secure enough to have an expensive gym membership (she can’t even use)!

I wish I wasn’t so damn smart because then I wouldn’t have so many good ideas I can’t do anything with because I’m holding a snotty baby from goddamn sundown to…the next sundown.

I live ten minutes from a beautiful ocean beach and lots to do, but my three year whines when I try to get her somewhere!

Do you feel bad for me yet?

Tough breaks

I do feel bad for myself. At least today. At least this week. Ask me again next and I’ll be penitent and grateful forever.

Splurging

The other day a friend mentioned she’d never gotten a professional massage. That it seemed insanely indulgent, spoiled rotten, a total unattainable dream. That got me to thinking, because see, I view massages as like completely necessary elements of health and wellness. I practically have an unalterable massage budget.

Yet, we drive one budget car for our whole family. We just don’t care about cars, really. Sure, if we had money to burn we’d get something lovely with leather seats, but until then it’s Hyundai Elantra 4 LYFE.

Yet, we spend way too much on eating out, since we like, um, delicious foodstuffs. We are really picky foodies.

Yet, I never, ever, ever, spend money on clothes for myself. That seems somehow decadent to me, to buy something that doesn’t come with a thrift store price tag or from Target or Marshall’s (maybe, for a splurge).

The other day, I bought myself some comfortable pajama shorts to sleep in. I couldn’t believe I was spending money on sleepwear. I don’t think I’ve done that in at least ten years. I usually wear whatever daytime clothes become unwearable in daytime, if they’re comfortable. I remember once as an older teenager, my mother would always buy me pajamas for Christmases and birthdays because she knew I was this weird ascetic teen who was so in my head and saving all my pennies for backpacking to Europe trips that I slept in cargo pants and even jeans.

While I’m not sleeping in jeans these days, I still find it uncomfortable to spend money on certain things and yet easy on other things. I’m lucky in that my husband shares my financial value system. Down the block from the first apartment we shared on Manhattan’s Upper West Side was a Tui Na Chinese massage place, open amazingly into the late weeknight hours. I mean, this place was like four buildings down from us. How could we resist an hour deep tissue massage along with our delicious take out or sushi dinner du jour?

I’ve had mysterious constant kind of muscle/myofascial pain for most of my adult life, so massages are a health must for me, especially as I train more. They can never, ever, ever be too much pressure for me and if I accidentally overpay for a fancy, spa massage with a practitioner lightly tickling my skin, I’m pissed. I need serious knot work, crazy death grip.

Everyone should get a massage, at least once. Maybe I’ll get that friend a gift certificate. So she’ll be forced to use it, and not spend the money on her kids, or whatever.

What do you consider verboten luxury and what do you “give” yourself?