Spoiled

Not the milk.
Not the children. (Though that might be debatable, but not today.)

It's the dog.

My parents sometimes watch the kids and the dog when my husband and I travel. There is no dispute that it's an bonafide Law of Grandparenting that they may spoil the children - and, by extension - the dog when the parents are away. That's a fair tradeoff, right? We get to escape for a few days and the kids get treats and special favors while the grandparents are granted full immunity.

Then we - the parents - come home, the grandparents hand the kids and dog over to us, and life goes back to normal. For all of us, that is, except Bentley.

He loves his Grammie and Papa. And he loves their special dog food (that's waaaay better than what he gets at home). And he loves that they'll stop whatever they're doing to pet and talk baby-talk to him. Why wouldn't he expect such royal treatment at home?

So we're going through a bit of a whiny stage with the dog right now. A little bit of retraining is needed.

Never fear: We should have our favorite canine cutie retrained and unspoiled just in time for the next hand-off...

I'm Pondering

... this question: Am I a procrastinator or do I perhaps have undiagnosed ADD?

And the thing is, I wouldn't even be pondering this question except for the fact that I have a deadline of a first draft of a story/novella/book chapter due by midnight Sunday, and I just can't seem to actually write it.

Well, it's not like I haven't done anything. I've worked and reworked the story outline in my mind. Discussed it with my husband for feedback and tweaking. Written an incomplete synopsis of the plot, characters, action, etc.

But the actual story that's due? Nope - can't seem to get that on paper.

Instead of writing today, first I helped man a water stop for a local run/bike race. Then drove my son to appointments. Then did laundry. Ate lunch. Read the paper. Wrote this blog entry...

Which led to pondering the question above: Am I procrastinating? Or do I have some undiagnosed attention disorder that is causing me to be unable to sit and do the work?

DOES IT MATTER?!?!?!

I should take some advice from High School Musical's Troy when he sings: "Get your head in the game!" He is so wise. And cute.

Oooh, maybe I should YouTube that song.

Aaack! It really doesn't matter whether I'm procrastinating or exhibiting signs of ADD. The fact is, I'm a college student again and I have a paper to write. I HAVE to write it.

OK, giving myself a kick in the pants now. Logging off now. Getting to work now. No more fun for me now. So long!

Fish Out of Water

Why exactly did I get the bright idea to go back to school?

I have 2 degrees already. That should be enough. I have a husband, three children, a house, and a dog. They keep me busy enough. But no... I wanted more.

Today was my first day at U.C., and boy did I feel like a fish out of water! I definitely look too old to be a traditional student - yes, I was called "ma'am" at the bookstore by the young cashier - yet I guess I don't look like a teacher, either. Probably most of the young 'uns just thought I was lost.

Which I was. For 40 minutes.

You see, up until now I didn't have a reason to visit the U.C. campus. So the names of the buildings, the parking garages, the side streets - even some of the major ones - are completely foreign to me. I don't have a mental image of the layout, and nothing seems familiar. I guess I fit in with the freshmen more than I thought. Except they probably at least know where the bars are...

And although, under any other circumstances, I would not be ashamed to pull out my handy-dandy map, I was mortified to do so today. I felt totally like a guy in this regard. Sorry for the sexism there. Not that I'm not going to retract it.

So I decided to just head in the direction of my building, feeling sure that signs would lead me to the right building. In my optimism, I figured I had enough time to buy my books (in yet another building of unknown locale) and get to class on time. I had 45 minutes.

44 minutes later, huffing & puffing, I barely made it into my classroom before class started. Without my books. It seems I took the loooooong way around campus. Yep, that's where my hubris and stubbornness got me. If only I'd looked at that map...

Once inside the classroom, I looked around and received visual confirmation that, yes, I was the oldest student in the room. I suspected I was older than the professor, too. Came to find out later we're the same age... so we tied for being oldest in the room. But I still hold the record for oldest student.

In actuality, I enjoyed being in class with all those "kids." They have such optimism and creativity and eagerness to show what they can do. They seem like a great bunch of young people.

Then the professor went over the syllabus. Which, evidently, was e-mailed out last week, complete with a description of our first assignment. That was due today. That I didn't know about because I didn't get the e-mail message and it never occurred to me that I should get an e-mail from the teacher before the first day of class. This student was not off to a very impressive start.

Not to fear: I wasn't the only student in this dilemma. There were three other students trying to get into the class. Since they weren't on the roster yet, they hadn't received the e-mail either. We winged it.

But this is serious stuff! I've been away from college for so long that I've forgotten how complex and time-consuming the assignments can be. Will be. For me. In fact, what am I doing writing this blog entry? I have no time for this! I should be writing my first draft of my first assignment already!

Despite my slight trepidation, I'm so excited to be back in the classroom. The new ideas, the discipline, the deadlines, even the hard work are just what I need right now.

But I'm sooooo glad I registered on the late side and got closed out of two other courses I wanted to take. I think, for my first dive into these waters, one course will be plenty.

PS - After class, I evidently took the direct way back to the parking garage. 7 minutes was all it took.

Compliment of Fear

"I'm afraid of you at the net!"

Considering all the silent berating I'd given myself during the previous 90 minutes of tennis team practice - working myself up into a real funk over every missed ball and every hit "out of the ballpark" - the compliment just made my day!

It was from my teammate: my more experienced, much-better-player teammate who was my opponent at various times during team practice.

I've been trying to become more assertive at the net. So I guess it's working :)

Puzzler

I've mentioned before that I like puzzles. Not jigsaw puzzles, but real-life puzzles.

I affectionately refer to one of the twins as "My Little Puzzle" because her abilities and her needs are so inconsistent and non-transparent at times, requiring Mom & Dad - and teachers, and doctors, and therapists - to really put on their thinking caps to find the most creative and effective ways for her to learn. This puzzle is one I've been working on for 10 years now, with another 10 ahead of us. Did I mention I'm also a patient person?

I enjoy the puzzle of creating a space that is functional yet visually pleasing in my home. Starting with a needs assessment, I then create a "must-have" list and a "nice-to-have" list from that, and then start the fun work of designing or locating just the right construction and objects to meet the goals. Seems I typically have one of these projects going at any given time, and the present is no exception.

But one of my favorite puzzles is that of travel. We like to travel, and we try to vary our trips. We'll plan trips together as a nuclear family, as a couple, with friends, with extended family, or girls-only/boys-only. We mix short jaunts with longer expeditions. Sometimes the objective is simple R&R. Sometimes it's adventure. Sometimes it's educational. Sometimes it's just 'cuz we're curious 'bout some other place.

{Not that we've been everywhere and seen everything - there are many of you out there who nearly have. Far from that, we merely aspire to see and do as much as we can with our budget and time constraints.}

The one thing our trips have in common is that we typically choose independent over organized travel. Not that we haven't done or wouldn't do tours or all-inclusives - we enjoy them, but don't choose them very often. For an excursion to Antarctica or an African safari, both of which I hope to do someday, I wouldn't hesitate to call in the pros.

But for the type of travel we do now, I really get a charge out of piecing together the elements of a trip that work for us! I like getting input from the kids about where they'd like to go next, then embarking on hours and hours of research on the history of a place, transportation options, accommodations, attractions that will keep the kids' interest at their current ages, and more. It's fun to talk to people who have already been or lived there; they always have the most wonderful insight into a place! I do a draft of a trip itinerary, go a little crazy with the details, scratch the whole thing out, obsess over it for a while, then watch the plan fall into place (usually).

{Of course, in typical "Kim" style, I'll work out just about every single detail to a "T" - with alternatives, of course, since it's nice to have choices depending on moods or weather - but leave out something relatively big (like that time when we got all the way to Italy before we booked a hotel room in Rome...). But it all works out in the end, and it's actually more adventuresome to leave a detail or two to serendipity.}

We're starting to work out plans for 2010 travel, and I'm in the sublime state of obsession with one of the more challenging plans. Whereas the task at first seemed too complex and overwhelming (I almost - that's almost - called a travel agent though I'm glad I resisted the impulse), I now have a handle on it and am blissfully able to sort out the "probably yes" pieces from the "not this time" ones. For me, working through a challenging puzzle is so much more mentally satisfying than simply calling in the experts!

OK, now, back to my puzzle...

Addiction

I'm addicted to my running log.

Well, it's more than just a running log. I keep track of all my workouts - running, tennis, strength training, etc - in the online log. Then I can view the data via a calendar display; a chronological list of workouts; a graph of types of runs; summary stats by the week, month, and year; and more. Many people who work out regularly, particularly if they're training for specific events, keep a log of some type. So this is not that unusual.

But I realized today that I actually have an addiction to it. As soon as I'm done with a workout, I feel a compulsive need to immediately go to the computer, log the details of the workout, and then view the historical data. And when I view them in "calendar" mode, I must see an entry for at least 6 days each week. (I do allow myself an "off" day the day before a long run.) Or else I just feel... blah.

Guess I'm just a geek at heart. I like to make lists of things I'm going to do, and I like to keep an archived record of what I've done. And then I like to analyze the data, looking for trends, progress, challenges... Yeah, that's pretty geeky. {But then, those of you who know me well are not exactly shocked by this revelation, are you?}

Yesterday, I cancelled my appointment with my trainer and skipped a short run because I was feeling melancholy. And I was completely OK with that, given the circumstances.

But then I woke up today and felt restless. I had to get outside to run. And I had to see that run recorded on my log.

As addictions go, this one's not really so bad, is it?

Don

Her college graduation, just a few months away.
Her next big swim meet.
His first date.
Her wedding.
His next game.
Their grandchildren.
A seat at the dinner table.
A walk with his wife on a cool autumn day.
Their next anniversary.
Countless other family milestones, big and small.

Three years of pain and struggle and battle, yet today our good friend is gone. He may no longer be physically present at the important and the mundane events in their family, but he will always be there in their hearts.

Taken too young, leaving his high-school-sweetheart-wife and their three children behind, he no longer suffers. He no longer fights for life, for every last shred of hope. He is finally at peace and without pain.

Still, it's hard to see him go. He was one of the really, really good people of the world. A devoted husband, involved father, loyal friend. Always with a smile or a laugh or a friendly word...

Don will be missed.

Win!

I know "it's not about whether you win or lose; it's about how you play the game."

And it's important to learn something about yourself, whether you win or lose.

And that I should just have fun and not worry about the score.

But...

WE WON OUR FIRST TENNIS MATCH TODAY!

Along with all the true stuff above, I have to add honestly that a win is what I'm after, and a win helps me - mentally - feel good about the next match.

I picked up a tennis racquet for the first time just 1-1/2 years ago, and this is my first season on a team. Still haven't quite gotten rid of the jitters. I have lots to learn. I'll get better eventually.

But woo hoo! Our first win! Thanks, partner!

Mistake

It just feels good when you've made the right decision.

But right decisions are not always easy to identify. The wrong one might seem right for a while.

And, in some cases, right and wrong are relative terms.

In my son's case, we moved him last year to a different academically rigorous private school than the one he'd attended for years. In many ways, the schools seemed equivalent and, I thought, interchangeable. In fact, the new school had achieved a higher rating on a local report of private schools. So, though he was happy where he was, we moved him to the other school.

My gut feeling on parent night - before the kids had even started back to school - told me something didn't feel right. Yet I was surrounded by lovely people: involved parents, enthusiastic student ambassadors, intelligent teachers. So I brushed it off, chalking it up to transition jitters.

But you know how when something "clicks" you just know it? That was missing for me.

Nevertheless, we followed through with our commitment. After all, it was just a gut feeling.

By the beginning of October, our son was struggling. The school really is excellent, the staff and parents are kind and smart, the extracurricular offerings are diverse and plentiful. Yet he was miserable. He pleaded with us to send him back to his "old" school.

We listened to him, yet told him that we really wanted him to give this a good try. We were committed for the year, so we told him it would be better for him to find ways in which he was happy, rather than dwelling on the ways in which he was unhappy. We would talk about it again in January.

So he tried everything in his 10-year-old power. And I talked with the teachers, talked with my son, did whatever I could to ease the transition. Yet something still nagged at me. I hated to see my son struggling, especially when - on paper - it seemed like all should be OK.

During the intervening months, he was very good about trying to handle minor issues on his own, and coming to us when he needed more help. And he tried not to bring up the issue of changing back to his old school.

But by January, I could tell that, despite our efforts, and despite the credentials of the new school, it was simply the wrong fit. Great school, great boy, but not great together. What tore me apart the most, more than just his unhappiness and plunging self-esteem, was the toll that the situation was taking on our relationship. My son is an intelligent and creative boy with a fabulous sense of humor. I'm so proud - and astonished! - that he's mine. Yet the situation of the ill-fitting school caused much stress in our mother-son relationship. This broke my heart, and I really didn't feel we could continue this way for long.

I began the re-admission process at the old school right after Christmas.

So in August of this year, my son began sixth grade at his former school. And though I fully expect we'll have our ups and downs, the year is off to a really great start. He and I have a normal parent-child relationship again. His facial expressions and demeanor show significantly decreased stress level. His self-esteem is rising once again.

Ahhhhh... That's better.

So we made a mistake. {Mostly I made a mistake.} I relied too heavily on the cold, hard facts on paper and not heavily enough on my own intuition. But then again, sometimes it takes losing something to realize how good it was. There are all kinds of cliches I could continue to use to describe our situation. I'm thankful we realized that my son and the new school were not suited for one another. And I'm more thankful that we live in a city full of so many truly excellent educational options. There are more than just public vs. Catholic school options: there are special needs schools, public schools, charter public schools, schools for Catholics and any number of other religious affiliations, private schools with a college-prep or athletic or performing arts or Montessori or numerous other pedagogical or academic emphases. Truly, there is a place for every child in this city. It's just a matter of finding the right match.

On the path to academic success, sometimes we make a mistake. Yet that, too, is a lesson in the game of life.

The First

When it's new, it's like magic. Everything seems perfect. You go about your day feeling light and happy, with a smile on your face.

Yes, there might be this slight nagging unease that it won't last forever; that something will eventually mar what is now new and unblemished. But you push it aside and revel in what you have now.

Then your child opens the car door right into a metal post in a parking lot.

The first dent is always the hardest.

The magic over, your disappointment deep, you briefly despair over the clunker you now own. What was perfect for a time will never be so again. But quickly you remember it is just a material object, and you snap out of it.

It was an accident; no malice was intended. And if it hadn't been incurred by her, it would have been incurred by someone else on another day. It was bound to happen. And anyway, it's barely noticeable.

Alas, my new car has its first dent. Although anyone else likely won't notice its existence - it's not a large dent - I do. I was there when it happened and I know exactly where the imperfection rests. I can look at it any time I want.

But I don't. It was heartbreaking in the moment it happened, but it's over. In a way, it's a relief. The tension of wondering when the first imperfection would occur, and how, is broken.

As in relationships, it's those small imperfections - the ones you can live with - that make it unique. That make it your own.

Well, it's my own now. And for the next several years, it's over: I won't have to wonder when and how my car will receive its first imperfection. That moment has passed, and life goes on...

Back in the Saddle

When you've been dissed by your own body, it's difficult to trust it again.

It was about this time last year when I was training for my first half-marathon: The Columbus Marathon. I was doing pretty well in my training program, especially considering I was a new runner, and was eager to finish within a time goal I'd set for myself. I did everything my trainer said to do, even when it was hard. And it felt great! However, just three weeks before the race, I discovered I'd fractured my hip.

That brought my plans for the race to a screeching halt.
My runner's high hit a low.
I felt utterly deflated.
{Let's see... how many more metaphors can I use here? Oh, that's enough? You get the point?}

Ten weeks later, just before Christmas, I was finally off the crutches. Yet something wasn't quite right. There were a couple more months of troubleshooting, resulting in surgery in March to remove what ailed me. And more weeks of recovery.

Finally, I was given the all-clear to run again in April. But after having had almost 8 months off, I was back at the starting line. Actually, with the fracture & the surgery, I was really starting behind it: I had to work my way up to the starting line!

But I was determined to get back on that horse and run a race. Since it was the Columbus Half-Marathon that had been thwarted last year, it was the Columbus Half-Marathon that I had to set as my goal this year.

This time around, however, I've promised myself NO TIME GOAL! Instead, my goals are modest:

(1) Finish the race
(2) Without injury

So, I'm about 6 weeks out from the race. I'm training steadily but sensibly. I pay attention to the signals my body gives me, and take an extra day - or seven - off if I feel more than just typical muscle ache. This week, I finally feel like I'm going to make it! I ran the longest I've run since the injury, and felt great! In addition, my pace has steadily improved over the last couple of months. Again, I'm not setting a specific goal, but I'm encouraged to see improvement vs. stagnation.

I know that just the very act of easing myself back into that saddle is an accomplishment. Finishing the race will be another. That's when I think I'll be able to trust my body again, and make plans for future races - specific distance goals, specific pace goals.

Will I see anyone else at the Columbus Marathon on October 18? My favorite cheering squad will be there with me. Hope to see you at the finish line!