As I think you all know, I am doing a program called Run For It! with some of the girls at my school. It is a program loosely based on Molly Barker's Girls On The Run. Both Girls on the Run and Run For It! work with pre-adolescent girls on issues of self esteem, confidence, community, health and fitness. Every Thursday we (the girls along with the adults Mel, Jenny and Me) take over the field at our school for an hour of fitness, deep thinking and fun. We do laps each week increasing our distance little by little. The girls love Run For It! They talk about it constantly. They squeal and giggle during warm-ups. They participate whole-heartedly through relays and obstacle courses. Then we do laps. This is where things get a little, umm, less fun. The truth is laps are boring. Some people might even go as far as saying that running is boring. I am not one of those people, but once upon a time I was.
When I first started running as a grown up, I really struggled. I couldn't breathe, my legs ached, my ears made that obnoxious whooshing sound and after about 1/100th of a mile, I'd start walking. And boring? Oh you know it!! Still, for some reason, I kept with it. My friend Susan became my running partner and would talk me through those grueling 2 milers. She kept the stories flowing, just chatting and running like it was the easiest thing ever, I would run next with her and would sometimes manage a word or two, but it took a while before I could participate in a real conversation. That was forever ago, since then I have not only run a marathon, but talked for the entire 26.2 miles. It goes without saying I'm a big fan of stories during runs.
So last week when on lap 5 of 20 the girls started to say things like "My legs hurt", "My back hurts" or my personal favorite "I'm already on lap 18" I felt a moment of panic. How can I get these girls to keep running? How can I get them to love it? That's when it dawned on me. The girls needed a story. So I told them one. It was about my first track meet in high school. My friend Van and I were probably the least dedicated athletes on the planet. We had an early dismissal that day and decided to go grab something to eat before our meet. We went with our girlfriends to the South Pacific on Eastern Ave in Malden. We split a pupu platter and a couple of virgin pina coladas and then hopped on the bus to head for the meet....long story short (the girls got the long story sans pina coladas) we were two unhappy campers when it came time to run.
The girls loved the story so much that today they started requesting stories as soon as we hit the field. While we warmed-up Jenny told a story about a hike she did in North Bend. It was a very short story, but the girls ate it up. More! More! More! When it was time for laps I had a cloud of girls around me. I could barely move. I elbowed one little friend in the face because I didn't see her next to me. She could have cared less, she was front row for story time. Tell us a story! Tell us a story!
My mind was blank and then I pulled from the vault a very old story. One that had little importance and no moral whatsoever. This was a story about the time my friend Steve Powers & I took the Peter Pan bus home from college one weekend. UMASS is two hours from Boston, but the unfortunate part of taking the bus is that you have to stop absolutely everywhere. Even more unfortunate on that particular weekend was the fact that the only bus that we could get tickets on was a bus with a layover in Worcester. We went from Amherst to Springfield (out of the way for those of you that don't have the geography of Massachusetts memorized). Then from Springfield to Worcester we made a bunch of small stops. Once in Worcester, we had to switch buses. The bus was soooo crowded that Steve and I had to split up. I saw a seat open toward the back, he hunkered down with a little old lady in the front. I could see him from where I was sitting. I remember it as a hot and sweaty day, but it could have been in January for all I know. I was close enough to the bathroom that I could smell that awful cherry air freshener the Peter Pan company loved, mixed with the always lovely odor of urine and poop. (Don't worry I left this part out, too, though I did mention to the girls that perhaps some of the people on the bus never had the hygiene talk that we had had in Run For It last week). Like Steve, I was sitting next to an older woman. The woman I was sitting next to got closer and closer to me every time we turned a corner, by the time we crossed into Framingham she was partially on my lap. Around that time I looked up and Steve's new bff was offering him a lollipop-honest to God. My woman was a heavy mouth breather. She groaned and spoke quietly to herself. Once in a while, on top of the breathing and the mumbling, I'd hear a genuine and hardy laugh coming from the front of the bus. I'd know that laugh anywhere. Steve and his bus buddy were living it up. I swear at one point I saw that woman pinch his cheeks. When we finally arrived in Boston I stumbled off the bus. I looked at Steve and he smiled at me, "That wasn't so bad after all," he said. What could I do? I tucked that moment away for 15 years, only to pull it out for a group of 6-11 year olds running around a field. Still it was a story worthy of a half mile, and for that I am grateful and so are my girls.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
An Old School Rap About my Pooch
I have a dog
we named her Six.
She can't have babies
We had her fixed.
She's really sweet
and kinda lazy,
when she shakes her tail
she drives the boy dogs crazy.
When home alone
she gets a li'l bored.
She might chew a blanket
or poop on the floor.
It's not that she means
any harm,
but being lonely
gives her alarm.
So for our girl
we did install,
a doggy door
in the wall.
Now when bored
she need not pout.
She just waltzes through the door
and she is out.
Out in the yard
with the ducks and the frogs.
Out in the open
in the grass and the logs.
We head to work
and we are happy.
Knowing her day
won't be so crappy.
Yeah, everything's fine
I was sure.
'Til today
I found on my door
A note, a warning
a slap on the wrist
From the county
you get the gist.
It says my sweet dog
isn't so quiet
with our neighbors
she's causing a riot.
At least one neighbor
isn't impressed
cuz Six won't give
her barking a rest.
This all came
as a big surprise
'cuz when we're home
she never cries.
Or barks or howls
or yips or yaps.
She just snuggles up
and has a nap.
So to our problem
we need a solution
to keep her from a
doggy-jail-like institution.
do we get a collar
that gives a shock?
Or secure her doggy door
with a padlock?
And as for our neighbor
what will she do next?
Silence the otters?
Give the geese a vex?
Will she call the county
when the frogs start croakin'?
When the fish start jumpin'?
When the bees start pokin'?
Sure, an obnoxious dog
is nothing to defend
but this is Six
our very best friend.
So to our neighbor
a couple shoulder shrugs
and a gift card
for some shiny new ear plugs.
we named her Six.
She can't have babies
We had her fixed.
She's really sweet
and kinda lazy,
when she shakes her tail
she drives the boy dogs crazy.
When home alone
she gets a li'l bored.
She might chew a blanket
or poop on the floor.
It's not that she means
any harm,
but being lonely
gives her alarm.
So for our girl
we did install,
a doggy door
in the wall.
Now when bored
she need not pout.
She just waltzes through the door
and she is out.
Out in the yard
with the ducks and the frogs.
Out in the open
in the grass and the logs.
We head to work
and we are happy.
Knowing her day
won't be so crappy.
Yeah, everything's fine
I was sure.
'Til today
I found on my door
A note, a warning
a slap on the wrist
From the county
you get the gist.
It says my sweet dog
isn't so quiet
with our neighbors
she's causing a riot.
At least one neighbor
isn't impressed
cuz Six won't give
her barking a rest.
This all came
as a big surprise
'cuz when we're home
she never cries.
Or barks or howls
or yips or yaps.
She just snuggles up
and has a nap.
So to our problem
we need a solution
to keep her from a
doggy-jail-like institution.
do we get a collar
that gives a shock?
Or secure her doggy door
with a padlock?
And as for our neighbor
what will she do next?
Silence the otters?
Give the geese a vex?
Will she call the county
when the frogs start croakin'?
When the fish start jumpin'?
When the bees start pokin'?
Sure, an obnoxious dog
is nothing to defend
but this is Six
our very best friend.
So to our neighbor
a couple shoulder shrugs
and a gift card
for some shiny new ear plugs.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Running Bugs Me
Yesterday I went for a run in The Harbor. (For my out of town followers that is the downtown area of the maritime town of Gig Harbor where I work and spend a good deal of my free time).
Because it was sunny and reasonably warm out, every resident of Gig Harbor over the age of thirty was out and about with their dogs, kids, bikes, walkers, you name it. They were wandering and enjoying the sites chattering on- Look there's a beautiful sailboat, oh what a lovely view of Mt. Rainier, oh smell those muffins baking at Suzanne's...and then there I was, a sight in my own right. I was jogging along with bright yellow wires running from my ears to my crotch, a blue ipod Shuffle hanging from the collar of my shirt rhytmically scraping my neck and ear pods popping out of my ears, because they are too big. My hair was blowing every which way, because I forgot to put it up. I smiled and gave some breathless "hellos" to the passerbys. And though I was not the most put together looking runner, people smiled at me with respect. After all, I was the one running.
Confidently, I turned the corner and that's when it hit me. Literally. Smack right in the eye. I stopped in my tracks making some kind of desperate squeal. The same people who might have been smiling at me earlier turned their heads, suddenly finding their partner's conversation about constipation intensely interesting.
Something was in my eye and I had to get it out. Was it dirt? A rock? A small bird? I pinched my eyelids open, bent over at the waist and started shaking my head feverishly. When the shaking from left to right didn't work, I added an up and down nod. I crouched down further, thinking gravity might do the trick. A few casual hops might help shake things up. All the time I was doing this I was aware that there were several people passing me by. I was glad that no one stopped to help me, how embarrassing! At the same time I was irate! Why isn't anyone stopping to see if I'm okay? Maybe they didn't know I was in distress, maybe they just thought I had really good Metallica song on my ipod. Finally after a few more desperate shakes, I stood up and started to run again.
I only made it a few yards when I noticed a big black spot in my vision. I couldn't even focus. I stopped again, fixed my ear bud which was once again falling out, and tried blinking out whatever was stuck. My eye started watering and in no time I had black mascara running down my cheek (I ran after work and still had eye make-up on). Soon, I felt something move to the corner of my eye. I stuck my fingertip up and sure enough there lay a small, mangled fly. Poor guy looked like he had only three or four legs. Well, at least I can say he put up a fight. My eye watered for the remainder of my run, probably 3 more miles. Occasionally, another little leg would roll out of my tear duct and onto my cheek.
Though it was disgusting and kind of hurt, I had to feel for the little guy. At least I would probably get a blog out of the incident, he, on the other hand, wouldn't be so lucky. And now as I reflect on the whole incident, I realize that fly found out what Mike has known for years, sometimes my baby blues can be killer.
Because it was sunny and reasonably warm out, every resident of Gig Harbor over the age of thirty was out and about with their dogs, kids, bikes, walkers, you name it. They were wandering and enjoying the sites chattering on- Look there's a beautiful sailboat, oh what a lovely view of Mt. Rainier, oh smell those muffins baking at Suzanne's...and then there I was, a sight in my own right. I was jogging along with bright yellow wires running from my ears to my crotch, a blue ipod Shuffle hanging from the collar of my shirt rhytmically scraping my neck and ear pods popping out of my ears, because they are too big. My hair was blowing every which way, because I forgot to put it up. I smiled and gave some breathless "hellos" to the passerbys. And though I was not the most put together looking runner, people smiled at me with respect. After all, I was the one running.
Confidently, I turned the corner and that's when it hit me. Literally. Smack right in the eye. I stopped in my tracks making some kind of desperate squeal. The same people who might have been smiling at me earlier turned their heads, suddenly finding their partner's conversation about constipation intensely interesting.
Something was in my eye and I had to get it out. Was it dirt? A rock? A small bird? I pinched my eyelids open, bent over at the waist and started shaking my head feverishly. When the shaking from left to right didn't work, I added an up and down nod. I crouched down further, thinking gravity might do the trick. A few casual hops might help shake things up. All the time I was doing this I was aware that there were several people passing me by. I was glad that no one stopped to help me, how embarrassing! At the same time I was irate! Why isn't anyone stopping to see if I'm okay? Maybe they didn't know I was in distress, maybe they just thought I had really good Metallica song on my ipod. Finally after a few more desperate shakes, I stood up and started to run again.
I only made it a few yards when I noticed a big black spot in my vision. I couldn't even focus. I stopped again, fixed my ear bud which was once again falling out, and tried blinking out whatever was stuck. My eye started watering and in no time I had black mascara running down my cheek (I ran after work and still had eye make-up on). Soon, I felt something move to the corner of my eye. I stuck my fingertip up and sure enough there lay a small, mangled fly. Poor guy looked like he had only three or four legs. Well, at least I can say he put up a fight. My eye watered for the remainder of my run, probably 3 more miles. Occasionally, another little leg would roll out of my tear duct and onto my cheek.
Though it was disgusting and kind of hurt, I had to feel for the little guy. At least I would probably get a blog out of the incident, he, on the other hand, wouldn't be so lucky. And now as I reflect on the whole incident, I realize that fly found out what Mike has known for years, sometimes my baby blues can be killer.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Family Resemblance
We have all heard it said that over time husbands and wives begin to look alike. Frankly, I am doubtful that Mike and I look alike, though that would explain the hair over my lip (just kidding I don't have hair over my lip, or maybe I do, but I'm not going to blog about it!! I do have a shred of dignity, sheesh), but there certainly have been subtle changes in personality over time. For instance, I believe Mike is funnier than he used to be and I take partial credit for that. He's not as shy as he once was, I'm taking points for that one, too. As for me, well, among other things I've picked up, I know how to bleed brakes, impressive, right?
So when Mike texted me this evening around 5:30 saying he locked his keys in the truck and needed me to come rescue him, I just smiled, laughed and headed out to save him. Sure, many people would be frustrated to walk in the door, kick off their shoes, get their kids started on piano practice, only to receive a call (or text) for help right away. Sure, he was 20 minutes away on the Navy Base. I hate the Navy Base. But how could I be mad at Mike, when locking keys in the car is a classic Aimee move? My first thought was "That's something I would do." Followed by my next thought "why was he locking the truck anyway, he never locks the truck?!"
This is not the first time Mike has pulled "an Aimee." It has been happening for years, it just seems to be happening more and more lately. Recently, our truck was in the shop. We were a one car family for a total of 9 days. On day 7 Mike went to the gym around 5:45 am and was supposed to come back home and pick the kids and me up around 7:30 to take us to school. 7:30 came and went--no Mike. 7:40 no Mike...you can probably see where this is heading....in the meantime I was calling him, but his cell phone was upstairs in our room-- of courseI didn't hear it, as I think over time I have developed Mike's deafness.
I am not going to lie, I was getting worried and our buddy Eddy was about to go looking for Mike. Just after 8:00 Mike pulled into the driveway with a sheepish look on his face. He had been listening to the radio when he left the gym and got caught up listening to an interview (the interview was with a casket maker, I'm sure it must have been fascinating). Anyway, there he was listening and driving and driving. As he crossed the Narrows Bridge into Tacoma (25 minutes away from home mind you) he looked down at the clock on the dashboard- first thought, "I'm going to be early to work today." Second thought-"@##$%$^&*@#% " I need to pick Aimee and the kids up! I better call her and explain." Third thought "@#$%^&%*(@#! I left my phone at home." Frustrating right? Well, no, it was scary for sure, but once I stopped shaking and dried my eyes, I thought Oh my gosh I would do that, I've done that. Although, I wouldn't have been listening to such a morbid topic, but you already know that.
So this evening when I pulled up to the navy base kids, dog and truck keys in tow, I greeted Mike with a genuine smile. He leaned into the driver side window and I whispered "I secretly enjoy these moments." He smiled and said "I know, you do."
So, no, you probably won't see me tinkering in the garage with a cup of Jack and Coke anytime soon, nor will you see Mike browsing the petite section of Ann Taylor Loft, but give us twenty years, you never know!
So when Mike texted me this evening around 5:30 saying he locked his keys in the truck and needed me to come rescue him, I just smiled, laughed and headed out to save him. Sure, many people would be frustrated to walk in the door, kick off their shoes, get their kids started on piano practice, only to receive a call (or text) for help right away. Sure, he was 20 minutes away on the Navy Base. I hate the Navy Base. But how could I be mad at Mike, when locking keys in the car is a classic Aimee move? My first thought was "That's something I would do." Followed by my next thought "why was he locking the truck anyway, he never locks the truck?!"
This is not the first time Mike has pulled "an Aimee." It has been happening for years, it just seems to be happening more and more lately. Recently, our truck was in the shop. We were a one car family for a total of 9 days. On day 7 Mike went to the gym around 5:45 am and was supposed to come back home and pick the kids and me up around 7:30 to take us to school. 7:30 came and went--no Mike. 7:40 no Mike...you can probably see where this is heading....in the meantime I was calling him, but his cell phone was upstairs in our room-- of courseI didn't hear it, as I think over time I have developed Mike's deafness.
I am not going to lie, I was getting worried and our buddy Eddy was about to go looking for Mike. Just after 8:00 Mike pulled into the driveway with a sheepish look on his face. He had been listening to the radio when he left the gym and got caught up listening to an interview (the interview was with a casket maker, I'm sure it must have been fascinating). Anyway, there he was listening and driving and driving. As he crossed the Narrows Bridge into Tacoma (25 minutes away from home mind you) he looked down at the clock on the dashboard- first thought, "I'm going to be early to work today." Second thought-"@##$%$^&*@#% " I need to pick Aimee and the kids up! I better call her and explain." Third thought "@#$%^&%*(@#! I left my phone at home." Frustrating right? Well, no, it was scary for sure, but once I stopped shaking and dried my eyes, I thought Oh my gosh I would do that, I've done that. Although, I wouldn't have been listening to such a morbid topic, but you already know that.
So this evening when I pulled up to the navy base kids, dog and truck keys in tow, I greeted Mike with a genuine smile. He leaned into the driver side window and I whispered "I secretly enjoy these moments." He smiled and said "I know, you do."
So, no, you probably won't see me tinkering in the garage with a cup of Jack and Coke anytime soon, nor will you see Mike browsing the petite section of Ann Taylor Loft, but give us twenty years, you never know!
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
O'Hare O' Hair
It's no secret that I hate to fly. I get so frazzled and it shows inside and out. On Saturday, the kids and I left Boston around noon. We landed in Chicago late and had to rush to get to our connecting flight. Well, at least I thought we had to rush. We get to our gate and people are milling about without a care in the world. No rush, no hurry, no worries. Our plane was delayed (of course) so the kids and I started to wander about-- we decided to hit Starbucks for a bottle of water (yes I admit it! I bought a bottle of water when I know that's not the best thing for our planet, but a girl has to wet her whistle). By the time we left Starbucks and headed back to our gate, I was starting to feel relaxed, after all we would be home in just a few more hours. When suddenly I saw a familiar face. Yes, right there in the airport was the mom of a student at my school. She was returning from a trip to Minnesota, (or Missouri, or maybe it was Oklahoma) and would be on our flight to Seattle.
I went over to greet her. She was standing tall with that perfect posture that only a woman over 5'7 could pull off. She reminded me of an Old New Englander, a Kennedy or a Hepburn-you know squared shoulders, chin up, looking serious and elegant. She wore a black sweater set and jeans not-likely-purchased at Old Navy. She had a dainty, but sophisticated looking carry-on bag with wheels. In contrast I stood across from her with my neck craned, trying to pull off some semblance of savvy traveler. I pretended I wasn't in an oversized Martha's Vineyard T-shirt, with a ketchup stain strategically placed over my left breast. It was unfortunate, but not unexpected, of course, that during our conversation Max dropped his Buzz Lightyear suitcase on my toe at least four times. My Mickey & Minnie bag from the Disney Store kept slipping off of my left arm where it was hooked cleverly to allow room for my purse and my 45 pound backpack. The Mickey Mouse bag was teeming with "stuffies" because, as everyone knows you must:
a. pack half of your stuffed animals for a week long trip to see the grandparents,
b. look longingly at at least 3 more stuffed animals in your grandmother's presence so she will buy you more--then she will buy you a cute Mickey Mouse bag to hold your new stuffed friends.
c. always carry your stuffies onto the plane. Cargo is no place for your stuffed animals. You can't put them in your suitcase--how will they breathe??
Just looking at how put together and calm this woman was made my hair frizz. Okay, my hair was already frizzing. Not to mention that my choice to stuff it all in a ponytail backfired. My fear of flying set off some sort of chemical endorphin reaction which produced an interesting sweat/frizz combo. Or perhaps the sweat was because I was carrying a backpack that weighed half my body weight! Whatever the reason, the ponytail just called attention to the fact that I looked like a cross between Willie Ames and Sideshow Bob.
Still, all in all, I held my own during our short conversation. I am fairly confident I sounded more put together than I looked. When we were done talking I smiled (after all I do like this woman), and headed to the back of the line of boarding passengers. I'd like to think that she wasn't looking my way when somehow my purse got tangled between the backpack strap and the Mickey Mouse bag, wrapped around my back and gently slapped me in the booty as I sauntered away.
I went over to greet her. She was standing tall with that perfect posture that only a woman over 5'7 could pull off. She reminded me of an Old New Englander, a Kennedy or a Hepburn-you know squared shoulders, chin up, looking serious and elegant. She wore a black sweater set and jeans not-likely-purchased at Old Navy. She had a dainty, but sophisticated looking carry-on bag with wheels. In contrast I stood across from her with my neck craned, trying to pull off some semblance of savvy traveler. I pretended I wasn't in an oversized Martha's Vineyard T-shirt, with a ketchup stain strategically placed over my left breast. It was unfortunate, but not unexpected, of course, that during our conversation Max dropped his Buzz Lightyear suitcase on my toe at least four times. My Mickey & Minnie bag from the Disney Store kept slipping off of my left arm where it was hooked cleverly to allow room for my purse and my 45 pound backpack. The Mickey Mouse bag was teeming with "stuffies" because, as everyone knows you must:
a. pack half of your stuffed animals for a week long trip to see the grandparents,
b. look longingly at at least 3 more stuffed animals in your grandmother's presence so she will buy you more--then she will buy you a cute Mickey Mouse bag to hold your new stuffed friends.
c. always carry your stuffies onto the plane. Cargo is no place for your stuffed animals. You can't put them in your suitcase--how will they breathe??
Just looking at how put together and calm this woman was made my hair frizz. Okay, my hair was already frizzing. Not to mention that my choice to stuff it all in a ponytail backfired. My fear of flying set off some sort of chemical endorphin reaction which produced an interesting sweat/frizz combo. Or perhaps the sweat was because I was carrying a backpack that weighed half my body weight! Whatever the reason, the ponytail just called attention to the fact that I looked like a cross between Willie Ames and Sideshow Bob.
Still, all in all, I held my own during our short conversation. I am fairly confident I sounded more put together than I looked. When we were done talking I smiled (after all I do like this woman), and headed to the back of the line of boarding passengers. I'd like to think that she wasn't looking my way when somehow my purse got tangled between the backpack strap and the Mickey Mouse bag, wrapped around my back and gently slapped me in the booty as I sauntered away.
Here We Go
It's Wednesday night, I'm tired, I have an hour's worth of students' work to correct (oh fine 45 minutes worth, but still...) I am surrounded by boxes, I can barely keep my eyes open, but for some reason I have decided to create a blog. Right now. At this very moment. Sure, I have nothing of importance to say at this time. Sure, I have other real responsibilities to tend to ( you know the folders, boxes, eyelids that want to shut). Sure, I have no idea what I am getting myself into by publishing my thoughts online, yet here I am.....
I have no clue what this blog will turn into...a place for me to write witty, entertaining pieces about my life? A place for me to rant about my politics? A place for me to post the most mundane things about my life (oh wait that's why I love Facebook). Perhaps it will it just be a lonely, neglected blog flying out in cyberspace, when I forget about it a week from now.
Time will tell--Here we go. :)
I have no clue what this blog will turn into...a place for me to write witty, entertaining pieces about my life? A place for me to rant about my politics? A place for me to post the most mundane things about my life (oh wait that's why I love Facebook). Perhaps it will it just be a lonely, neglected blog flying out in cyberspace, when I forget about it a week from now.
Time will tell--Here we go. :)
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