Category: Out and About

The Dog in the Car Goes Bark, Bark, Bark…

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Oh my aching psyche. It’s Monday of vacation week. I’m scheduled to write my big exam all weekend. Then back to school to prepare for March (a month only to be rivaled by October in teacher-land). I’m trying to focus on getting through this exam, though, so I’m just reading away. Everyone’s pretty accepting of the fact that I am a mommy out-of-commision for the week. Colby’s helping with housework and cooking and Matt’s trying to get home to help out. Bella is getting spayed tomorrow and I am as worried as, well, as worried as a mama who has nothing critical or life-threatening to worry about.

Lucky for me, my darling friend (and frequent partner-in-crime), Angie, agreed to ride along with me on our trip to the vet today. Bella needed to go in for her pre-surgery visit, and I needed an extra adult-sized pair of hands to help out. I called her this morning to make plans. While I sipped my coffee, leaning against the wall so my dead cell phone could plug into the outlet, I told her “Good thing it’s Bella. She rides so much better in the car than Sam”. I should have heard the universe laughing. Not regular laughing but snot-dripping-gut-clenching laughing.

Who? Me?

We spent the entire ride to the vet’s with Bella alternately jumping into Angie’s lap, onto Colby, or trying to climb over the driver’s side headrest onto my lap. She would weasel her little head between the seat belt and my seat so that her head could rest on the window sill (totally know that’s not the real word for it, but it’s all I’ve got). Or she would crawl onto Angie’s lap and stand, full and tall, leaning her snout into the small space where the dash and windshield meet. She dripped drool like a cheap faucet wherever she went.

We made it safely to the veterinary clinic after navigating a closed road and a rogue wood truck. We waited with poor, anxious Bella for an hour before we were seen. It took Bella nearly 30 minutes to let the vet near her because she was just.so.freaked.out.

The ride home went as before. Except this time Angie and I were so carsick that we layered our arms, one on top of the other, between our seats to create a barrier for the dog. We must have looked darling, the two of us nauseated, tired ladies. Our back seat was full of barking dog and lanky boy (eyes closed, headphones clamped tightly over his ears, head bobbing almost imperceptibly). She and I spoke in the code of mothers’ and their friends, a code that I know will only last as long as spelling out curse words. Eventually Colby will say “Mom, you know I can spell, right?” and soon he will be the one speaking in code, and I will be the one trying to decipher what is really going on.

We dropped Angie off, and I used her bathroom as she barfed off her back porch. I tentatively munched on a couple of crackers before taking my wimp stomach back to the car. On the way back to our house Bella jumped square into Colby’s lap. He was laughing and half-crying as I yelled “if she’s squishing your balls push her into the backseat!” and “if the dog is on your sack, push her back!”. I was so tired. The dog was still barking. I had this deep, primal desire to fish around in the backseat to look for a pacifier and stick it in her mouth. But then I remembered that she was a dog and not a baby. I made up a song using the words “balls” and “sack” as many times as I could. By the time we hit Union Street I was convinced that she was singing along with me. I was also happy that I had taken Colby’s itouch away, otherwise he would have been recording it.

Sigh. We’re home. They’re fed. I’m putting on my sweatpants, pouring a hefty glass of red, and heading to bed with a book.

 

Happy Monday, friends!

 

On a mountain of spinach

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My soon-to-be guest blogger is happy to report that he has SOMUCHENERGYMOMYOUEOULDNTBELIEVEIT as a result of his jr. CFC. He even requested gluten-free wafers for mass tomorrow. And here I was wanting to justify goat cheese! We’ll check in later this week to give you the full report.

Communication Breakdown

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See here.

Our morning began like most Saturday mornings around here do. Colby woke up early, and since he is grounded from the Wii, he spent the morning undertaking a tv watching marathon. Matt woke me up with what I’m sure was a hug, but more resembled a bear mauling a woman who was obviously not meant for mornings. Hanging from his neck, I whine-mumbled “Do I have to go to work today?”. The bastard told me yes. I opened my eyes enough to confirm that it was, in fact, too light out for it to be a work day. I rolled over and tried to go back to sleep.

But I had to get up. It was a big day. WE were going to the bank to open a (cue dramatic music) JOINT CHECKING ACCOUNT. I made a big deal of it. But not enough of a big deal to put on real pants. As we left I told Colby “we might as well be getting married” and asked him if he wanted to take a picture. He didn’t want to. He rolled his eyes back toward the television. We left in separate cars so Matt could get right to work after.

As I drove down Essex I got lost in a day-dream (should I change careers? should I have a baby? will I have any luck running at home instead of at the gym? what should my wedding colors be? maybe today’s blog title will be titled “da-dum-da-dum” and then the first line will be “PSYCH”! would that piss people off?) and consequently missed my turn. I called Matt. No answer. He must already be there since the closest branch of our credit union is FIVE MINUTES FROM OUR HOUSE. I went the long way, hoping had the good sense to stay put. I finally arrived and scoped out the parking lot. I didn’t see the car (which I refuse to drive) anywhere. I called again. I called again. I called Colby to see if Matt’s phone was at home. He didn’t answer. I felt a teeny-tiny pin prick in my Saturday morning balloon.

Assuming (ass out of you, ass out of me, I know) Matt was heading toward the Hampden branch, I hopped on 95 and was on the phone with my dear friend Angie before I merged. “He is an IDIOT!” I yelled into the phone. That poor girl. Just trying to enjoy her morning. Her husband piped up and yelled that the Hampden branch was closed on Saturday. What the fuck. Another call beeped in, and I heard Matt’s conciliatory voice as I turned onto the closest exit. “Where are you?” He asked. “Where the FUCK are YOU?” I yelled. Mad props to this guy, because I wouldn’t have responded as well to my words or tone. Because we both assumed incorrectly. I kept up the snark for 90 seconds or so before we hung up.

He called later to check in. I was out running, having a good run at that. We talked over the minutia that partners call to talk about in the middle of the day. While we were discussing where to put the treadmill I interrupted “I’m sorry I yelled at you”. It may be disconcerting to have slips in communication skills, but I’m so thankful we are at a point where we can acknowledge that while we, as individuals, are works-in-progress, we are a singular work-in-progress together.

Ahhh. It’s been a productive morning, though. I had a little drive (haha) and did some cleaning. I can hear the laundry drying. I ran with turkeys (literally! pics later) and ran two hills I usually walk. After I’m clean and smell better, I’m off with my boy to find a place to drink cocoa and do homework. Happy Saturday, friends.

Lessons Learned – or A Year in Running

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  1. Sometimes those little articles in magazines have helpful hints. See

“YOU CAN BE A RUNNER”, torn from the September 2009 issue of Women’s Health.

Week 1: Run 2 min, walk 3 min; repeat 6 timesWeek 2: Run 3 min, walk 3 min; repeat 5 times

Week 3: Run 5 min, walk 2 min; repeat 4 times

Week 4: Run 7 min, walk 3 min; repeat 3 times

Week 5: Run 8 min, walk 2 min; repeat 3 times

Week 6: Run 9 min, walk 1 min; repeat 3 times

Week 7: Run 30 minutes

Can you believe this is where I started? Can you believe that I actually FINISHED my year of running?! Can you believe that I am trading THIS plan for a 1/2 marathon training schedule?!

2. Don’t, for any reason, look down at your iPod while you are running on the edge of the pavement in the Milo Cemetery for Goodness Sake! You WILL fall, ass-over-tea-kettle, into the ditch. But if you do, tell everyone you fell into a grave. That’s much funnier. And it’s better to be funny than to be an idiot.

3. If you do stupid shit (see above) you will lose three weeks of training. The same if you get influenza, so wash your hands. Also, when you’ve recovered, get back out there. Now.

4. As soon as you’ve reached your baseline run (mine was one, uninterrupted

mile) sign up for a small, attainable goal. This can be a one-mile ‘fun run’, a local 5k,or a relay. Remember, small and attainable. I survived a marathon relay and a 5k in my first year, and I dare say I could have done more.

5. Make a posse. Find a person/people to go with you. If you’re anything like me, you have no problem flaking out on yourself, but you will do nearly anything to help others. Help them, help you. Two birds, one stone, shabam. See me with my Maine Marathon Relay

My Dream Team

team? It was my brother’s idea, I did the organizing, and we would never have done it had we not been accountable to each other. Just today I added another running buddy to my list! The miles are faster and generally more enjoyable with a good friend around.

6. Do your research. One of my relay team members and I were horrendously, incredibly lost before the relay. Like – very, very close to missing our times. We didn’t drive the relay route OR double-check for blocked roads or any of the important details. There were no shuttles. It was nearly a disaster. On the upside, I didn’t cry because I was convinced that it wasn’t fair for a man to be stuck, lost, in a car with a crying woman who was not his wife, sister, or mother. But as far as two strangers being lost for multiple hours in the pouring rain can go, we had a pretty good time. Also, we saw the most enormous pumpkin in the universe on the back of a truck. Or we were hallucinating. Either way, it was a rather good time for what could have been a disaster.

7. Everyone should get lost with a stranger at least once in their lives. See above. Is this your year?

8. Don’t be a running Nazi. It’s not the right thing to do. Sometimes people start running in old sweatpants and old, ill-fitting sneakers. It may not be optimal, but it’s their business. Sometimes people walk. For all the rules we make, there are no real rules in running like there is no crying in baseball. Sometimes your friends, gasp, don’t like running. It’s okay. Encourage them to find their thing, whether it’s yoga, biking, walking, whatever will make them feel good and strong and healthy. Listen to them talk about whatever as much as they listen to you talk about running. (Notice – this is also my advice to myself here – I tend to talk a lot and am not always mindful of others)

9. Delegate responsibility. Other people, especially children, partners, and students,

"I didn't even sweat!"

will take innate pleasure in holding you accountable, even if you are the one to tell them to. At the beginning of this year I told my students exactly what to do. “Okay”, I said. “If I’m looking a little tense and frazzled and grouchy, I need you to ask me ‘Ms. Webb, have you gone for a run today?’.” They laughed. They thought I was crazy (right on, kiddos), but you know what say? “Ms. Webb! Have you had your run today?” Perfection.

10. Log your progress. I use the app “iMapMyRUN” on my iPhone and laptop. Some people have had a lot of success with the Nike+ app as well. Are there any pen and paper people left out there? Nothing beats getting my week summary from iMapMyRUN with three to five good runs. Nothing is more light-a-fire-under-your-ass-ing than getting a week summary with two to zero runs … it happens. Whether I’m checking out my progress or assessing how to get back on track, it’s nice to have all the information in one place.

Bonus (or – The Best Advice My Brother Ever Gave Me): Buy a subscription to a

See, Mom! We're getting along just FINE!

magazine like Runner’s World.It will keep coming, every friggin month, and even if you’ve sat on your ass eating Oreos and watching The Biggest Loser (not that I have ever done that) for an entire month, you will eventually be inspired to get off your can so that you’re not wasting money on that stupid magazine subscription. Then you’ll be thankful. And you’ll feel better. And those post-run endorphins will help you maybe not eat the entire row of Oreos next time. J

To Do:

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Oh my Gawd. Are you all swamped? Is your breathing fast and shallow? Are you RIGHT now on the phone checking the balances on the Verizon rebate card you got two years ago when you purchased a phone then forgot about? I am. Are you mooning over the snow and frigging around with your laptop instead of working on your pre-holiday To Do list? I am.

I slept until 10:37 a.m. Lesson learned – maybe take 1/2 a Xanax before bed instead of a whole one washed down by a cup of Sleepytime tea. Some days I amaze myself. Now I’ve had enough coffee and ibuprofen to eradicate the coffee withdrawal migraine I woke up with. Actually, I’m dressed (though not showered) and I’ve actually drafted and started working on my list. However, I’m not where I should be. This is where you come in. Really. Do you ever tell someone that you are doing something just so you won’t flake out on yourself? I do. I even tell my students to ask me “Did you run today?” if I’m especially bitchy and impatient. It works. Now I’m, let’s say “delegating”,  some responsibility to all of you. It makes me feel like a genius and an idiot all at the same time.

To Do:

  1. Retrieve water bottle and rice cakes from work
  2. Return bench to Christmas Tree Shops
  3. Get magazines for stockings from Books A Million. Bimmer and Mad.
  4. Drop off pay stub to Verizon store so I can finally get that discount I’ve been qualified to get for the last two years
  5. Pay overdue car payment – check written
  6. Pick up Colby’s last gift from Northern Kingdom Music
  7. Get hammer and other random stuff at Home Depot – still have room on that credit card
  8. Find the perfect present for my nearly-sister-in-law (Anna – if you’re reading this, tell Ben I could use some hints because that new edition of The Last Unicorn isn’t out yet!)
  9. Christmas jammies from Old Navy
  10. White t-shirts, Oreos – Target?
  11. Laundry – Started
  12. Balance checkbook – Done
  13. Pay bills – Done
  14. Wrap presents
  15. Plan menu for Christmas dinner
  16. Grocery shop
  17. Go to gym – packed for
  18. Eat. A lot.

I am admittedly delusional, but I think I can do this. My coffee is brewed, my travel mug washed and dried. If you see me stumbling around Bangor this afternoon, be patient with me. You see, while I am not underwhelmed by the amount of STUFF I have to do, I love this. I love this time of year, and picking out gifts for the people I love. And as much as I enjoy what I do for a living, I really, really love not going to work on a week day. I just may not remember your name today. Feel free, though, to ask to see my list.

 

one lonely email

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Because I have so very much to say, but such little time to say it in. Here’s an email to let you know what’s going on ’round here:

Dear…

I looooooooooove you and am so excited to see you tomorrow. 🙂

Do you miss me? Here are 5 random facts to help you miss me less:

1. I am wearing dirty sweatpants, but clean underwear.
2. We ate a homemade dinner once this week…
3. Sam has slept in the bed all week. It now smells like dog ass and corn chips.
4. I’ve spent all my free time looking at puppies, baby stuff, or houses.
5. I hadn’t shaved since Friday until this morning, when I shaved the bottom half of each leg. Me thinks I have some cleaning up to do before ‘date night’ :/

I’m missing you, friend.

Hopefully I don’t need any prescription medication to make it through this one. What else is going on? I’ll tell you in June when I can sleep again.

It’s Just A Movie

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“Heather- it’s just a movie”. Thwap. Impending doom music fades out, I extricate my scarf-covered face out of Matt’s armpit, and lift my eyes. Approximately sixty seconds later I’m smelling Old Spice again. “Heather- it’s just a movie”. Thwap. This was the general play-by-play for date night.

Earlier in the afternoon we were lying around checking the movie listings. While there were other movies I wanted to see, Matt opened the link for Sanctum . It didn’t look terrible and because I was so grateful for a willing movie date,  I said yes. Mere hours later I was sweating in front of the water fountain trying to swallow half a Xanax. It’s not that I’m a total pansy. I slept with the lights on for a month after watching Silence of the Lambs, but whatever. I’m sensitive, yes. Anxiety prone, maybe absolutely. I could feel  cortisol ripping through my body with each scene. It could have been the result of idiot-proof foreshadowing since I never doubted that as the music reached crescendo SOMEONE was going to audibly, vividly, die (which would then take three minutes- gurgle, gurgle); but more likely my fight-or-flight response was triggered by the plot- people stuck in a deep, unexplored, inescapable, quickly-flooding cave. It hit ALL of my triggers. A week later, I can barely write about it now.

When I’m in teacher land, a perennial topic of conversation is: What makes readers readers? And this is it. For some people, it really is just a movie. For others, though, it is a story, and the thing about us is, stories are alive. When we read, view, listen to, tell, or talk about a story- we become part of its web as it becomes part of us. This movie, it wasn’t just a movie. It was a story that teased out events I didn’t want to remember, deep fears, connections to relationships and events… I can’t understand it, but some people can just watch the goddamn movie. It’s just a movie. They move about their lives and do not have any significant psychological trauma as a result. They watch a film and see a singular thing, they read a book and see inventions. I’ve cried at the end of books because they were over and I had to return to reality (even if my father tells me I’ve constructed my own).

Now when I lay this line on Matt (in response to “it’s just a movie”), he thinks I’m totally full of shit. “But Matt,” I say, “it’s just a movie for you but for ME it’s a STORY. It’s ALIVE! This is what makes ME a reader and YOU the guy who remembers to pay the bills”. He, my father, my mother, and both dogs roll their eyes at me. And while my credibility may be marred my a recent defense, a good one if I may say so, of the existence of unicorns, I’m still right. But that’s another story.