Where have I been?

Blink.

Summer is waning. Where have I been? How did it pass so quickly? While the thermometer still screams "Summer Heat Record!"...the calendar now suggests otherwise.

We knew when we moved in late May that it would be this way. Every weekend was bookmarked and planned and reserved for some event (weddings, trips, races, etc.) and now we are in September and just when I thought we could sit back and relax...the dates on the calendar are filling in again.

I feel like life is moving at warp speed and I can't keep up. My house is a mess and not decorated or even fully unpacked, my babies are not babies any more and everyday feels like I am trying to catch up to the one before.

Liam started second (second!!) grade and already talks of going to college, having a job, getting his license and buying a car and being an architect/engineer (he has moved away from being a Pilot--now he wants to design the planes they fly. And design rollercoasters too when he has time). He loves school and knowledge and would go to class everyday if he could. He is already very smart and teeters on the brink of knowing more then I do already. It has become painfully clear to us that he is just biding his time until he can move out on his own. Our house is just a temporary holding plan in this Big Life he has planned. He tells me reassuringly, 'Don't worry Mom! Even when I am older and have my own place we'll still see each other and you can come visit anytime each of us wants!" Hmmm. I wonder if he will still feel this way 13 years from now...

Sawyer is nearly four and is happily into his Preschool 2 routine. It took him a few weeks of adjusting but he handled it fabulously. It probably took him even less time to once again amass a harem of girls. He has told me that he has been told by the teachers on more then one occasion, "We don't kiss our friends in Preschool, Sawyer". That child is a lover, pure and simple. He will squeeze me with such intensity and love that I hear his teeth grind together. He is funny and imaginative and will play for hours on end uninterrupted, if allowed to do so. He also has a wicked sense of humor for a child of only 3.75 years. Already, he knows how to get a laugh through words and mannerisms. I see "class clown" in his future.

I love these boys--all three of them--more then words can say. I once again am here to remind myself to slow down and enjoy it--craziness and all.

Sure, he's cute...

But behind those big blue eyes and dimpled grin, is a wicked little turkey. You think I jest? Last week, he locked his brother (his OLDER brother, mind you) in the clubhouse then took a perverse delight in squirting water at him through the window. He is a blonde hair, blue eyed devil even though he looks like quite the opposite.

It has been a rough couple of weeks with Mr. Tyrannical-Three-Year Old. He literally wants something and does not want something at the same time. Dealing with a 3-year old is how I imagine it would be to try and work with a mental patient. And sometimes after our encounters, I fear I am soon to become a mental patient. He will scream and whine and whine and whine over virtually ANYTHING (note, ANYTHING. "My popsicle is MELLLLLTING!! Mr. Do-Doo Bunny RAN AWAYYYYYY!!! I Spealed (spilled) water on my shirt and now I hafta CHAAAAAAAANGE IT!!!!!" and on and on and on. It is draining.

And then right when I think I can totally understand why certain species devour their young, he will do something breathtakingly sweet.  And he will do it just to remind you of why you want to keep around, pepper him with kisses and hold him in your arms forever.

Turkey.

Fresh Lemonade! And ART!

Liam decided last week he wanted to create his own lemonade stand. This idea came to him after we saw some other kids selling lemonade near the park in our new neighborhood. When I asked him how he was going to differentiate himself in such a tight, over-saturated lemonade stand market, he answered "We'll make our lemonade with REAL lemons and charge twice as much!! We'll also sell art!!!" And so that is what he did. I bought a bag of lemons and we went to town squeezing a couple of quarts worth of lemonade (which Liam later admitted "Making lemonade is a lot harder then I thought it was going to be!" I had to agree with him). We made a giant yet simple sign, loaded up his sketchbook and supplies and headed down to the corner of our neighborhood. We positioned ourselves across from the pool-hoping we could catch some thirsty pool goers or the runners and cyclists who pass by constantly.

Liam did NOT want me there. He wanted to do it "ALL by by himself!" I told him there was no way in the world I was going to leave him stand on a busy street corner all by himself. Not in this lifetime. So we made a compromise and I agreed to sit out of the way, close enough to keep an eye on things but far enough away as to not cramp his style.

We got everything set up and Liam was shocked that people did not flock to his lemonade instantly. He started busking, "Get your FRESH SQUEEZED LEMONADE. And ART!!!" But no takers. "Where is everyone?? Why aren't they buying my lemonnade??!" He got lots of looks and smiles and waves but no takers. Many of the runners and cyclists apologized saying they had no money on them--but that was not good enough for Mr. Liam. He would get his hopes up every time someone passed by, and then that ginormous smile would fade when they would not stop. Finally (after probably 10 minutes) he looked at me and said "Well do you at least want some lemonade?" I told him yes, but I only had 35 cents on me. He agreed to cut me a "mom discount" and give me a cup. A few more minutes passed and a dejected Liam looked at me sadly and said "I think maybe I want to go home." Just then, a young couple in a BMW pulled up along side of the street and got out. "Hey, do you know anywhere we can get some fresh squeezed lemonade??" Liam jumped up and smiled excitedly, "Here! Right here! I have fresh squeezed lemonade! And art!!"

The couple were extraordinarily sweet. They took the time to look through all of his drawings and agreed to purchase one glass of lemonade and one drawing. When they selected their art they asked Liam where he recommended they should hang such a fine piece? He suggested maybe the kitchen and they agreed. They paid him $5 and told him to to keep the change. Liam was over the moon. Soon after, the lemonade and art started going like hotcakes. He sold out all of his lemonade and a lot of his art. And he said excitedly,  "I sold out Mom!! That is just what I hoped would happen!!!" We gathered up his supplies and he wheeled them home.

On the way, he was stopped by several people in the neighborhood, asking him if he had any more lemonade to sell? Liam said "Nope! You are too late--i am all sold out but I will be back in two weeks with more!" He ended making about $12 on only 6 cups of lemonade and a few drawings--not too shabby. He ran home and put his money in his piggybank. I think he may be hooked.

Well thank GOD that is done.

We've moved!! Finally, after what seems like months and months of preparing to sell the house, selling the house and then the exhaustive search for a new residence, we've finally up and moved. Exhaling now...

What a long, grouchy and exhausting couple of months it has been! After three days of moving and shlepping stuff from old house to new house, we are finally moved in! Our new house is about 15-20 minutes north of our old house. We are now closer to Boulder, closer to work, closer to trails, etc. Our new neighborhood is beautiful--lots of rolling hills, community parks, pools and activities. We are quite literally across the street from Liam's new elementary school, the pool and the tennis courts. Our new neighbors welcomed us with homemade cookies, toffee, bread, marmalade and even some wine. The other night I took Liam to his summer day-camp orientation and when I came out I ran into my former running coach and her group. She gave me a big hug and said she can't wait to start running together again. It feels like home already (minus the 500 boxes and other disarray strewn about the place).

Thus far, the boys have adapted fairly well. The first day/night Sawyer was a bit overwhelmed. Our new house is nearly double the size of our old one. He told Grandma Karen, "How are we gonna find our way out?!!!" Every five minutes he calls out to me and has to make sure he knows where I am, which is making for some looooooong nights. I anticipated he would be extra needy right now. It is a lot of change for a little person. He starts his new preschool tomorrow so I anticipate it will get worse before it gets better. He loved his old school and teachers. They loved him back. They bought him a going away present and they literally cried when we said goodbye. :-( They were wonderful there. I hope his new school falls in love with him as much as his old one, and vice versa.

Liam's last day of 1st grade is tomorrow. Again, another goodbye to another wonderful school and amazing teachers. Mrs. Douglas was terrific. She told us a few weeks ago, "His new teacher is going to LOVE him! He is such an eager, intelligent learner and a great kid. I am going to miss him." She also called him a Brainiac when we asked her if she had taught the kids multiplication and she said "nooooooo...". It turns out he taught it to himself. He IS a brainiac and she was right...his new teacher is going to love him. At least I hope he/she does. How could you not?

There is still lots to do at the new house, but we are so very happy to be here. I know once we get unpacked and the boys get firmly settled into their new routines, we are going to love living here. We already do. :-)

The End?

On September 11, 2001 I was living and working just outside Washington D.C. I was on my way to work when the radio announcer broke into the programming to announce a plane had just hit the Trade Center in NYC. Bill, my first husband, was already downtown at work in the Department of Labor building. I worked not too terribly far from the F.A.A building on the Virginia side of the border. After the plane hit the Pentagon (literally only a minute before Bill had went up on the roof to have a cigarette) the following hours were filled with confusion, sketchy and erratic cell phone service and just general fear and misinformation (Had the Capitol been hit? Had the F.A.A. building been bombed? Were there more planes on their way? Did my best friend's husband get out of the Pentagon before it hit??) We finally made our way home, numb, dazed and hollow on the insides. It was the end of innocence for an entire nation.


Nearly eleven years later, the mastermind behind the terror is dead and the country is celebrating. I just cannot go there. Even though he was a horrible man-a murderer-the vilest of the vile...I cannot celebrate the death of a person. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I think we should be relieved he is gone (although my gut tells me this is merely the beginning of worse things to come) but I don't think we should be celebrating like we won the World Cup.  


I will leave with this (because I don't think it can be better said):


‎"I mourn the loss of thousands of precious lives, but I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy. Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that." - Martin Luther King, Jr

Good Intentions

Hi again. I feel like every time I promise to post more frequently, I end up posting even less. For some reason, I just cannot get it together to post anything in the evenings and I am definitely NOT a late night writer (for that matter, I'm not so sure I am a morning or afternoon writer either). I know that by the end of the day I am crispy fried--even on weekends. So again, I apologize. My intentions are good, but my energy is not. There really have been lots of great kid stories and I have been too tired to write about them.

For example, I should have mentioned a few months back about the birthday party we threw for Liam's baby, "Ralston". Complete with his hand-made invitations, party games (his own inventions) and birthday cupcakes (courtesy of Mommy). Or I really should have documented the school fundraiser he came up with to help the kids in Japan after the earthquake. (His school raised nearly $800 just by bring in in spare change!). I should also mention the roller coaster he is planning on building in the backyard of our new house, complete with blueprints ("hey Dad-can I borrow a 20 foot ladder??") and contracts he made his workers (i.e. Me and Grandma) sign.  

Or I could have told the tale of Beanie's increasing creative storytelling, his sudden ability to talk in his "Grown up" voice which is 5 octaves lower then his real voice "Hey daddy, did you drink my smoodie??!!". Or I could recall his frequent silent escapes outside into the rain to pick dandelions and stare at bugs  or his sudden preoccupation/fascination with the size of his "wiener". Oy.

But I just have not taken the time to write them down--at least not on digital paper. I compose the posts in my head all of the time, usually when I am running. I just fail to get it OUT of my head. 

I would love to think this will improve, but the reality is we are moving into our new house in one month and in the next few weeks I need to pack, clean, get utilities set up, and get the boys registered in new schools . I am not too optimistic that I will post often but again, I will try.

Gut Update

Because I know you all have been riveted to your seats, wringing your hands in anticipation for more news about my digestive tract I thought I would let you all know I am on day TWO of being able to eat! The nausea and pain in the stomach has mostly subsided although the pain in my side still comes and goes. I am still not 100% but I am not nearly as miserable as I have been. There are still the post-food stomach aches, but now they are more annoying then painful.

I'll take what I can get.

Sand Eating Tigers

All children are imaginative, and mine are no exception. Liam can spend quite literally hours and days creating stories in his head and can spontaneously craft intricate games with rules only he seems to understand. He can come up with detailed projects for himself such as writing a non-fiction book about the life of Lewis & Clarke, creating a penny-carnival (complete with games, signs, and invitations) and making a book about leafs he has collected. Most recently, he has created a map of the United States and has colored it in according to average snowfall. (Yes. He really has done all of those things).

Lately, Beanie has started to emerge as quite the imaginative little bee. Left to his own devices, he will play for a long time all by himself acting out stories with his "babies" (a puppy he named "Trophy", "Scruffy" the dog, Tiger Baby, Puppy Baby and his doll, "Baby Bear"--all names given by him). He will hug and squeeze them and profess his love "I yuv my babies!!! I YUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUV Yooooooouuu soooooooooo much!!". He will feed them, burp them and put them bed and when they are naughty and knock over his blocks, he will discipline them accordingly.

But...sometimes bad things happen to his babies. Last week for instance, a giant red spider climbed into his bed and gave Baby Bear a shot in his hand and he cried. Luckily, Sawyer was there to step on it and squirt it with a water bottle. Then last night, a monster came out from under his bed, painted himself yellow (yea-yow) and began to dance around and scare everybody before scampering off into his brother's room. Luckily, brother sleeps like a hibernating bear and he didn't notice.

Then there are the scary tigers who eat sand, fruit bars and anybody who lives in a dessert, the trains that go on a track and eat cereal, his abusive preschool Spanish teacher who "hits him in the face", and the cookies and cell phones that mysteriously end up in his hands and/or mouth because "daddy told me to play with these."

I can only imagine what life will be like ten plus years from now. One child will be hard-wiring the car while the other creates the cover story. Excellent.

Access Denied

The past week has been a bit rough. I have been under the weather for the past 9+ days with abdominal issues. After a week of not eating and having pain, I finally broke down and went to Urgent Care. I put it off for as long as I could because I did not want to jeopardize my health insurance application. It turns out it didn't matter anyway (more on that in a minute).

The ER/urgent care doc suspected it could possibly be my gallbladder (even though I didn't fit the typical mold) or my appendix or maybe even a case of pancreatitis. I told her I was a "self-pay" and to only test me if it was absolutely necessary (i.e. if she suspected it was something lethal). She poked and pushed and took some bloodwork and all the labs came back ok. She gave me some anti-nausea meds and Prilosec and said if I wasn't better in two weeks to go see my doctor to run more tests (such as an ultrasound). Today is Monday evening and I was able to eat a bit more, but still feel hideous afterwards. The Prilosec can take up to 4 days to work its magic, so I am hoping tomorrow (day 4) I will awake and feel miraculously better. One can hope. I am quite tired of being scared to put food in my gut.

So today when I came home I had a big thick letter from the insurance company waiting for me. I ripped it open and discovered Ken, Liam and Sawyer (with a special rider) were granted health insurance but I was once again denied. I am giving up hope that I will ever find independent coverage. I am tired and beat down from the entire process and now if (heaven forbid) I were to have an ulcer or worse...I will never get any. As I have said before...I cannot say enough foul and obscene things about the Health Insurance industry. There are not enough profane words in my vocabulary.

I think I'm Gonna Barf.

warning: this post is nearly entirely about vomit and its quaint little nicknames. Those with sensitive dispositions may want to avoid it like the plague...

I am not a puker. I never have been nor do I ever intend to be. Some people are just born heavers (i.e. my youngest child), me? Notsomuch. In fact, I would even go so far as to suggest that my body does not know how to puke effectively. Instead, it seems to hold onto all vile contents as to maximize feeling gross. Today is one of those days. It started yesterday when I was done and leaving the gym at 5:55am. I stepped off the treadmill and thought "I think I'm gonna barf." I had an overwhelming feeling of wanting to boot right then and there but as per my normal, the feeling passed. Then 8 hours later as I was sitting through a presentation at work the nausea returned and I had to go home. But alas, no puking. All the benefits of feeling ill without the visual and justifiable proof. Sorry coworkers, you are just gonna have to trust me on this one...

So today I woke up and still feel like someone is squeezing my stomach. And I still feel like I am going to be sick but I won't. Because I can't.

Recap of the past few weeks...

Since I am pledging to write more, I should probably get you up to speed on the past few weeks by pretending that anyone cares what we have been up to the past few weeks. :-0

So once again, here is the Reader's Digest Abbreviated Version:

• After less then two weeks, the house is under contract. We close in less then a month and the new owner is taking pity on us and allowing us to rent back to her for a month and a half. Pray that we find a new house SOON-preferably one that has a decent yard, a gourmet kitchen, mountain views, access to open space, a walk out basement and is in my son's current school district. Piece of cake, she said sarcastically.

• And speaking of houses near the mountains...currently, the canyon not-too-far-away from here  (literally about 8 miles away) is on fire. It is up to 1200 acres. We can actually see the fire line when we drive to our house. The winds have been gusting up to 78mph. Yes--78. That is hurricane strength. After an exceptionally dry winter, the land is already a tinderbox. Typically March is our snowiest month and we have had nothing. The higher elevations have had tons of snow all season but down here by the Front Range we've been bone dry. This does not bode well for fire season. Scary, scary stuff.

• My 3 month contract is up at Hunter Douglas and they have renewed me for 3 more months until they can get (hopeful, but not definite) clearance in the budget to add another permanent position. I am not as hopeful as I once was--times it is hard to justify more headcount. So the good news is I am employed for three more months. The bad news, still no health insurance. The search continues and I lay awake at night freaking out.

That is the gist of it. Consider yourselves up to speed.

Surfacing...

Tonight I let my guilt of not posting get the better of me. Ta Da! Here I am. It's been a while, no? While I must admit I do like having any excess time in the evenings I can squeeze out like a sponge, the guilt of not posting weighs on my mind. I rather like the notion that at some point, if I really wanted to, I could print out this blog and give it to the boys as a bit of a memento of their childhood days. I don't have any baby books for them--I never got any when they were infants and if I had, I more then likely would have failed to fill them out. I'm terrible with that stuff. So this is my little way of sharing with them glimpses into their very young years. Someday, I imagine they will sit down when they are older and look back and laugh. Or cry. Or use it to justify their need for therapy based on something I did as a parent. Hopefully though, they will read it and see just how amazing they were even as young lads, and just how much I loved/love them. Although I tell them, they will never know just how much I love them until they have children of their own. How could they know, otherwise?

So, if anyone is still out there trolling this site--I am vowing to come out of my cyber hibernation, or, cybernation, if you will, and post more. So stay tuned. More frequent updates to follow.

The house is listed and I am 40.

The past week has been a whirlwind of chaos. After Sawyer's rough 7 plus days of the flu (which were preceded by Ken's week of strep), and a house under constant facelifting, we are all a little crispy. The interior of the house was painted last week. The guy was supposed to start on Tuesday, but ended up with...you guessed it, the flu. So they sent a back up painter who although very good, was very slow and also misfortunate (his car died mid-week and he spent 3 hours of painting time stuck getting his car fixed.

So by Friday afternoon he finally finished up but we were unable to move anything back into place until we were sure it was dry. We stayed up late that night getting other things done. Saturday morning we were up and at 'em and operating at full throttle. Hanging pictures, cleaning windows, taking stuff to storage, last minute repairs to the deck, etc. The carpets were cleaned that night and after they dried we were able to move everything back several hours later. I stayed up nearly to midnight mopping floors and cleaning toilets.

Sunday morning rolled around and the final push was on. A few more pictures were hung, staging of rooms was completed and last minute tidying accomplished. The realtor came at 9:30 to take a look and he gave us the go ahead to list. We were ready. He took some photos and while he and Ken signed (literally 2 hours worth of legal paperwork) I took Liam to swim lessons. When I came home they were still signing papers. The realtor left after 1:00 and put the "for sale sign" out front before he drove away. We are officially listed (which is very, very exciting to Mr. Liam for some reason.)

Oh, and I turned 40 yesterday too. Maybe that is why I feel so exhausted? :-)

A Long Seven Days

My baby boy has been sick. Last monday, on Valentine's Day, I got a call from his preschool to come and get him. He was feverish and "off"--not his normal chipper, playful self. By the time I got to the school, he was like a glowing ember. His cheeks and ears were bright red--but he was in a good mood. He wanted to eat Valentine's candy and he wanted to play. I called the pediatrician's office but they couldn't see him until the following morning. So I took him to Urgent Care. By the time we got there, he was not as jovial and just wanted to be held. The diagnosis: Strep throat (Daddy had it a week earlier) and an ear infection in his right ear. They gave him Motrin, put him on antibiotics and said he should start feeling better in 24 to 48 hours. Sawyer had a restless night and no one got much sleep.

Ken left early the next morning for a business trip and I went to work at my new job. Grandma stayed home with Sawyer to wait for the miracle of antibiotics (the doctor said 24 hours on it and he was free to go to school). That night when I came home he was not much better. He didn't eat all day and was still very feverish. I made a trip to the pharmacy to load up on Motrin and then back to buy a working thermometer (which ended up NOT working). That night he slept even worse then the night before. He was up every half hour crying and miserable and feverish. I kept wondering when the antibiotics were going to work their magic.

The next morning Sawyer stayed home again and when I came home from work he seemed even worse off then past two days. He wouldn't eat, wouldn't  drink and just whimpered to be held.  He seemed warm even though Grandma had given him Motrin earlier. I went to put him in the tub and noticed a bizarre mottling of his skin--it looked like his veins were spider webs criss-crossing under his skin. He started shaking and seemed suddenly sleepy. The urgent care nurse from Monday night called to follow up on him and when I told her what was going on, she said we needed to take him to the hospital.

So off he and I went to Children's Hospital. Liam stayed with Grandma and Ken was sitting on a plane somewhere, unaware of what was going on. By the time I got to the hospital, Sawyer was out--either asleep or slightly unconscious (now that I look back, I am not sure which). His fever was 104 and he was a miserable little mess. The doctor tested him for bladder/kidney infection and tested him again for a resistant strain of Strep. When both came back negative she concluded that he had the full blown flu on top of the strep and on top of the ear infection. She said it was quite possibly Swine flu but she wasn't going to test to confirm since treatment was the same either way--5 to 7 days of misery, followed by one to two weeks of generalized discomfort and fatigue.

Hooray.

So here we are, a week later and Sawyer is finally, FINALLY fever and Motrin free for the first time since last Sunday. He actually ate a little bit and only woke up 3 times last night (progress!). He is still a bit whiny and congested, but he is hopefully rounding the bend. Like I said, a very long 7 days of sleepless nights, tight work deadlines and a house of chaos.

It is times like this that I am once again reminded how fortunate we are to have very healthy, active kids the majority of the time. Seven days of miserable, feverish, lethargy is really not so bad in the grand scheme of things.

Letting go

Last night I went to a memorial gathering for a former coworker and running friend of mine. He died a week ago. He took his own life.

I have struggled all week with my emotions. It has been hard to think of much else. I had seen him a few weeks ago and he smiled and laughed and gushed about his children and he told me "Life is good!" Clearly, it wasn't good enough.

It has stirred up a bee's nest of emotions and questions: How could you...? Why didn't you...? Why DID you? After I found out, I found myself very angry. He and I had talked about what an ugly, ugly thing suicide is. He would always shake his head sadly and say, how awful for the family. How tragic. How selfish. How senseless.

And now it is his family and friends who are shaking their heads sadly saying, "How senseless."


Last night Ken and I came home and sat up and talked for many hours, trying to make some sort of sense of the senseless. When I got angry and said "How could he do that to his children? He loved them SO much!" Ken said, "so knowing that, think of how much pain he must have been in to choose to leave them?" I have seen and lived through the level of despair a suicidal person goes through. This morning I put aside my anger and disappointment and reminded myself that you can't love someone enough to make them love themselves. I've tried. It doesn't work.

I wish he would have sought help. Let someone, anyone, know of these demons he was secretly fighting. But he didn't and now he is gone. And even though I am very saddened and heartsick for what his children are going through and will continue to go through, I am choosing to take the anger and let it go.

Goodbye John. And as you said to others so many times, "you are special."

Spotty Posting At Best

So here's a brief recap of last week:
I got a new (potentially permanent) contract freelance job. It is a three month on-site assignment that pays really well. The downside...I have to be exercised, showered, dressed up and out of the house by 7 am. So my days are shifting to much, much earlier awake times as well as bedtimes. Grandma Karen is now in charge of the A.M dropoffs. Emily brings Liam home and I grab Sawyer on my way after work.

The official "get the house on the market" campaign has begun. Expect much chaos for the next month and change as we paint, stain, de-clutter and stage our home. We've been looking at some really nice homes--but first we need to sell ours. Fingers crossed.

Sawyer and I spent Friday night in Urgent Care. It turns out the little guy had two ear infections (no fever no complaining of ear pain, etc. Only a raging cough). Not the best way to spend a friday night.

I am still trying to finish up some freelance projects in the evenings after work. The sooner I can get them done, the sooner I can get some free time back.

Oh, and marathon training is officially under way, although I am seriously considering the sanity of this...

So all that being said, blog postings will be few and far between for the next month. Check back every now and then and I'll see if I can't get something posted.

Until then...

The Storyteller

My child may very well be the next Mark twain. Or Stephen King. Or  Leo Tolstoy. Liam loves to tell stories--long, complicated and intricate stories that last weeks (not days!) and involve lots and lots and LOTS of physical reenactments. He will start one of these stories and continue to talk for as long as I will allow him. One day, after 30 minutes of continuous tale telling (in which you can not distract him with ANYTHING. I've tried. Not the promise of candy, or legos or anything. The boy is committed to his craft.) I decided it was time to employ "the timer". While I want to encourage his creativity, I also want to remind him that there are limits to the amount of time people can devote daily (hourly) to being his audience.

He seems to understand and respect the limitations to the time allotment. "This will be a 'clift-hanger' Mommy." We have LOTS of "clift-hangers".

The other day when we were out walking I was shocked when he said, "And then they all laughed. The End." The story that had started a few weeks prior and had involved much bridge crossing and wilderness foraging and ice crystallization of enemies had finally reached a conclusion. I was speechless.

I looked over, shocked, and said "Really? It's finally ended??!!"

"Yes" he said. "And if you would like to hear more you are going to have to place an order."

Age six and already a shrewd business man.

Yuck. And yuck.

Excuse my continued absence. I am under the weather, yet again. Our entire house has been exchanging a cold bug over the past two weeks. It started with Beanie, then on to Liam, then over to Grandma then back to Sawyer and then to Daddy and on to me. I normally don't get colds and I find this one particularly annoying. Sunday I woke up with a touch of a sore throat (the cold had been trying to affix itself to my person for several days prior) but nothing too bad. Enter "the Freaky long Run"...

Sunday I met up with my coach and some other speedy ladies for a nice 15 mile run. Normally I eat very little pre-run due to my inability to tolerate anything in my gut/GI tract but that day, since we were meeting at 1:00 I figured I had better eat. I had peanut butter on oat bread two hours prior to the run. About half way in I noticed my stomach was protesting, followed by some unkind words from my intestines. We stopped for a quick refuel and I ran into the bathroom and felt a bit better. We started back up again and as the run progressed, my stomach felt worse. We finished up and as I was going to my car I just felt "off". I drove on over to the grocery store to pick up a few items that Ken needed for a dinner party we were going to that night and as I stood in the aisle looking for "Smoked paprika" I felt my skin crawl. My neck and face began to itch like crazy and I could literally feel the hives erupting. I started to scratch and scratch and I thought I might throw up. It was all I could do to not pass out in the Whole Foods spice aisle. I paid, got into my car and my stomach started to cramp so bad I wasn't sure I could drive home.

But I did. I ran inside and went upstairs got sick and proceeded to feel really, really lousy for about an hour. My eyes even had welts. A physician friend of ours was at dinner that night (yes, I still went to the dinner party--it was Med night!) and he thought it sounded like an exercise-induced food allergy. I have had it happen one other time before (not nearly that bad) but I cannot for the life of me remember if I had eaten anything before. Apparently cold weather, intense exercise and sometimes ibuprofen combined with the trigger food can cause a reaction. All I know is I am going to go back to eating very little pre-long run. I feel really, really bad for anyone who has to deal with food allergies (or any allergies for that matter) on a regular basis.

So today, three days later I feel pretty crusty. The allergic reaction "episode" drained me of all energy and now my cold is being a jerk. Hopefully today will be the worst of it and I can quit complaining already.