October 26, 2011
What's the deal with the human lure toward ugly things? Ugly dogs, ugly patterns, ugly pumpkins, ugly cars--people like ugly. And lately I'm absolutely obsessed with an ugly little storefront that's down the street from Jared. Do I feel bad for it? Do I want to mother it?
I don't know, but I take that back. It's not ugly, it's tired. No, exhausted. And I feel like it's an egg (a wood-panelled egg), and my dreams are swooshing around inside of it, waiting to BURST OUT like a butterfly, catch a draft on a moonbeam, and glitter my life with heaven dust. Except butterflies don't hatch from eggs, which is fine.
Did I mention that it's also an Art-Deco egg? I love Art-Deco.
Back in the day, this place must have been a little dress shop--at least that's what the storefront windows make me think. A dress shop or a hat shop, but either way, a place where fabulous ladies shopped. I don't know what it's been lately, but I think I know what it's about to become, and damn. Just damn.
I haven't been all the way through this space, but I'm planning to get in there today or tomorrow--when I can really peel back some carpet, and pull down some paneling, and see if there's cool looking duct work up above the drop ceiling.
Right now, the potential is completely in my imagination, which is an okay place to start. In my imagination, the space runs all the way to the back of the building. In my imagination, the space has old wood floors that I can paint. And in my imagination, I'll be able to afford an awning by spring.
In reality, I know that if only one of my imagined scenarios is true, I'm a lucky duck.
So. Can anyone out there tell me an amazing transoformation story? A house your remodeled? A barn you saved? A rust bucket car you restored? How you learned to use a hammer? All for fifty bucks?
Sometimes I forget that we overhauled Jared's office, and a tiny little house back in 2003.
What have you overhauled?
D-U-N and a Win!
October 21, 2011
I'm done teaching seminary. If you're confused, 'seminary' is Mormon for the-class-of-ten-teenagers-that-meets-at-my-house-every-morning-from-6:10-7-to-learn-about-the-Old-Testament.
When I say, I'm done, it doesn't mean I'm having a hard time, feeling pretty overwhelmed, and may or may not want to hurl myself out the one-and-a-half story window of a raised-ranch. I'm done means that's how I felt a month ago, so I went to my Bishop, asked him for access to said window, and he told me they'd find someone new.
And today was the last day.
Now Ben DP Sue K (CES), I don't know the details, (and yes, I'mkind of avoiding your calls on purpose), but I do know that the kids showed up at my door this morning with muffins, signs, and bacon. And in my world, that's what I call one hell of a send-off party.
Typically, Mormons don't ask to be done with a job like this. They keep going, and going, and smiling, and being awesome, and faithful, and taking high blood pressure medication. But honestly, my umph was straight up gone. In the words of Dooce, "The Mormon Pioneers are not impressed."
But right now, on the record, I want to make it known that IT HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH THE STUDENTS.If James and Maggie turn out to be like any one of those kids (Christa, Emma, Thomas, Otis, Caitlynn, Corena, Chelcie, Jabob, Teearna, Shelby), I'll consider myself a raging success of a mother. They were polite, hilarious, enthusiastic, and gave me tons of compliments. I love those kids.
The reason I decided to give it up is simple: I had too many things going on at once.
I've been waking up at 3:30 or 4 (not because I try to, but because I can't help it), teaching seminary, working a professional job, coaching60+ runners, momming, selling Cub Scout popcorn, morning meetings, night meetings...you get the idea. These days, Jared works until 6:30ish at night, and I kid you not, I was going to bed at 7:45.
I really, really, REALLY started missing my husband. Kind of.
I also got tired of pounding a Red Bull at 2 o'clock every afternoon. No, actually I've been loving it too much.
I also think I had two panic attacks in a day one time. Well, I don't know much about panic attacks, but if it feels like it's 700 degrees, you're about to drive off the road, and a huge man is squeezing your heart muscle with his bare hands, that's maybe what I had.
Something had to give. Luckily, my new church-job is teaching teenage Sunday School. Same kids, once a week, normal hour, blam. So perfect it makes me wanna fart.
In more better news, I won a race two weekends ago, and FINALLY got a decent picture out of it:
I'm done teaching seminary. If you're confused, 'seminary' is Mormon for the-class-of-ten-teenagers-that-meets-at-my-house-every-morning-from-6:10-7-to-learn-about-the-Old-Testament.
When I say, I'm done, it doesn't mean I'm having a hard time, feeling pretty overwhelmed, and may or may not want to hurl myself out the one-and-a-half story window of a raised-ranch. I'm done means that's how I felt a month ago, so I went to my Bishop, asked him for access to said window, and he told me they'd find someone new.
And today was the last day.
Now Ben DP Sue K (CES), I don't know the details, (and yes, I'm
Typically, Mormons don't ask to be done with a job like this. They keep going, and going, and smiling, and being awesome, and faithful, and taking high blood pressure medication. But honestly, my umph was straight up gone. In the words of Dooce, "The Mormon Pioneers are not impressed."
But right now, on the record, I want to make it known that IT HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH THE STUDENTS.If James and Maggie turn out to be like any one of those kids (Christa, Emma, Thomas, Otis, Caitlynn, Corena, Chelcie, Jabob, Teearna, Shelby), I'll consider myself a raging success of a mother. They were polite, hilarious, enthusiastic, and gave me tons of compliments. I love those kids.
The reason I decided to give it up is simple: I had too many things going on at once.
I've been waking up at 3:30 or 4 (not because I try to, but because I can't help it), teaching seminary, working a professional job, coaching60+ runners, momming, selling Cub Scout popcorn, morning meetings, night meetings...you get the idea. These days, Jared works until 6:30ish at night, and I kid you not, I was going to bed at 7:45.
I really, really, REALLY started missing my husband. Kind of.
I also got tired of pounding a Red Bull at 2 o'clock every afternoon. No, actually I've been loving it too much.
I also think I had two panic attacks in a day one time. Well, I don't know much about panic attacks, but if it feels like it's 700 degrees, you're about to drive off the road, and a huge man is squeezing your heart muscle with his bare hands, that's maybe what I had.
Something had to give. Luckily, my new church-job is teaching teenage Sunday School. Same kids, once a week, normal hour, blam. So perfect it makes me wanna fart.
In more better news, I won a race two weekends ago, and FINALLY got a decent picture out of it:
Well, it's a decent picture in my world.
It was a four mile race. Two miles up Sunday River ski mountain, and two miles down with a mud pit at the end. It was really freaking fun, but really, when is a medal not fun?
I've been a ginormous, lazy ass since that race, so it's time to get back on the exercise wagon. Now that seminary is over, I want to try to make running a more regular piece of my day again. My goal is to run at least thirty minutes every day between now and Thanksgiving.
Starting tomorrow.
Oh, and I'm running a biathlon this weeked with my mom. Because running and .22ing? Heaven has officially landed on earth.
Jumping In
October 4, 2011
This past weekend I went to Connecticut for for a USA Track & Field conference. It wasn't fun. It was more like 5:30-10 on Friday, 8-9 (with NO DINNER BREAK!!!) on Saturday, and 8-4:30 on Sunday. In my world, anything that has no dinner break, has a 0% chance of being fun.
But I learned a lot. A whole lot.
If you have questions about the pole vault, or the hammer throw, or the long jump, or the 100 hurdles, I'm your girl. Actually, don't ask me about the hurdles. I skipped that section and gave myself and damn freaking dinner break.
So, if you want to know about the hurdles, I say this: Don't do the hurdles. They look dangerous...and hard...and have too much potential for accidentally ripping your genitals right off your body frame.
I also learned a whole mess of new stuff about distance running. Most of it involved superbly complex math like adding fractions and figuring out percentages, and I'm still like whoa, because honestly, I don't remember how to add fractions.
Jared mentioned something about common denominators. But he's full of crap, I just need an iPhone with a Third Grade Math app to do that kind of figuring-out. I could also use an iPhone for my self esteem.
The highlight of the weekend was probably this guy:
Aside from being a ridiiiiiiculous stud, he was insanely smart. His name is Mike Young, and you can read about him here. He was almost worth skipping dinner for--I actually would have skipped dinner if he did his presentation shirtless.
I also had the chance to pow wow with a guy who coaches world-class middle-distance runners. I was like, "Hi. I have a really funny running stride."
And he got, I kid you not, four inches from my face and said, "Oh yeah, what's it like?"
So I took a step back and said, "Some people call it an egg beater stride."
And he stepped forward, maybe three inches from my face and said, "That's permanent. You can strengthen your hip flexors, but you really can't fix it."
So I said, "Thanks Coach!" and ran away.
I guess it's a lot like that close-talking disorder he has--you can't just magically turn it off.
After the class got out on Sunday, I had a five hour drive ahead of me, and man I was tired. I stopped around hour three for a visit, and to talk business with my mildly drunk dentist friend, and then kept plodding north. Then, right around hour four, I decided I had to have McDonald's fries IMMEDIATELY. So I drove twenty miles to the next exit (seriously, I live in Maine, they really are that far apart), and got my fries.
And here's where the story turns heartbreaking.
It was 10:30 on a Sunday night, I had my fries, I had a good song on the radio, and I had a renewed sense of faith in humanity. And then, I accidentally got on the highway going in the wrong direction. The. Wrong. Direction.
I dealt with the pain by yelling @#$%!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! as soon as I realized what I'd done. Then I dealt with the pain by eating my bucket of fries in three minutes. Honestly? That helped.
I drove the extra forty miles, got home in the middle of the night, curled up next to Jared and whispered, "Babe, this is it."
Because you know what? This is it. Coaching? Training? Motivating? Fitness? Helping people realize they can do what they always thought was impossible? I've never felt so comfortable/motivated/excited/challenged in my life.
As long as I can keep my muffin top, this is exactly where I want to be. The world might not need another Jillian Michaels, but maybe Central Maine needs an Amy Lawson. We'll find out. (!)
This past weekend I went to Connecticut for for a USA Track & Field conference. It wasn't fun. It was more like 5:30-10 on Friday, 8-9 (with NO DINNER BREAK!!!) on Saturday, and 8-4:30 on Sunday. In my world, anything that has no dinner break, has a 0% chance of being fun.
But I learned a lot. A whole lot.
If you have questions about the pole vault, or the hammer throw, or the long jump, or the 100 hurdles, I'm your girl. Actually, don't ask me about the hurdles. I skipped that section and gave myself and damn freaking dinner break.
So, if you want to know about the hurdles, I say this: Don't do the hurdles. They look dangerous...and hard...and have too much potential for accidentally ripping your genitals right off your body frame.
I also learned a whole mess of new stuff about distance running. Most of it involved superbly complex math like adding fractions and figuring out percentages, and I'm still like whoa, because honestly, I don't remember how to add fractions.
Jared mentioned something about common denominators. But he's full of crap, I just need an iPhone with a Third Grade Math app to do that kind of figuring-out. I could also use an iPhone for my self esteem.
The highlight of the weekend was probably this guy:
Aside from being a ridiiiiiiculous stud, he was insanely smart. His name is Mike Young, and you can read about him here. He was almost worth skipping dinner for--I actually would have skipped dinner if he did his presentation shirtless.
I also had the chance to pow wow with a guy who coaches world-class middle-distance runners. I was like, "Hi. I have a really funny running stride."
And he got, I kid you not, four inches from my face and said, "Oh yeah, what's it like?"
So I took a step back and said, "Some people call it an egg beater stride."
And he stepped forward, maybe three inches from my face and said, "That's permanent. You can strengthen your hip flexors, but you really can't fix it."
So I said, "Thanks Coach!" and ran away.
I guess it's a lot like that close-talking disorder he has--you can't just magically turn it off.
After the class got out on Sunday, I had a five hour drive ahead of me, and man I was tired. I stopped around hour three for a visit, and to talk business with my mildly drunk dentist friend, and then kept plodding north. Then, right around hour four, I decided I had to have McDonald's fries IMMEDIATELY. So I drove twenty miles to the next exit (seriously, I live in Maine, they really are that far apart), and got my fries.
And here's where the story turns heartbreaking.
It was 10:30 on a Sunday night, I had my fries, I had a good song on the radio, and I had a renewed sense of faith in humanity. And then, I accidentally got on the highway going in the wrong direction. The. Wrong. Direction.
I dealt with the pain by yelling @#$%!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! as soon as I realized what I'd done. Then I dealt with the pain by eating my bucket of fries in three minutes. Honestly? That helped.
I drove the extra forty miles, got home in the middle of the night, curled up next to Jared and whispered, "Babe, this is it."
Because you know what? This is it. Coaching? Training? Motivating? Fitness? Helping people realize they can do what they always thought was impossible? I've never felt so comfortable/motivated/excited/challenged in my life.
As long as I can keep my muffin top, this is exactly where I want to be. The world might not need another Jillian Michaels, but maybe Central Maine needs an Amy Lawson. We'll find out. (!)
A Nagging Old Hag
September 27, 2011
Today I woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Not the Oops! I spilled my chocolate milk! side of the bed, the really, really wrong side of the bed.
I spent the night tossing and turning, and when I did doze off for a minute or two, I was dreaming about A) snakes, or B) the teenagers I teach from church. Now don't get me wrong, I love these teenagers madly, but I see them in my living room every morning at 6 o'clock, we really don't need to frolic in my dreams.
So when the alarm went off at 5, and I rolled out of bed, I was feeling much less than fresh. I was jealous that Jared was still sleeping, I was annoyed that Tuesdays are work days, I was beyond frustrated when I heard Maggie fuss, and I kind of felt like throwing a cinder block--you know, just because.
After seminary was over and the kids filed out, Jared rolled out of bed. He walked down the hall yawning, stretching his arms over his head and let out a sleepy, but happy good morning.
Instead of a hug and a kiss, or a Hey J, or a smile and a wave, I laid right into him. "Remember how you crapped on me for never picking up after myself?" I prodded, "Well you made popcorn last night and didn't pick up any of it."
He said, "You're right. I'm sorry. I'll pick it up."
And then, still feeling pretty combative, I launched into a dramatic soliloquy about our evil bills and their impending, fiery due dates.
Now, three hours later, I'm sitting at my desk, with my head in my hands, asking myself why I have to be so mean. But not only that, why do I have to be so mean to Jared?
Hey you over there. Yeah you. The one who's my loyal husband and the devoted father to our kids. Come over her so I can CRAP ON YOUR HEAD.
Quite seriously, there are days when I'm embarrassed to be myself. I can't even muster up the energy to make excuses for myself--I just suck.
Last night, I rocked both of my kids before bed, and I'm not even kidding when I tell you that we sang along to a song called I'm Trying to be Like Jesus. You know--kind, patient, loving, understanding, helpful, self-controlled, forgiving, and one million other fabulous characteristics.
Then this morning I was all, "Hey kids, watch this! Mommy will now show you the opposite of being like Jesus. And she will use your father as a prop!"
The bottom line is: I AM SUCH A BLOW HOLE.
And there's an addendum to the bottom line: Even if your car is being repossessed while your dog falls into a pit of quick sand, and your jello mold cracks down the middle while a 2,000 pound bag of rocks falls onto your newly re-shingled roof, BEING CRAPPY TO YOUR SPOUSE WON'T HELP ANY OF IT.
So today, right now, I'm recommitting to live a life that's more like the life of Jesus--especially in my dealings with Jared.
1) We will start by having fishes for dinner tonight. I have a whole bag of frozen fishes from Trader Joe's, so this line item works particularly well.
2) I'll remember that Jared's doing his very best.
3) I won't raise my voice or push his crap around unless he's selling discounted iPads at the Temple--which I've never seen him do.
4) I'll stop being selfish and greedy and stingy--because if I'm being straight up honest, I'd LOVE to roll around naked in a big pile of $50 bills.
5) I'll be a team player, because somewhere in the scriptures I think it says something about a house divided collapses on your head, and believe me that is the LAST thing we need right now.
6) If I feel like being wretched, I'll say some prayers and hope it changes my mind.
7) If it doesn't change my mind, I'll remember that Jesus wasn't wretched.
8) I'll do some extra service for Jared--like fold his laundry or clean his shotgun.
9) I won't pick on him for things I'm equally bad, or worse at.
10) I'll just be nicer.
I'll probably skip the part where I preach to him and call him to repentance. Actually, I've been doing that for a while, and it's not effective.
Are you wretched sometimes, too? Any other tips for being less of a nagging old hag, and more of a helpful loving wife? I could use 'em.
Today I woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Not the Oops! I spilled my chocolate milk! side of the bed, the really, really wrong side of the bed.
I spent the night tossing and turning, and when I did doze off for a minute or two, I was dreaming about A) snakes, or B) the teenagers I teach from church. Now don't get me wrong, I love these teenagers madly, but I see them in my living room every morning at 6 o'clock, we really don't need to frolic in my dreams.
So when the alarm went off at 5, and I rolled out of bed, I was feeling much less than fresh. I was jealous that Jared was still sleeping, I was annoyed that Tuesdays are work days, I was beyond frustrated when I heard Maggie fuss, and I kind of felt like throwing a cinder block--you know, just because.
After seminary was over and the kids filed out, Jared rolled out of bed. He walked down the hall yawning, stretching his arms over his head and let out a sleepy, but happy good morning.
Instead of a hug and a kiss, or a Hey J, or a smile and a wave, I laid right into him. "Remember how you crapped on me for never picking up after myself?" I prodded, "Well you made popcorn last night and didn't pick up any of it."
He said, "You're right. I'm sorry. I'll pick it up."
And then, still feeling pretty combative, I launched into a dramatic soliloquy about our evil bills and their impending, fiery due dates.
Now, three hours later, I'm sitting at my desk, with my head in my hands, asking myself why I have to be so mean. But not only that, why do I have to be so mean to Jared?
Hey you over there. Yeah you. The one who's my loyal husband and the devoted father to our kids. Come over her so I can CRAP ON YOUR HEAD.
Quite seriously, there are days when I'm embarrassed to be myself. I can't even muster up the energy to make excuses for myself--I just suck.
Last night, I rocked both of my kids before bed, and I'm not even kidding when I tell you that we sang along to a song called I'm Trying to be Like Jesus. You know--kind, patient, loving, understanding, helpful, self-controlled, forgiving, and one million other fabulous characteristics.
Then this morning I was all, "Hey kids, watch this! Mommy will now show you the opposite of being like Jesus. And she will use your father as a prop!"
The bottom line is: I AM SUCH A BLOW HOLE.
And there's an addendum to the bottom line: Even if your car is being repossessed while your dog falls into a pit of quick sand, and your jello mold cracks down the middle while a 2,000 pound bag of rocks falls onto your newly re-shingled roof, BEING CRAPPY TO YOUR SPOUSE WON'T HELP ANY OF IT.
So today, right now, I'm recommitting to live a life that's more like the life of Jesus--especially in my dealings with Jared.
1) We will start by having fishes for dinner tonight. I have a whole bag of frozen fishes from Trader Joe's, so this line item works particularly well.
2) I'll remember that Jared's doing his very best.
3) I won't raise my voice or push his crap around unless he's selling discounted iPads at the Temple--which I've never seen him do.
4) I'll stop being selfish and greedy and stingy--because if I'm being straight up honest, I'd LOVE to roll around naked in a big pile of $50 bills.
5) I'll be a team player, because somewhere in the scriptures I think it says something about a house divided collapses on your head, and believe me that is the LAST thing we need right now.
6) If I feel like being wretched, I'll say some prayers and hope it changes my mind.
7) If it doesn't change my mind, I'll remember that Jesus wasn't wretched.
8) I'll do some extra service for Jared--like fold his laundry or clean his shotgun.
9) I won't pick on him for things I'm equally bad, or worse at.
10) I'll just be nicer.
I'll probably skip the part where I preach to him and call him to repentance. Actually, I've been doing that for a while, and it's not effective.
Are you wretched sometimes, too? Any other tips for being less of a nagging old hag, and more of a helpful loving wife? I could use 'em.
A Straight Up Day Maker
September 16, 2011
On Wednesday, a nice man with a camera showed up to my stroller fitness class, which had a lot of the moms buzzing...Is he a pervert?...Is he a creep?
I had to tell them no, and I was very sorry to disappoint--because we all know how much a group of sixteen women loooove a slice of drama on a weekday morning. He was a local newspaper reporter, and he was nice enough to come take a few pictures of the class I was teaching.
When he introduced himself, the first thing I said--and this is absolutely not a joke--was, "Joe, I'm wearing spandex. If a butt shot makes it into the paper, it's gotta be flattering." He nodded and said he wasn't sure the pictures would make it into the paper at all. Fair enough.
This morning I signed onto the newspaper's website, and the stroller pictures were the first thing to pop up on my screen. Holy excitement! Then I found out that the pictures had also made it to the front page of the actual paper--you know, the version that nobody reads anymore?! Holy more excitement!
I had Jared buy two copies from the grocery store, and I was thrilled to see that while I was under the very important story about toilets and bleachers (big news in these parts), I was above the story about the Governor:
Also, I'm not positive that I've washed the shirt since Wednesday. Let's assume that I have.
Happy Friday!
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