I'm on a road to nowhere

I am directionally challenged. It has taken me many years to accept this deficiency, and if asked I probably would still deny it. For some reason I think I can find my way around, that I somehow have a sixth sense that can get me places. The truth is, I don't. My kids have come to accept that going anywhere with me will involve at least one, if not several, u-turns.

Just the other day I was late picking up a friend because I got lost on the way to her house. She lives approximately five blocks away. Granted, I was driving to her house from a different point of origin than I usually do, but it still wasn't so vastly different, and let's face it, the city of Falls Church is only 2 miles wide. There is no reason to get lost. And yet, I regularly get the streets, cross streets, and so on confused. You could mention a street that is two blocks away from me and I would probably just look at you blankly. It's that bad. And god help me if I ever have to go outside the beltway. You may never see me again if not for my GPS.

Luckily for me, I have a husband who has known about my fatal flaw and loves me anyway. Since he discovered how bad it was when we were dating, and married me anyway, is a true testament to his acceptance (or resignation). While there are many minor instances I could describe of me getting lost, I will only tell you about the *big one*.

After finishing undergraduate in Seattle my husband and I moved to Boston for graduate / law school. We thought it would be really fun (and cheap) to get there by driving a U-Haul with all our possessions from one end of I-90 to the other. Things started out pretty well. We had our trip-tik from AAA and had broken out the segments of our journey into manageable driving chunks. We did a bit of touring on the way - the Lewis and Clark caverns, Mount Rushmore, which may have put a bit of a strain on the U-Haul engine going up and completely destroyed the breaks on the way down. The midwest is pretty boring driving. It takes a whole day to drive across Montana, where we were heard to comment to each other more than once, "That sure is a big sky...".

On day three we were more than halfway through South Dakota (another snoozer) and I was reading the map when I had a revelation. Great news - we only have a few more hours left to drive until we reach our destination for the day! Dave seemed skeptical. Was I sure that we were so close to the Wisconsin border? Absolutely, I told him. I was confident that we would be able to reach our goal for the day in time for dinner and could have a relaxing evening. He queried me a few more times but I was adamant. And so we drove on.

A few hours later, near the South Dakota border, we stopped and switched drivers. Dave picked up the map and after a few minutes asked how I figured we only had an hour or so to go when he calculated at around six more hours of driving until we reached Wisconsin. I looked over at the map and scrutinized it closely (you can do that and still drive when you are in the midwest because it is just one straight road). After a minute or so I realized my error. Whoops, it looks like I forgot about Minnesota.

Have yourself a Lucy little Christmas

Our house is run by an 11 pound Jack Russell Terrier named Lucy. She is so petite you can pick her up with one hand and carry her under your arm like a pocketbook. But don't be lulled into thinking she isn't in charge as one certain 7 year old little girl in our family did last December.

My son has recognized Lucy's power from a very early age. He takes great pains to make sure she always has the best that life offers. Need a place to sleep? Here, let me make a comfy nest for you out of these four blankets and three pillows...next to the fire place. Are you hungry? Let me give you a treat or ten. You'd prefer my hot dog instead? Here you go - I'll just have mom make me another one. In other words, he always pays Lucy first and she has no qualms about shaking him down for more.

Last December Callie went to a birthday party where the theme was Winter Wonderland and all the girls made beautiful gingerbread houses. The mom sent the confections home wrapped in cellophane and tied with a silk ribbon. The next morning we went out for a few hours. When we got back I was the first into the house and saw mysterious shards of plastic wrap...cellophane. Upon closer inspection I discovered bits of crumbled...gingerbread. Lucy had gotten up onto the kitchen table, chewed a hole or two into the cellophane, knocked the gingerbread house onto the floor where it smashed to pieces and ate almost all of it. Her stomach was so full and distended you probably could see a gumdrop or two protruding.

When Callie came up behind me and saw the carnage she was devastated and began yelling at the dog. Luckily I was able to save the situation by letting her know I had purchased two gingerbread house kits earlier that week and we could make them that night. She was mollified.

The next day was Monday and Callie had art class in the late afternoon. We walked into the house around dinner time where the kids discovered another disaster. Lucy had climbed up on a bench in order to reach the window sill where the advent calendars were sitting. These were the kind made of corrugated cardboard boxes (very sturdy) in the shape of a Christmas tree where you could put a piece of chocolate in each box. The dog had managed to rip some of the boxes out of the frame out and eat about six days worth of chocolate kisses...but only from Callie's calendar. Charlie's remained untouched. (For those who are worried I contacted the vet and Hershey's milk chocolate, while not a recommended part of a dog's diet, is not toxic, though the tinfoil wrappers may make for some interesting digestion).

Callie was extremely upset at this development. Not only had Lucy ruined her advent calendar, she had eaten her chocolate. After many promises from me that I would go out first thing in the morning to purchase replacement chocolate she calmed down.

Two days later Callie, a friend and Charlie made cute little Christmas cookies. I lovingly arranged them on a platter which was on the kitchen counter. Yes, you guessed it. Lucy somehow managed to get up onto the kitchen counter, walk right past the two new gingerbread houses and eat some cookies off of the platter. But only the ones Callie made. She was beside herself.

Since that dark time Callie has been very deferential to Lucy. She makes her special cards and presents, crowns and jewelry, builds her comfy beds, buys her treats at the farmer's market and is the first to suggest we take her on a walk or throw her ball. In return Lucy sleeps on her bed occasionally and rolls around on the ground appreciatively when Callie scratches her belly. Who needs Santa when we have Lucy to punish those who are naughty and reward those who are nice?

You say it's your birthday....

My daughter was born on December 27th. Her original due date was December 28th. During my pregnancy people would enthusiastically ask *when are you due?!* and when I told them their faces would fall. Like I had *really* screwed this one up. Apparently there is no worse fate for a child (or an adult) then to be born between December 24th and January 1st. People would comment, "Oh, the poor thing, no one will *ever* remember her birthday. They will be too busy with Christmas to care".

I swore that *would not* be the fate of *my* child. Oh no sir, my child would know she was loved and her birth was not an inconvenient event jammed between putting up a Christmas tree and a champagne toast with Dick Clark at midnight.

So from the very beginning I made sure that her birthday was a special occasion. I realize now that I may have gone *a bit* overboard. By the time she got to preschool we had established a schedule where her *school birthday* would be celebrated in mid-December when she would bring cupcakes in for her classmates. Then we would celebrate her *real* birthday on the 27th, and to make sure she felt it was special there would be no leftover Christmas wrapping paper used, no Christmas colored plates, etc. She would not be made to feel that we just slapped something together. She would get the whole enchilada of birthday extravaganza - balloons, streamers, a banner, cake. Just for the family. Once break was over and everyone was back she would have a party with her friends in mid-January, again with streamers, balloons, banner, a cake and so on. So when you think about it, her birthday is basically a month long celebration. We should just rename that thirty day period Callie-fest.

My daughter honestly believes her birthday is a national holiday and who can blame her. After all, *everyone* has the day off from school, many people are off of work. I am surprised she doesn't demand a parade outside our house on the big day. She starts occasionally mentioning her birthday party in the late-spring. By summer time she has already picked out the cupcakes for her class (chocolate *and* vanilla, so people have a choice), the cake for the family (ice cream) and the cake for her party (vanilla, because everyone likes vanilla). By September she has formulated her ideas for the party with her friends and written me very specific instructions for its execution. The guest list was solidified by October. The outfit for the party has already been selected. I am expected to go out and purchase two crowns, one to be worn on her actual birthday and one for the party. I know these may all sound like unreasonable demands, but I have no one to blame but myself. I have lead her to believe that she *should* have this much hype in my attempt to overcompensate for allowing her entry into the world on such a shameful date.

Last year I baked cupcakes to bring in for her class. I arrived with her brother in tow, beaming and bearing the delicious baked goods. Once I arrived she took me aside and said those words that strike fear into the hearts of parents everywhere - *I don't feel good, my tummy hurts*. We made a beeline for the bathroom were she repeatedly vomited so I took her home, leaving the cupcakes for her class and teacher to enjoy. It was Friday and it wasn't like they would keep over the weekend. The next time I made cupcakes in an attempt to properly celebrate with her classmates there was a snow storm and school was cancelled. Snow storm + two dozen cupcakes is not a good combination for the waistline. I told her I would try one more time and after that she would get cookies from the grocery store. Probably in a box. Luckily the weather and her stomach cooperated.

This year I have hired Martha Stewart to hand deliver cupcakes that she has made, each in the likeness of my daughter. I have made arrangements with the school for an assembly in her honor, where Taylor Swift will perform. Because nothing is too good for my little Christmas-time baby.

Feedback

I have a friend, let's call her *Shmulie*. Shmulie is very supportive of my essays and likes to send me positive, encouraging feedback about my musings. She has a fantastic blog of her own with lots of followers and people who view her work. Shmulie writes on a *daily* basis, sometimes more than one post. All brilliant, witty and well written, every day for close to six months. Recently Shmulie sent me a suggestion - perhaps my essays would be easier to read if I put them in paragraph form? She acknowledged that while she recognized I was going for a *stream-of-consciousness-vibe* the paragraphs would make them more *reader-friendly*. Um, yeah. Stream of consciousness... What Shmulie doesn't realize is that actually I was just being lazy. Too many years out of the workforce and my writing now reads like a grocery list. It's a miracle I remember how to use punctuation at all.

Once she pointed it out I became self-conscious. What if my readers (all three of you) *would* prefer if I made things a little easier to read? Well of course I would have to clean them up. In the same way that I would *never* allow anyone inside my house unless it was to a reasonable standard of cleanliness (except Beth) my writing must be presentable. And not give people a headache. If people are going to read this (all three of you) then I *must* make sure that Strunk and White would be proud. Thank you Shmulie, you have saved me from myself and your feedback is much appreciated.

What are you running from?

I am a runner. I haven't always been one. In fact, I came to it somewhat late in life. It started when my second child was a year old. His older sister was at preschool, he didn't need a morning nap anymore but was too tired and cranky to be much fun in the mid-morning, so I would put him in the jog stroller and started to run. At first it was only a couple of miles, but it grew, especially when I discovered it was the perfect antidote to the dropping-the-morning-nap crankiness. For the first mile or so he would look around quietly, for the next 2-4 miles he would doze, and then wake up during the last mile and play on the playground while I stretched. And by the end of the summer I realized, *hey, I run a lot on a regular basis, I could do a 10-mile race*. And so I did.

I am not a particularly fast runner, but I am not slow either. Running works for me because I am uncoordinated and lack agility. You don't need either to run distances. You just put one foot in front of the other and try not to trip (which happens sometimes but I persevere). It helps to have the right gear and I confess I have become one of those weirdos who have three pairs of running shoes. All identical. Now that I have asthma I also have to wear something to cover my mouth and nose when it is really cold out. Although it is a loud multi-colored stripe I still look sinister...or goofy, especially when I am wearing a headband to cover my ears and sunglasses. Before I accepted my status as *runner*, as opposed to *occasional jogger* I would be concerned about how I looked. Now I don't care. This is evident in my appearance before, during and after I run. Not only does my attire leave a lot to be desired, my hair and everything is simply unattractive. And I don't care.

I can't say I would necessarily have chosen running as my exercise of choice. Instead I think that it chose me. It was so...peaceful. Quiet. Really quiet. The kind of peace and quiet I hadn't had in four years, since my first child was born. So my son and I continued to run together and once he outgrew the stroller (and the dozing) and had turned into an ornery three year old...four year old...five year old... I kept running. Not only was it peaceful, but I could choose my own music to play on my iPod for the first time in several years. I realized that there are no children asking you to make them a hot dog when you are on the running path. If you come across some siblings squabbling you just run on by and it's not your problem. The only messes I see are from dogs, and since it's not my dog I just keep on going.

It gives me a window of time when I am by myself without anything else I can do but...run. For me, that's what makes it different from walking. When you are running you can't multitask. You can't talk on the phone, check your email, send or receive a text message or schedule appointments. I can't be out for a run and pull over to the side for a few minutes to make sure no one needs anything (okay, I could, but when I am running I don't want to. I just want to get.it.done).

I do a lot of thinking while I run - what I need to do with the rest of my day, how I am going to fit it all in, pending projects and so on. Sometimes I think about people I am irritated with. How they make me so angry and I need to let them know as soon as this stupid run is over (which I never do, because once the run is over I feel good and the top priority is a latte and a shower). But the fact of the matter is, I can't stay focused on that for too long because inevitably I need to think about...running. These thoughts are usually not pleasant. Popular running thoughts include: *this sucks, I wish I was done*, *this sucks, my hamstring hurts*, *this sucks, I can't breathe*, *this sucks, my foot hurts*, *this sucks, I can't believe I am only at mile two and have four more to go*, *this sucks, my knee hurts*, *this sucks, it's freaking cold out*, *this sucks, it's freaking hot out*. There are many more, but you get the picture.

There are also some good thoughts in there because I see some amazing scenery. I am fortunate to live in the Washington DC area and have such fantastic places to run. Where else can you do a six mile loop and see Iwo Jima, Arlington National Cemetery, the Pentagon, the Washington Monument, the Lincoln Memorial, and that crazy white box, the Kennedy Center? Sometimes I literally get choked up, and not just from lack of oxygen. I am also amazed at the wild life I encounter. On the tow path in Georgetown I regularly see blue herons. And every time I shake my head (while running, being careful not to lose my balance)and think to myself *a freaking heron, go figure*. And the people are also entertaining. Out on the W&OD there is a guy who ran without shoes. I understand that is now the *in* thing to do, and it is supposedly *orthotically superior* (I also make up new words on my runs). However, *dude*, it's February. For the love of god, put some shoes on. And my all-time favorite so far - Mr. I-am-taking-shots-directly-from-my-bottle-of-vodka-in-the-middle-of-the-day-while-I-take-my-walk-with-my-dog-on-the-W&OD. With my lack of balance and coordination I almost veered off the trail into a ditch in shock.

My goal for 2011 is to run the Marine Corps Marathon. When people ask me why I respond - 26.2 miles of no kids and peace and quiet. What other reason do I need?

Do you really need that?

I love Costco. I truly do. If you ask me, it is the happiest place on earth. The great thing about Costco is that very few people really *need* to go. Unless you own a small restaurant, are a family of eight, or the parent of teenage boys it just isn't necessary. There is nothing there you need. Nothing. Not only can you get your industrial sized pack of paper towels or toilet paper at Target for about the same price, Target is closer and you are pretty much guaranteed it will have what you came for in the brand you want. And you won't walk away with two DVDs you had no intention of buying (what a great price, and on Blu Ray!)the new Rock Band III, a book on WWII with pop-ups, and the assortment of greeting cards pack.

That is not the case with Costco, which is what makes it wonderful. Once you get there you start to wonder how you ever lived without some of these things. Why yes, now that you mention it, I *do* need a velour Snuggie, some micro-fleece socks in garish colors and a pack of miniature flashlights that can be stowed around the house, never to be seen again because we can't remember where we put them. The point is you never know what you will find at Costco. Things you didn't even know you needed until you saw them there. And the prices - why they must be great since you are pushing your cart around a slab concrete floor in a warehouse with small birds flying about overhead. Of course the things are a steal - you don't even get a shopping bag to cart the stuff to your car.

I have found over the years that Costco can also break your heart. Why would you start carrying a brand of lotion that I fell in love with when I bought it from you (with a coupon!), only to cruelly stop six months later and now I must buy a bottle at Rite Aid that is half the size for the same cost as your super-sized item. It can also tease - maybe we'll have it, maybe we won't. You won't know until you get here. And oh yeah, just because we don't have it today doesn't mean we *won't* have it four days from now. And just because we have that best-selling book you have been considering purchasing as a gift for your mom *today* doesn't mean it will be in stock tomorrow, or ever again for that matter.

The pressure can be deadly, but not for someone like me who has been shopping there for over two decades. I am not one of those *newbie* Costco shoppers. You know, the ones that come out with the 5 gallon tub of mayonnaise because it's such a *great deal*. I confess that in my earlier years of shopping I would get caught up in the excitement of the samples and find myself the owner of a case of frozen pigs-in-a-blanket. That box of Flents Wipe'N Clear individual packets *seemed* like a good idea at the time, but three years after the purchase I still have more than half of the case left. And then there are the things that come in Costco sized containers that you can eat all of, but shouldn't. When is it ever a good idea to get a tub of gummy bears larger than your kitchen sink? And yes, if you ate steak every night for a week you could justify the pack of fillets for that amazing price. Just verify your medical coverage beforehand to make sure it will cover your bypass surgery.

But now I am older and wiser. There are items that I buy in the ridiculous Costco sizes, but they are honestly things I use in their entirety. Yes, my family will in fact go through this entire pack of 16 hot dog buns before they go stale. Yes, this giant pack of hot dog buns goes with the giant pack of hot dogs that is next to it (four packs of 12 dogs). And yes, the three pack of super-sized bottles of ketchup will be used within a few months. Trust me. So who am I to judge the lady in line behind me with the bottle of vinegar bigger than my first born child?

Where did you come from?

Last night I walked into my daughter's room to discover her engaged in a serious discussion with her brother. She was sitting on her bed in her pajamas and he was standing in the middle of her room. Naked, except for a pair of Batman socks. My mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened and closed a few more times searching for the appropriate words that escaped me until finally I gave up and walked out.

I come from a long line of women. Okay, so that may seem obvious, but what I mean is that the men in our family are there by marriage. So imagine my surprise when I discovered we were having a son. It started with the ultrasound where I badgered the technician - are you sure? Check again. It's not that I was opposed to having a boy, it's just that I didn't know what to do with one. We had a girl, and the next one was supposed to be her sister. That was the natural order of things. But we did indeed have a boy, and every single day I am reminded how unprepared I am for this job.

For starters, no one tells you that the desire to blow everything up starts very early on, pretty much before actual speech. *Anything* can be made into a weapon, being naked is not a cause for alarm, and bathroom humor never gets old. Ever. Before having a son I thought these were stereotypes. Exaggerated over-generalizations. With each passing year I am learning that they are in fact my reality.

In the early years I was amazed to discover the vast wealth of knowledge I had accumulated about...trucks. I could tell you about any truck on the road - what it was used for, who drove it, and so on. Although I had no practical need for this knowledge I am confident it is more useful then my extensive knowledge of 80s music. Now that the boy is almost six I have shed my truck data and replaced it with a disturbing level of knowledge about...Star Wars. One of my high points (or low points, depending on how you look at it) was when I found Mace Windu's head while cleaning out my van. Not only was I thrilled to find Mace's head because his headless action figure body disturbed me more than I like to admit, but I instantly knew whose head I had found.

I also find myself uttering phrases without the slightest trace of self-consciousness or absurdity, such as *stop playing with the bees in the bush* or *kicking your friend and having him kick you is not a game*. The other day he had a friend over. First I had to tell them to stop kicking each other. Next I told them to stop punching each other, at which point they cried out: then what is there for us to do?

I am not saying it would have been easier if I'd had a second girl, or that I would have things under control more than I do. Or that I would be able to shed my self-bestowed title of *mediocre mom*. I just often have the feeling that up there god is laughing at me. That my son is a daily reminder to me to *lighten up*. I am constantly amazed and amused by how this little guy thinks. I mean really, *why not* play the air guitar while jumping on your bed...naked?