Mom-Fail

I need to stop trying to be a young, hip mom. 

I need to study the date on my driver's license and get comfortable with it.

Yesterday, youngest daughter (who is 11) and I were watching TV.

She started being 11--you know...talking loud and giggling so I couldn't hear...that sort of thing.

So I thought I'd try asking her to stop in a little bit of "younger generation" lingo.

What I was going for was either:

"Knock it off...yo!"

or 

"Knock it off...hello??"

But it must have come out like...

"Knock it off, Ho!"

due to her fiercely indignant (and completely merited) response of

"WHAT did you call me?!?!"

Epic. Mom. Fail.

The Art of Negotiation

I don't know how it is at your house, but at mine summertime means that the sleepover requests (which I think are frequent anyway) really ramp up. 

And you'd think it would be the girls. But it isn't. 

It's my youngest son. 

So the conversation went something like this:

Three days ago
Him: If I do some stuff around the house first (they CAN be taught!) can I have some friends spend the night on Friday.

Me: Let's talk about that the closer it gets to Friday.

Today:
Him: What do you need me to do around the house so I can have some friends over tonight? 
(They are amazingly helpful when there's something in it for them. :o) )

Me: (Quickly calculating the number of stinky feet and unshowered bodies I'm willing to have in my basement at one time and the amount of $$ in the budget I'm willing to spend on Mountain Dew, Pringles, and Sour Gummy Worms) How many friends are we talking about here?

Him: How many can I have? 4? 5?

Me: Uhh. How about 3?

Him: 4?

Me: 2?

Him: 4?

(Usually this strategy works in my favor. I bargain down, and then what I suggested in the first place doesn't seem so bad. Apparently I'm losing my touch.)

Me (still trying): 1?

Him (grinning): 4?

Me (sensing a difficult victory this time): Who are you wanting to have over exactly?

Him: Kid I've known my entire life, Kid I've known as long as I can remember, Kid I spend as many waking hours as I possibly can with, and New Kid.

(Older son enters. Subject gets changed. I get up to leave.)

Him: So just 3?

Me: If I just let you have 3, who doesn't get invited? New Kid?

Him: Probably.

Me (admitting defeat): Okay. 4.

Sometime, in the not so distant future, New Kid is gonna be my kid. I hope sleepover negotiations in the Inland Empire go the exact same way this one did.

Whatever a Man Sows...

I am 100% responsible for this. I'll totally own it.

I've read the books...the articles...the blogs...listened to the talk radio programs. 

I can quote Jim Fey and Sally Clarkson with the best of them. My parenting books are highlighted, dog-eared, and the bindings are cracked.

My perfectionism got in the way. My impatience got in the way. My procrastination got in the way. My need for just a few minutes by myself got in the way.

I have FANTASTIC children. They are some of the most amazing human beings on the earth. They are. They are smart and funny. They are loyal friends. They (in front of me, at least) treat adults and peers with respect (most of the time). They apologize when they mess up.

They DO NOT help around the house.

Again. I own this. 

It didn't seem like such a big deal to let them go to bed with toys out when they were little. 

Or to say, "Not today, Honey. Mommy is in a hurry." when a preschooler asked to "help" wash a window or make a salad.

It's a big deal now.

I'm totally owning the crop I reaped this morning:

Offspring: Can I go over to ___________'s house?

Me: MAY I go over to ______________'s house. Certainly. After you load the dishwasher and do 30 minutes of reading.

Offspring: LOAD THE DISHWASHER?? Why?? That's not FAIR!

Me: silence.

Offspring: I'm NEVER gonna get to go because as soon as I'm done with this you are going to have ANOTHER dumb thing for me to do.

Me: The only thing that will keep you from getting to do what you want to do is your tone of voice. Which is getting dangerously close to the line. Just saying.
(Exit)

(A few minutes later. Dishes still all over the counter. No offspring to be seen. Dishwasher door open. Racks hanging out.)

Me (Inhaling deep calming breaths): What are you doing?

Offspring: Reading. Like. You. Told. Me. To.

Me (It isn't easier for me to just say forget it and do it myself. It isn't. It isn't.): You aren't done loading the dishwasher.

Offspring (sighing and stomping back into the kitchen): What do I still need to do??

Me (gesturing to the glasses and the silverware on the counter): When I said, "Load the dishwasher," I meant ALL of the dishes.

Offspring: Ugh! WHY do I have to do this. 

Me: And as soon as it is full, you will also need to put soap in it and start it. Just letting you know now.

Offspring: WHAAAT? You said ONE CHORE!!! THAT'S TWO CHORES!!

Me (calculating how many hours until 5:00 when it will be acceptable to pour a glass of wine): As soon as you are done with this and get your reading done, feel free to begin your plans for the day.

At this point, dear reader, steam is coming out of my beloved offspring's ears. And I feel a migraine coming on. 

Offspring finishes throwing cups into the dishwasher, dumps soap into it, shuts the door "firmly" and stomps off to her room to read.

As I write this I hear absolute silence here in the kitchen. I glance over at the dishwasher.

Me: Dear, sweet, Offspring. In order for the dishwasher to run, you have to press the 'start' button.

Offspring: I thought I did.

Me: You didn't.

Offspring: Sorry.

Me (I have to win this one. I have to win this one): Please come turn on the dishwasher.

Offspring: Are you SERIOUS?? You're right there! Can't you turn it on??

Me: Nope. 

I suspect I will replay this scene at least three more times today. 

Word on "The Hill"

Well, I did it.  I crossed the finish line.

I didn't walk all of it, but I did walk part of it.  The pace group leaders called it "Power Walking."  They said it is part of good running strategy.  Whatever.  It was still walking.  Usually I am a purist.  Today I was totally okay with walking.  More on pace group leaders in a little bit.

My time did suck.  I'm also okay with this.  Actions (or in this case, little to no action) have consequences.

I'm sure I looked like an idiot.

For some reason, this picture comes to mind:

Lots of thoughts swirled through my brain for the roughly three-and-a-half hours I was at the race.  Here are the coherent ones in no particular order:

~I am not a runner.  I can run.  Much of my exercise routine includes running.  I occasionally run races.  But I am not a runner.  I'm not built like a runner.  I'm not competitive enough to be a runner.  I dislike excruciating pain and feeling like I want to vomit too much to be a runner.  Races like Hospital Hill have lots of runners.  They also have lots of people like me.  That's pretty cool.

~My competitive sport experience is admittedly narrow, but I would hold distance runners, their fans, and race support staff/ volunteers to be among some of the nicest, kindest, most supportive and friendly people in the world.  From the people I chatted with while waiting to start, to the six or so people in the pace group I ran with, to the police officers re-routing traffic, to the Girl Scouts raking up hundreds of  crumpled paper cups, to runners' sweet children holding up signs of encouragement--this is a fantastic group of people.  Run, watch, or volunteer for a race just so you can interact with these incredible people at least once in your life.

~I was unbelievably lucky to get to run this particular race today.  I could run it yearly for 10+ years and not get the amazing weather we had. 13.1 hilly miles run the first weekend in June in Kansas City, Missouri is a recipe for...well...misery.  The weather today was delightful.

~I am sold on pace groups.  I have run a couple of halfs before and I didn't use them.  At the advice of my dear friend the personal trainer and nutritionist, I utilized them this time.  They are FANTASTIC!  The two amazing people who led mine probably deserve to be named in my will.  I might not have finished the race without them.  I certainly would not have enjoyed it.  And I did enjoy running this race.  They joked, laughed, encouraged, supported, and most importantly...kept me from running too fast in the beginning.  My time did suck, but It was totally worth it to spend 2 1/2 hours with them and the "2:30" group.

~I'm getting a Garmin running watch as soon as I can.  The Mapmyrun app on my phone sucks.  Just saying.

~Playlists are very important.  As I started out, "Vienna" by Billy Joel hit my ears.  "Slow down, you crazy child..."  Good advice.  I took it.  :o)  "The Lazy Song" by Bruno Mars really has to go.  Especially since it blasted at around mile 6.  Not fantastic timing in the least.

~My friend, Jennifer, said that when she ran Hospital Hill the first time, it didn't really seem that hilly.  It was the second...and third...and fourth times that she really noticed them.  I can only vouch as a first-timer, but I agree.  It didn't seem as hilly as I expected it to be.  If I ever do it again, I don't expect to be so pleasantly surprised.

~During the last couple of miles of the race, we had to move out of the way for an ambulance with its lights and sirens going.  I hate that I now have to hope that it's just "someone with heat exhaustion" and not someone injured by senseless terrorism.

~I said earlier that it is really cool that lots of people like me can run races like this.  And it is.  But those of us who run but are not runners need to respect the fact that there are real runners who are running this race to win. or to PR.  Or in the case of full marathons...to achieve qualifying times for other, more prestigious races.  We need to do our homework and be respectful and make sure our race experience doesn't get in the way of theirs by hanging back to start...not running six abreast...pulling over to the side to walk...etc.

~Kansas City really is a very pretty city.  Well.  It has very pretty parts.

~Getting a "Good luck on your race" text from your oldest daughter sometime between miles six and seven and a "It won't be long now.  Hang in there" text from your husband is nearly as good as having them there in person cheering me on.

~I'm not trying to judge here, but might I suggest that if you have enough energy to take a picture of Every. Single. Mile. Marker. on the course and update your Facebook status with your phone, that you could use that energy to knock some seconds/minutes off of your time and not stop in the middle of the course?

~Find a running friend. Run a race with them.  It doesn't matter if he/she is better than you are.  It's just so nice not to feel like you are running a race all by yourself.  You need someone with whom to take a "Why Exactly Are We Doing This?  We Must Be Crazy" before race picture:

And a "We Did It And We Didn't Die!" after race picture:

~It is a bonus if this person also believes that the only appropriate post-race meal is a steak salad from Chipotle.

~There were LOTS of times where I wondered what on earth I was doing and where I swore to myself that I'd never sign up for anther one of these crazy things again.  Specifically at miles six and eleven and the part where you can see the finish line but you're far enough away that you could still drop dead before you have a chance to cross it.

~That feeling is quickly forgotten.  I'm already Google searching half and full marathons in Southern California.