LOLs

Once I became visibly pregnant with Sophia, and again with Jude (though with Jude I was "visibly pregant" by about 4 weeks instead of 20), I adopted what I call the Walmart Scowl.  I put this ugly expression on every time I walked into a store in an attempt to dissuade Little Old Ladies (LOLs) from coming up to me and patting my belly while asking "When are you due?" and then telling me that my bum was huge so it must be a boy/girl.

And now there are the LOLs that come out of the woodwork to admire the kids anytime we are out and about.  Inevitably, they all say "Enjoy this time . . . it goes by so fast!" and I nod and smile and wonder how to politely slip away so I can get home and put the kids down for naps and drink some coffee after the two hours of sleep I had the night before.

But now I'm starting to get why they sound like broken records.  Because it really does go by so fast and so slow all at the same time.  And those LOLs wish they could go back in time and experience all the tiny little wonderful moments again.  Maybe not the poopy diapers and sleepless nights . . . I don't think I can imagine wanting those back.  But there are different kinds of moments that you experience as parents . . .

There are the moments that you can capture and go back to, the times that you can recall years later.  Like the day that your mom got the gingerbread house down and let you and your cousins stuff your faces until you could barely smile without drooling and your face was positively fat with candy.

But then there are the other moments that seem to slip away, that you swore you would always remember.  What it felt like to hold each baby for the first time, or that "in love" oxytocin feeling you had when breastfeeding even at three in the morning, or how proud you were when they (Finally, Sophia!) took their first step.

Those are the wispy moments that disappear.

Today Jude didn't want to go down for a morning nap, but desperately needed one.  Then, after he slept he didn't want to get up.  Grumpy boy!  So I turned on his lullaby cd and held out my arms.  He picked up Wolfie and held him tight in one arm, then put his other arm around my neck and did the full-body cling while we danced to lullabies.  And I tried to take a mental picture, to capture the moment for posterity, because it was so perfect.  But I know that mental picture is going to melt over time, and I'm going to forget exactly what it felt like to have that little body holding on to me as hard as he could.  

I guess those LOL's aren't so crazy.  They just want to go back in time and dance with their little peanut melted onto them again.  Because there really is nothing like it, and that exact moment will never be duplicated again.  I can see myself in 50 years, being the annoying LOL at Walmart, wishing she could get one more snuggle, belly-grabbing and saying "It goes by so fast" with the best of them.  Living vicariously . . . I do hope I remember to buy that young mama a coffee, though, or at least hand her some chocolate.      

Hagar and Ishmael

This is a picture of my very normal breakfast eating toddler.  Note: fully clothed, busily stuffing his face.

Now this is a picture my other breakfasting toddler.  Or is 3 1/2 not a toddler anymore?  Anyway, I didn't even notice she was naked because that is her norm (except for underpants . . . that's our rule) until I went to post a pic.  And then there is the oatmeal that she begged me to make for her, pretty much ignored.  Like mother like daughter, reading while eating . . . and what is the book she is glued in?  Her toddler Bbile.  LOVE that she wants us to read it to her 24/7, but her complete fixation on all things Bible story is making for some weird times around here.

Like today's Hagar and Ishmael saga.  (By Sophia's reckoning, Hagar is pronounced " 'Agar," like, "Have any bacteria grown on the agar?"  No convincing her otherwise.)

"I'm Hagar, and Jude is Ishmael.  Come on, Ishmael, let's go."

Jude traded off his role with Zuzu when she came over to hang out, and then promptly became Ishmael again as soon as afternoon naps were over.

"Did Sarah die?"  The first of a series of awkward questions that I didn't quite know how to answer . . . or at least, how much detail to give.  Like, does Sophia need to know that Sarah was quite alive and that the whole Hagar having Abraham's baby was her idea?  Mmmm, don't think so.

"Ishmael and Hagar are having some Fig Newtons!  They are cookies!"

We finished up dinner tonight with figgy goodness and Sophia was thrilled to learn that Hagar and Ishmael had probably eaten figs in their diet.

Then there was the weirdest part of the Hagar and Ishmael saga.  A silly putty sculpture of the mother and son duo.  And Sophia was very specific . . . "They are holding hands, and I just put their boobs and belly buttons on."

Hagar and Ishmael just finished up their bedtime bath and are all tucked in for the night.  But already plans are in the works for Sarah and Isaac to pay us a visit tomorrow.

Buddies

I don't remember being particularly close to either of my two sisters or younger brother closest to me in age when we were growing up.

Hmm.

That might be an under-exaggeration.  I didn't really have much use for the younger two, I guess because I was busy doing my own thing from the get-go.  Babysitting, ballet, starting my own greeting card company (called HomeArt, I thought it was a clever play on Hallmark), and lots of reading and avoiding of outdoor chores.  Plus they were pretty much best buds and didn't need a third wheel anyway.

Then there was my older sister.  We played together a lot . . . if you count me running away in fear after doing something bratty to get her in trouble (I was kinda sneaky) and attempting to not get beaten up by flinging myself on my back to kick at her as "playing."  I still have fingernail scars!

And THEN there's the youngest three.  The first one was born when I was twelve, and we were pretty much joined at the hip for a few years, or at least until I hit high school.  But that was more of a second mom thing, not really a best bud thing.  Same with the next two, especially since my youngest sister was born just in time to help Mom and Dad drop me off at college.

Fast forward to now and I have two kids.  When we had Jude I was a little worried about the sibling rivalry thing . . . would Sophia try to throw Jude down the stairs at six months old as my older sister apparently tried to do to me, or might they actually be friends?  (And since I have a much better relationship with my older sister now, I'm pretty sure she won't mind me throwing her under the bus in this post.  Right, Kristin?  Wanna run tomorrow?)

Seventeen months into having two kids I am so thankful that they really are pals.  Sophia prefers to call Jude "Buddy Boy," and loves to play with him . . . making tents, playing "pretend" ("You are Joseph and I am Mary and this [puppy] is baby Jesus."), running in circles thru the house to race him, sharing food (ok, she likes to get him to share his with her the most), and always screaming loudly for Mama when he gets hurt.  Even if she did it.

There are a couple things we are still working on.  Number one, I had not anticipated the nickname "Judy" for a boy named Jude when we chose that name.  And me writing this post does NOT give anyone permission to call him that.  But Sophia and her almost-three-year old cousin have decided that Judy is a great nickname, especially since I have banned it.

"No more Judy, you guys.  You can call him Jude, or Jude-ster, or Buddy Boy, but not Judy."

"Come here, Judy!  Tee-hee-hee."

"I mean it."

"Judy!"  Much rolling around on the floor laughing.

And then there is the over-loving.  Funny how this also involves said young cousin.  Hmm.  At any rate, these two little girls sometimes decide that Jude needs some loving.  In the form of huge bear hugs that squish him uncomfortably and then leave him flat.  As in flat on the floor, because when you suddenly let go of a still occasionally unsteady 17-month old, he will fall over.

I do much prefer to deal with over-loving and affectionate (girly) nicknames rather than not playing together at all and catfights.  One of my favorite times of day is when I go in to get them up each morning in their shared bedroom and Sophia announces who they have been pretending to be.  I always have to laugh, because Jude's crib is empty except for him (including his favorite stuffed animal, Wolfie), and Sophia has the room all set up for whatever they are playing.

"We're at the beach, Mama, and Jude is a lion."

Roar from the crib.

"Oh no, you just stepped in the water!"

Or, "I wrapped up these green strings (in diaper liners) for Judy's birthday party today."

Clapping from the crib.

I guess we'll see how things go as they get a little older and Jude starts to give feedback about Sophia dictating their play . . . I know that John and I will need to try to cultivate an environment that encourages them to be friends as they grow older.  And PRAY that they always love on each other like they do now.  But seeing them already starting out that way sure does bring a smile to my face now.

Back in the running

It's been a while since I wrote a post about running.  I know, until recently it had been a while since I posted about anything.  But I haven't had anything particularly wonderful to say about running, so why bother?

I was plagued by tendonitis in my right foot for all of August and part of September, and had to take that time off from running altogether.  That's what you get when you ignore a twinge and run nine miles on the Dreadmill.  I should know better after running for over 13 years with plenty of I-ignored-the-twinge injuries in that time . . . three stress fractures, a pulled hip flexor, patellofemoral syndrome, ileotibial band problems, lots of pulled muscles, and now tendonitis.  But this latest injury was the straw that finally broke this camel's back.

After taking more than a month off, I finally started up again.  Slowly.  As in a mile three times a week.  Why so slow?  Because I also finally started running in minimalist footwear!  For those of you who have no idea what I am talking about, minimalist footwear (generally) has no lift between your heel and forefoot and none of the conventional running shoe cushioning, so you are essentially forced to change your stride to a mid- or forefoot strike.  Your foot acts like a spring and absorbs the force, instead of your knees/hips.

I had been thinking of making the change to minimalist/barefoot running for literally several years, but the time never seemed right.  When I was first toying with the idea of barefoot running, I went for a three mile run barefoot, and it felt great.  I loved it . . . thought it would be super easy to switch.

Then I attempted to get out of bed the next morning, and my calves had decided to scrunch up into little balls of anger and didn't want to walk or go up and down stairs for the next three days.  After three days of controlled falling to get down the stairs, I decided my good ole' cushioned Asics and heelstrike were just fine for me.

Just over a year ago my sister started running in minimalist footwear, and is now doing consistently higher mileage weeks than I have ever been able to maintain without injury.  Even now she is recovering from an injury sustained not from running itself but from falling when running in crazy cold and icy conditions.  Whoops.

Fortunately, I have a wonderful physical therapist for a husband, who has helped me get going again safely.  I bought a pair of Merrell minimalist trail shoes and was off and running!  Now, after three long months of building back up, I am running almost 20 miles a week with a long run of six miles.  And after three long months of slogging along, I can feel the difference in how I am running.  Stronger, with more energy . . . and faster.  Today I gradually picked up the pace to finish out my six mile run with two miles at a 7:40 pace.  (Yay for my Christmas Garmin!)

I am thankful to be able to run again, and crazy excited for the coming summer's races.  And when I don't want to get out of bed in the morning, I remind myself that not so very long ago I couldn't run and should thank God that I am able to, instead of being grumpy. Of course, as my sister can attest, sometime my run starts off a little grumpy anyway, but the fresh air and good company usually fixes that pretty quickly.

Run on!

New Year's Diet

What is the number one New Year's resolution that people make?  That's right, the "I'm going to get fit and lose weight" resolution.  A lot of people think that means a 500 calorie starvation diet along with daily visits to the gym.  No wonder it gets dropped by February!

No, my sister and I have discussed what the New Year's Diet looks like for us.  I was a little surprised when I saw her facebook post that said she was going on a diet, but after I thought about it a little bit, I decided it couldn't hurt for me to join her.  So here you go, the Libby-Tripp Surefire New Year's Diet to Remove Christmas Pounds.  Just follow our 10 simple rules and you too can succeed at your New Year's resolution.

1.  Sugar cookies are no longer to be consumed for breakfast, snack, lunch, snack, dinner, snack, and dessert.

2.  Water, not egg nog, should be your primary beverage.

3.  No chocolate before 10 a.m. or after 10 p.m.

4.  Caramel corn, while delicious, does not count as a vegetable.

5.  Yes, apricot bars do have both oatmeal and fruit.  That still doesn't make them appropriate for breakfast.

6.  The creamer in four cups of coffee a day does not fulfill your dairy requirement.

7.  "Leafy greens" refer to spinach and the like, not chocolate Kisses with festive green foil wrappers.

8.  Never eat a whole pint of Ben & Jerry's while watching a sappy Christmas movie again.  Ever.  Unless you are a breastfeeding mama.  (But baby #3 ain't happening, so that's a moot point.)

9.  Eat some fruits and vegetables.  And now you know from #'s 4, 5, and 7 what doesn't count.

10.  If any of the above rules confuse you, just go by the "Meals should never be more than 50% butter, sugar, or chocolate" rule of thumb.

Good luck to you all!