Wednesday, June 19, 2013

Running! Yes, real running according to me.

I have FINALLY got my running groove back. Could be the spring weather. Could be the emails of "X days left until your half marathon". Could be that I really do love it and was made for it like I swore I was when I hit 10 miles back in October. Okay. Yes, it wasn't 10. It was something like 9.93, but by the time I figured out the map I was half stripped down due to sweating that I had no desire to go back and finish the rest of the .07 so I say 10. Go run 9.93 miles. You'll say 10 too.

NO I haven't hit 10. Or 9 or even 8. I hit somewhere above 6 a while back and hit 6 this weekend. And felt GOOD. And did it in a GOOD pace. So that matters at this point more than the 8 or 9. I lost my mileage and my speed (well-it's MY speed) when snow fell. There are certain things I have noticed about upping my mileage as well. I can spit like my dad used to spit. For whatever crazy reason I was always in awe of his perfect aim. I know. I am weird. Well, I got it. Maybe not quite like him. I have yet to hit the leaf or twig I aim at, but it is so much closer than my usual of the spit hitting just outside my lips and getting lost somewhere between my cheek and ear. And my husband thinks I am so sexy cause I run. I don't think it's the spit aim. Probably more the silky tight running pants I wear. I hope anyway.

I also realized there are runners who are not part of the clique. Gasp! I know, right?! Yeah the ones who run right past you like you do not exist. They must think they're better than me. Or maybe I am just so fast I intimidate them. Yeah, that must be it. At that moment I am super speedy. Cause all the other runners I pass see me and wave or do that real stiff, practiced head nod. Yeah, we know how to show some respect. I especially love the ones who run past on the opposite side and leave a sweet smelling aura like they had to have just stepped out of the shower and bathed in a field of roses. One can only dream I smell that awesome as they pass me cause when I stop, I sure do not smell roses. Maybe dead ones. That sat in a car. For like 10 years.

Running is my release. I pray. I think about life. I choke up sometimes and have to stop thinking about life. It's okay. I am red-faced anyway. No one notices. I seriously feel that if everyone started running they would love it as much as me. I was never a runner either so they would have to, right? Then I need to remind myself that is not the case and no one that doesn't run doesn't want to hear about my pace time. Or the horrible side cramp I got at mile 3. Or how I felt like I was going to crap my pants at mile 4 and at mile 5 I wouldn't be able to tell you if I really did or not (for the record I have never, but man that would be hardcore). Only my husband seems somewhat interested in hearing those details. It must be the sexy pants that I am usually still wearing when I go off on what I like to call "a runner tangent". He is thoroughly impressed. Always.

So I started my half-marathon training last week for the 3rd time. Then this week I missed the first 2 workouts. I could run the next 3 days and get them in but that would be insane. Yes. I like that idea ;)

Monday, March 18, 2013

Me, Myself and I

I did some reading back in my blog. One of the last few posts I left off wondering if I was going through postpartum depression. Now I fully remember why I stopped the blog pretty much. My little dandy blessed life hit me in the face. I had issues. Issues I did not like or care to admit to anyone. Just select few. And when I say few I think maybe 2 people. My sister and my husband. It was a dark place. I always thought PPD was where you laid in bed all day (or wanted to) you never smiled, you didn't like your kids, etc. I know. I was dumb. Mine was give me an excuse to blow cause I am gonna blow anyway. I tried the whole "go in the other room and count to 10". That made me blow harder. Laila and I were at each others throats. I honestly thought I was going to hurt her something awful and not be allowed to be her mommy anymore. There. I said it. I admitted to blog land what I only somewhat admitted to my husband. In the dark. Through my tears. I was going to crack and my whole world I have lived for was going to come shattering down on me. I wasn't like that all the time. And to be honest Laila pushed my buttons a lot. I know many of you are like "what?! Laila? Really?!" Yes, my sweet shy girl can come unhinged too! Only she became unhinged and I exploded. Which made her explode which made it awful. I made an appointment with my midwife. I pondered what I wanted to come of that appointment. It came down to for once in my life I wanted drugs. Not that that is the easy way out, but I wanted her to sign me over an RX, go against all my beliefs of natural is best, and drug me up. I couldn't stand myself any more way too often than I cared to admit. Well the midwife wasn't having it. I walked out of there grateful actually. I was supposed to workout, take specific vitamins, read the book "Raising the Strong Willed Child", and see a psychiatrist. Well that was too much $$ and I never got around to getting the book so I did the other three things. Well, when I worked out the kids needed me. That works for every mom, right? Want your kids attention? Go workout. Want the kids to be hungry? Go workout. Want them to fight with each other? Go workout. So then I just got frustrated even more. So fast-forward a little bit. I go to a regular OBGYN to get my tubes tied, burnt, wrestled down in a choke hold. Whatever it took. No. More. babies. He's coaxing me: "Are you sure? Girl and boy? What about....-"  I interrupt him. "Fragile X sir. I am a carrier of fragile X". "Oh" big red "approved" across my chart. Now we're talking. So by the way doc, I am going insane. I want to rip my daughters hair out. Can I have drugs? Get a RX for Xanax. I felt like a kid in the candy store. I go home and can't wait to try them out!! It was only days. It was Curt this time. Only he has no hair for me to rip out so I was yelling obscenities to him from the back porch to his garage. Those that know our house know my voice needed to be kinda loud. Yes, I have checked. Our neighbors still love us. So, I go to take my "happy pill". I am standing there as if I am going to see rainbows shoot across the kitchen and flowers pop up and sway in the wind. Nothing. I go sit on the porch. Steaming mad still. Probably sending dirty looks towards the garage. Then it hits me. I can barely keep my eyes open. I am still raving pissed, but too darn tired to do anything about it! Which pisses me off even more, but I am still too tired to do anything about it. I fall asleep. Wake up still pissed but tired and annoyed at my "candy". Ugh (but they were AWESOME for the trip to Vegas where I needed to be just knocked the F out before I screamed "we are ALL GONNA DIE IN A PLANE CRASH" while on the plane).  So no candyland fix for me.

But in that moment it hit me. Okay, maybe it was weeks later, but soon after, it hit me. I am doing this. I can fix this. It is just me and I am at the breaking point of full blown losing Laila. Losing whatever relationship I have with her cause she is going to hate me for the rest of my life. It was like a snap. I don't know if it was about to end anyway. A combination of tried and fail of one medicine or whatever. Do I think all women who suffer with PPD can pull themselves out of it? No way. But I do feel in this society we are quick to medicate. That is not the thing for me and luckily for me it worked! I somehow pulled myself together pretty well when I needed too and for some reason it was like laila and I had a silent bond. We just clicked again. We were easier on each other. We had more patience. So I guess I can't take all the credit. She's pretty strong herself :)

Do I still yell? Oh yeah. But it's controlled yelling ;) And I don't feel like I am turning green, with horns coming out of my head, and snarly teeth complete with claws like I did on those scary scary moments. Moments I still shudder thinking about. Moments that I am forever ashamed to admit I ever visited. But you learn from your past. Laila and I both did. She has the mommy she deserves now and I am forever grateful for her patience and forgiving love.

Monday, March 11, 2013

Time flies when....

you're a mom, a wife, a cook, a maid, a chauffeur, a student, a runner, a friend, a daughter, and....when you're having fun being ALL of those things. Wow. Four years have gone by since I last wrote. Okay maybe not that long, but pretty much. I basically closed my blog to public then figured, what was the point of writing anyway then?! Well...last I left off Evan was a baby I think. He's not any more!! Almost 5, kindergarten next year, full of attitude and control-freakishness. For the record, I have NO idea what-so-ever where he gets that from. Must be his daddy ;)  Laila was 4ish. She's 7 1/2. Yes, better not forget the 1/2. Such an amazing young lady full of attitude too. Again, from her daddy. I cannot contain myself in how blessed I am to have these little beings in my life. And the big dude. He's pretty darn awesome too. Full of drive, love and attitude. Don't forget the attitude. See? I told you the kids get it from him. Proof right there baby.

As for me, I love being a mom. Back in school cause I have yet to fulfill my other dream of being a teacher. One day. I swear. One day I will be Mrs. Brown the teacher. The desire is in full force. Could be that Evan is going to be in school full time and I BETTER do something else because the above things listed in the first sentence of this blog are surely not enough. No. They really aren't. I never wanted to be a stay at home. Then my baby girl came. What on earth was I ever thinking I would not LIVE EVERY BREATH for this thing. So of course, stay at home mommy I became and loved, and I mean LOVED every moment of it. Was it hard? Oh yeah. But worth all of it? Heck yeah! So...when I say my dream of being a teacher rates right up there with being a stay at home mom...I mean that teaching would be a major dream come true. I fill out applications for jobs and cry. I practice my lessons on my kids and cry. I get all giddy to help in the school (and yes, I cry a little). I feel it way down deep in my bones. I was BORN to teach. Not my own kids. Oh hell no. But everyone else kids? Bring 'em on!! I once sat across from a principal stating my strong desire to teach. I began to cry. Totally embarrassed. Then she cried and it was all good :)

I also run. A little. Back in October it was a lot. Then the cold hit and now it is a little hoping to be a lot. Soon. I heard birds out there recently so I will get my long runs back!

I guess back to life as we know it. I have no idea why I am starting this back up. Maybe it will be boring and I will say I surely can't fit "blogger" in the above sentence too!! (What is blogger anyway? Someone who just blogs or someone who REALLY blogs?).  This blog started out as a release for my pain through all my losses. And holy crap there were many. Too many, but the mountains we overcame and the people, family and spouses we are because of it? I would never in a million years change a thing. A friend recently had an analogy about miscarriage. It's like a scrape on your arm. It heals. There will probably always be a scar. Sometimes before that scar comes and it is healing, it may break open again. Maybe bleed or just sting. It may do it a few times, but eventually it will heal and a scar will form. You will always notice the scar. You will always remember how it got there. That is 100% true. There is still that wound, Healed for sure. Scarred over? yes. But it can still break open. And man that hits you out of no where sometimes! It has been a while since I have felt the raw pain from the losses. Years maybe even. But then a moment hits you. Like when I walked into my first day of my class this semester at college. My stomach clenched. I felt an aura come over me something awful. Then I realized that classroom was the class that I lost my first baby in back in 2006. I wasn't IN class, but I started that class pregnant, came back the next week not. And I didn't break down. It was almost healing to realize the sour feeling. I understood. Damn right I would feel that way, but damn right I have come so far since then. I don't pass every due date anymore and think "I would have had a X year old too". I don't realize it is an "anniversary" of a loss every.time. Some dates, yes, but most I don't. Finally for Evan's fourth birthday I didn't cry. I didn't look at him with tears in my eyes, hugging him till he begged me to stop because I STILL could not believe he was HERE. MINE!! How I love that word. Mine. He is all mine. Okay, yes I share him. A little. Don't ask my mom though. She will say I never do. But anyway. I didn't blubber like a baby, thanking God he is here. Nope. All that came a few days later ;) At least he can say for the first time in his four years mommy didn't practically smother him on his birthday. No promises for the big 5 son.

So...I am thinking this will be a new blog about my normal life now. My transition from getting my groove back with running to being a half-marathoner. My transition from stay at home mom, to mom who subs and begs for a teaching job.  From being insane wife who complains all the time to being insane wife who complains all the time. Yes, no typos there. He's loved me for almost 9 years being that so why would I disappoint him and become someone new?! No, really. I have complained a LOT less these last few years. When your hubby spends 6 months off work and you CRY the day he goes back cause you're gonna miss him something terrible? Yeah. You realize you got it bad for that guy. Plus he's pretty darn cute. And he promised to start cleaning the bathrooms for me. All those combined make for a pretty good catch :)

So enjoy. Or yawn and say "why did she ever open this up again?". We shall see where it goes :)