New Location, Same Poor Service.

New blog location.

www.straitjacketmama.wordpress.com

Come hang out.

i'm not cut out for being a working woman

A few weeks back I was offered a temporary (almost) full time janitorial position.

I weighed the pros and cons.  And in the end chose to accept.  It was only three weeks and they agreed to my request of only working those 30 hours in three days.  I still had my other 9 hour per week job, and my other cleaning job as well.  Lots of hours.  Lots of cleaning.

And from what I've now learned.  Little sleep.

I wake at 1:45 AM and am out the door by 2:10 and am at work at 3:00.  I work for 8-10 hours vacuuming, scrubbing toilets, sweeping, mopping, folding laundry, washing coffee pots, and dumping lots of trash.

I do not have to deal with too many people, and those I do, are pleasant.  But by the end of my work day I am fried.

I thought I knew what tired was.  For crying out loud I had a baby that didn't sleep for nearly two years, I have known tired.

But that tired didn't cause me to run stop signs or forget mid-sentence what I was talking about.  It didn't cause me to sit on my bed and let someone else take my socks and shoes off because I was incapable of doing it myself.

This has been a tired like I've not known.

Mondays have proven hard because though I go to bed at 8:30, I wake up about 11:30 and cannot fall back to sleep.  This means I end up being awake for close to 24 hours before I get to bed.  This is not healthy.  Thursdays are hard too.  I get up at 1:45.  Get to work a little before 3:00, work til about 1:00, drive 45 minutes home, get a few things done around the house, or take a quick cat nap, and then I drive the girls 40 minutes to gymnastics, where I sit in bleachers for two hours.  Two weeks ago I decided to just lie down and sleep there.

Two weeks ago my car wouldn't start after gymnastics.  I was near hysteria.  So tired, no way home, and chatty little girls excited about what they've learned in class.  It was my fuel pump.  The rig had broken down a couple of times in the days before and Josh told me that if I just pounded on the fuel tank, it might start.  So I crawled under my rig, pounded on my fuel tank.  Sat back in my van and pounded on my steering wheel, and then I turned the key.  It started.  I started to calm down, but I still had a 40 minute drive home, and I needed to be up in five hours to go to work.

I got home and collapsed on my bed.  My sweet Alison came in and took my shoes off.  Then my socks.  Then she tucked me in.

This is not how it should be.  I should be taking care of her.  Of all of them.

Tomorrow is my last day.  The weight will soon be lifted.

Though this has been one of the hardest things I've ever taken on, it's been a blessing.  I have a nice chunk of money to buy my girls some fun Christmas presents, and Josh too.  I cannot wait to go shopping this Saturday, cash in hand, buying them fun things that I know they want and will love.

And knowing how hard I worked for these gifts, well, that part feels pretty freaking good.

I'll grow up next year.

I was hoping that with turning 35 I'd somehow be grown up enough to no longer care what people think of me.

But I'm now 35 and 3 months and I still care.

I'm getting better, though. I think. Maybe.

I must be, because yesterday I made myself do something totally embarrassing and the entire time I was thinking, "what if people think I'm an idiot?!"

And I am totally an idiot, but I usually like to keep that between me and just the person in front of me at the time.  

Recently I went on a drive, alone, to my sister-in-law's house. I was in the best mood ever. And one of my favorite songs came on the radio. I pulled out my phone and video'd a small clip of my idiot self singing at the top of my lungs.

Now listen. I love to sing. But I am terrible at it. No good. But I have a good time singing.

So I load that bad girl video up to Instagram because Instagram is my picture/video diary and I feel safe on Instagram. It's less intimidating there. And people laughed at me and it was good.

I considered putting it on FB, but guys, FB is so much scarier. More people. More likely to think I'm an idiot. But my goal with FB is to make people laugh. Make people smile. And I had been thinking that maybe my dumb video would do just that for someone. So last night I put it on FB and then I got all hot and sweaty and panicky.

How dumb is that?

Then, to make it worse, I wake up at 3 this morning thinking "I need to just pull that video down!" Who wakes up at 3 AM worried about a 13 second silly video?

ME.

I want so badly to be comfortable enough in my own skin to just not care. To feel the freedom to be silly without worry that someone is rolling their eyes at my dorky self.

Maybe 36 is the year for that, because so far, at 35 - I'm not feelin' it.

just pray

I keep trying to type out words, and then I just delete them all. Sometimes there just are not words for certain things. Sometimes there are only tears, and some anger mixed in, too.

A friend of mine lost her five week old baby girl to SIDS a few days ago.

And there are not words. Please pray for her. For her husband, their marriage, their two young sons. For their hearts. Pray they feel comfort.

Please just pray.

that time i got overly excited about cleaning toilets.

I'm really good at embarrassing myself.

And if no one has seen me embarrass myself, I feel I need to tell people about my idiotness.

Let me tell you a story about my getting overly excited to clean toilets. Why I'm choosing now to admit my embarrassing moment, I don't know. Maybe because it's just about been a year since it's happened, and because every time I clean toilets at the church, I think about it.

Anyway.

About a year ago, one of the pastors at our church got up front and mentioned a need for someone to clean the restrooms. It took all the restraint I had not to just jump up outta my chair and yell, "pick me! Choose me! Love me!"

(Grey's Anatomy, anyone?)

But I kept myself still til the end of service and then I made a beeline for our pastor and told him I am the lover of all things clean toilets. And he tells me to talk to a man named Bruce. And so I talk to Bruce and Bruce tells me Andy has been cleaning the bathrooms, and he's probably going to appreciate help.

So I go running up to the Andy of our church that I know and I breathlessly tell him, "I'm going to clean the toilets! I love to clean the toilets!" (I can't help it. I get excited about cleaning toilets.) And the Andy in our church that I know, looks at me with surprised eyes and says, "that's great!" With a silent side of, "freaky lady."

And so the next week I show up to clean toilets and Bruce tells me Andy has already gotten started. And Andy walks out, but it is not the Andy of our church that I know.

Apparently there is another Andy in our church that I do not know.

And in that moment I wanted to die a little bit. No wonder the other Andy looked at me like I was crazy, he probably wondered why the heck I thought it important to tell him I was going to be cleaning toilets.

So now every week, every single week as I clean the 16 toilets, I think about running up to the Andy that I know and excitedly telling him about the toilet cleaning. I wish I could forget this moment, but I can't.

I sure hope he has, though.

giving them opportunities

Today was a big day in our household. 

For a couple of weeks now we knew this day would be here, and there has been a countdown, and thank GOD today finally got here so we could stop with all the counting down.

Gymnastics.

Today my girls went to gymnastics for the first time.

Let's back up to how we got here.

In our local paper I saw that a few things were starting in our town. Tap dance, clogging, ballet, jazz. I was so excited. Fun things! In our small town! And so I asked my girls, "hey! Would you two be interested in ballet?"

Both girls shook their heads. Then at the same time said, "can we do gymnastics?!"

Of course they choose the thing not in our town. You see, we live in a little valley. Where not a lot is offered. We either drive 40 minutes east or 40 minutes west for the shopping and the doing.

And the gymnastics.

They looked at me with those blue eyes I gave them, and I told them maybe. I went outside and I called their dad and I pleaded their case.

For four years they've been asking to do gymnastics, and for four years I've come up with one excuse or another for why they can't do it.

I'll be honest, the money was there, the desire to drive them and sit there and be social and all the other things required of me, was not there. But I'm always a no mom and I'm so tired of saying no.

So Josh and I, we talked about it and he was game, and so I called. I talked to the people, I made the plans, I paid the money, and I've listened to a morning countdown ever since. I am earning jewels in my heavenly crown.

These girls were giddy this morning. I was sure we'd not get any schoolwork done, yet somehow we put two hours in. We ran all the errands. Did all the things. Went to all the places, and then it was time.

We show up (an hour early) and I buy them leos and I find out who their teachers are, then I sit my butt on hard bleachers and I watch my girls jump right in, get in line, raise their hands, follow directions, swing on bars, jump on springs. Do moves they've never done.

All these things, that at their age I didn't do. I wasn't given the opportunity, but I can tell you that even if I had been, I'da been too scared to get out there.

I've been afraid of all the things my entire life, and I'm not sure how, but I haven't passed those fears onto my girls. And I am so thankful.

I had the best time with my mom and my girls today. I love that I'm able to give them this opportunity to grow and learn, and have fun. And I love that my mom was there to share it with me.

tap, tap. psst.

Well, hi.

It's been awhile.

Coming up on a year, while.

I never intended to return to this blog, but I do lots of things I don't intend to do. 

I think I'm ready to write again. For a bit I'll write here, but I'm working on a new blog and I'll let you know when she's ready.

For now, here is good. 

I've missed this place. This place where the words come easily. Not always prettily, but easy. 

I've struggled with whether or not I should start again. So many blogs out there, what is the point to mine? And then I remind myself the point is just to be here. To say the words. To not worry about whether anyone has the time to make to stop in and read. Though I hope they do. I hope you do.

Because good stuff has happened these last few months. Bad stuff, too, but who cares about that. I have a cow!

I'm so happy to be here again in my little writing space.

The Last Blog Post

2014 is done.

And so is this here blog.

I have been writing here (sporadically) for the last 7.5 years.  That's a long go.  I've enjoyed my time here, but it's time to say goodbye.

Blogging is no longer what it was when I first started.  We used to comment on each other's blogs, make friends, encourage one another, and so on.  It's not like that any more.

I blame Facebook.

Do people even read blogs anymore?  I know I don't.  And I don't think people read here anymore, either.

Again, I blame Facebook.

While I won't be writing here any longer, I'm leaving my blog up until I get it printed, they make books for bloggers!  I have a lot of words written that I think one day my girls may want to read.  (or maybe they won't.)  I'm hoping by summer to have all 7.5 years bound.  I'm looking forward to reading past words and hearts.

I'm so thankful for the friends I've made through this part of the internet.  Some of the friends I've met through blogging I am now friends with on Facebook, through email, or through text.  A handful I've met in person.  You all have been so good to me.  Thank you.

I do have a favorite thing from these 7.5 years.

And that's our friendship with Jim and Emily.  Emily's blog was one of the first I read.  (Jeana's and Liz's too)  I'd say it was about a year after reading Emily's blog that I started commenting on it, then shortly after we decided our families needed to meet.  Nearly six years later and we are family.  My husband has a best friend in Jim, and I have one in Emily.

I'm getting a little (okay, a lot) choked up just thinking about them, their family, their friendship.  They mean the world to us and I'm forever thankful to the internet that we've met them.

To those of you that have been here from the beginning, middle, and end.  Thank you.  Thank you for reading this girl's heart.  There have been so many ups and downs and all arounds.  Thank you for letting me share.

If  you'd like to keep in touch, feel free to email me: truckfamily@gmail.com.

Love,
Sarah

A little Pinterest project

Hi. I'm Sarah. I blog here. Just not very often, apparently.  Oops.

I've got post upon post in draft, but nothing that says very nice words, because I haven't felt like a very nice person lately. Ew.  This weekend was a really good one, though, and I'm feeling more myself than I have in weeks. Months, maybe.

Anywho.

Instead of continuing to ramble, here are some pictures of a little project Josh and I completed.

I pinned this awhile ago and finally decided I needed my house to look like this:

And so we set out to work on making our entryway look similar. Here are some 'before' shots.

Oh, and we also decided to texture and paint the kitchen as well...

During:

It took me awhile to decide on a paint color, but after I realized I had enough orange leftover from our bathroom remodel, I went with that.

Two coats of paint:

It was now time for the hooks. Originally I thought I'd wait for Josh to come home because the hooks required the drill and a tape measure and precision. But I wanted the job down now and remembered that I know how to use those things as well as he does, so why wait?

I sent Josh this picture:

And then I sent him this picture:

I'm kind of in love. I've yet to paint the door, but it shall be mustard soon.

Thank you, Pinterest, for your constant source of renovation inspiration.

i let my kids run away from home

Brutal.

Parenting is brutal.  Parenting is living with your heart on the outside of your body.

Today Sugar (age 9) tells me she wants to run away from home.  "Not forever, Mom. I like it here, but I just wanna know what it's like to walk to Grandma and Grandpa's. By ourselves."

Grandma and Grandpa's is nearly three miles away.

I kinda blew it off.  But she kept bugging me.  I called Josh to get his thoughts. He thought they'd be capable.

I asked Sugar what she'd do if someone decided to pull up next to them and grab them. "I have my knife. And a belt, I could whip 'em. Plus, I have my bible."

Well then.  

I decided I would follow them in the car. With my hazard lights on.

Friends, this was by far more difficult than giving birth to them without drugs.  No joke.

I drove quite a ways behind them so they could feel they were on their own. Every time they came to an intersection I thought I was going to vomit.  A half mile from our house is a busy highway.  

They would have to cross it.

I drove across the highway and pulled over.  Flipping out.  Wondering how they would get across.  Would they know to push the button? Would they watch for cars taking right turns?

Ugh.  

They got across beautifully.  Holding hands. Smiling big.

They walked another quarter mile til they had to cross another busy street.  The looked right, but not left. Thankfully no cars were coming.  I drove up next tothem, told them they were doing great, but that they would need to look both directions from now on.

More crossing of streets. Up hills, around curves.  So gut wrenching for the mama.

How in the world do parents let their kids get a driver's license? Or leave home for college?  I don't think I'm going to survive those days.

They got to their grandparent's house. Grandparents who ended up not being home.

When we pulled in the driveway they had their backpacks open, water and snacks out, accomplished smiles on their faces.

"One man asked us if we wanted a ride, one lady asked if we were okay, and one lady was barbecuing and it smelled so good."

They made it. I made it.

But I hope they never wanna run away again.

Giving up that little bit of control was awful.

That time I ran a Marathon

I just reread my post from October 8th.  Man that was a sad Sarah writing those words, wasn't it?

I took another week off after that run.  I did two runs in one day, short runs. Totaling five miles, and it was good.  I waited another couple of days and went out for a 6-miler. No pain. 

I had a surge of hope.

On the 19th I decided to take the plunge and sign up for the marathon.  The marathon that was seven days away. Then I went and ran four miles without my knee hurting.

I did a couple more 6-milers last week and I felt so strong, but then it was time to rest up for Sunday.

From the Notes on my phone:

I ran 26.2 miles.

It doesn't seem like something I could ever forget, but in case I do, I want to write every memory I have of those 26 miles while they're fresh.

In the days leading up to the race I found myself alternately giddy and bursting into tears.  Thankfully, Jessica talked me off my ledge and sent me a link about Taper Psychosis. I had that going on something fierce.

The morning of the race I was not nervous about how many miles I was going to run - 26 is a lot, but I'd run 17 and, well, nine more just didn't seem like a big deal. No, I was nervous about whether my body would hold up.  With so many knee aches and pangs over the previous few weeks, I was concerned I'd get half way through my race and I'd feel that snap again.  The wind blowing like crazy was another factor. It was so cold and so in your face. 

We show up at the hotel, the race's start line, and of course Amber shows up too. At 7 am with a baby and it's cold, but of course she is there, because Amber is always there for me.  Always. 

I wore my running skirt with my running tights over it because it was so cold.  The plan was to meet Josh at mile four to take them off.

I knew I needed to start slow, and I felt like I had, but my first mile was a 9:28 (fast for me).  I was shooting for a minute over that.  I slowed down a bit, I was feeling so good. About mile three I met up with a man in yellow whose goal time mirrored mine and I decided I'd run with him as long as possible. He was on his 30th marathon so I figured he could probably set an even pace and talk me through.  I figured correctly.

Mile 4 is where I first saw my sweet family. I sat down, took off my tights, retied a shoe and went back out. I took a bite of my PowerBar, grabbed a water at the aid station and worked at catching the man in yellow.

The miles just seemed to tick by so quickly. 5. 6. 7. And I just had an idiot smile on my face. My knees were aching, but not the intense pain that they had given me the three weeks before. I was so happy to be running! 

I crossed the Blue Bridge. 9. 

I saw Josh and the girls and I felt like I was skipping along. I was so happy. Marathon day. I cannot believe I'm here.

I caught up to the man in yellow at about mile 10. He tells me I've picked a terrible day for a first marathon.  The wind, it's bad.

11. 12. 

Halfway point and I see Josh again. I'm still smiling.  I feel great.  My pace is about 10:11. I'm happy with this.  I'm happy with life.  I am running.

14. 15.

Over the Cable Bridge. 16.

I'm tiring, and I'm out of food.

Aid station. Water. Gravel. Railroad tracks.

And then it hits me head on.

Wind.  

From mile 16 on there would be a 30-40 mph headwind.

After mile 17 I would be in unknown territory. I had never run beyond that amount of miles during my training due to my knee injury.

The wind was really getting to me and at mile 18 I found myself getting mad. My mind was so happy to be running, but my body was turning against me.  My lower back started to hurt terribly, almost felt like it was tightening up and I was so very uncomfortable.  

The man in yellow had surged ahead of me a bit, but I caught back up to him at 18. Told him that this was the hardest thing I'd ever done in my life. 

"Yes," he says, "but you're doing an amazing job."  Bless the man in yellow's heart.

At the aid station between miles 20 and 21 I grabbed a water and a stale candy bar. And then I told God I really needed to see my family.  Like right now.  And there they were and I was on the verge of tears and I know Josh knew this because he said, "you are doing it. You are doing it, and we'll see you at the finish line."

The finish line.

Just five miles.  I have finished 21, what's five more?

22. 23. 

Aid station. I downed two waters this time and stretched my back.  I leaned forward, then back.  I felt a little better.

24. Up over the bridge, the bridge that seemed to never end.

It was mile 24 when I realized, "I'm going to finish this.  I'm going to be able to say I have run a marathon."

At mile 25 I see a sign with my name on it, "Go Sarah! Run like a mother!" And I'm thinking, "my name is Sarah, but that's not Josh, Josh is at the finish line."

It's Asher. With his mama just next to him, taking my picture and smiling at me. I smile back, but I start to cry and then she grabs me and hugs me, tells me I'm looking strong and to go!

And my heart. It nearly burst. She drove a lot of miles to be there. To be there for me.  And as I write this there are tears, because some people know just how to love you.

Mile 26. Just .2 to go.  There are three kids sitting in the dirt on the side of the road, smiling.  "You're almost there," they say, "just a little ways to go!"  

Their mama needs a hug for raising such sweet kiddos.

That .2 felt like it would never end.

I'm about to round the corner, I see orange cones, I'm so close.

Then I see Denise.  And the tears, they start again.  These people.  I don't deserve them to love me like this.

I hear my name announced. I cross the finish line. I get a medal and a water bottle.

And there's my Josh. And my sweet girls who have only ever been encouraging of me to run and train.

Josh hugs me so tight and tells me I did it. 

I really did.  I ran 26.2 miles.

I hug the people who have come to see me finish and it's just this weird feeling. 

To be done.  

So many hours training.  So many miles run.  So many doubts.  Some injury.

And after 4 hours, 34 minutes, and 30 seconds, my first marathon was complete.

 

I didn't fail after all.

and done

Since July I have run 190 miles in preparation for the October 26th marathon.  I have spent 30+ hours out on the road.  I have lost 12 lbs.  I have gained a lot of muscle.  Both physically and emotionally.

But last night I realized this marathon journey has come to an end.

I'm not giving up on the goal of running a marathon, but I'm giving up on the one that is 2.5 weeks away.

I have missed a lot of runs due to this knee injury.  I've taken meds, I've iced it, I've rested.  I've been feeling pretty good.  I decided last night it was time to get back out on the road.

It wasn't.

I parked my car, did some stretching, set my GPS, and I started off pretty slowly.  My legs felt heavy, it was still hot, I didn't really wanna run.  I just knew I needed to.  I have a marathon to run soon.  At mile two I decided I was going to quit.  I wish I had.  Instead I kept going.  Your body really doesn't get into a groove until about the fourth mile, and I know this, and I wanted to feel that groove, so I kept on.  I had counted on the water fountains on the pathway to be working.  They weren't.  Bah!  I was so thirsty.  Thankfully at mile five, my turn around, my best guy friend showed up with an ice cold bottle of water.  Bless his heart.  I downed half the bottle, he poured the rest over my head, and I headed back to town.  He yelled after me to let him know if I needed a ride home.  It was getting dark, and he knew my knee was starting to bother me.

At mile six it happened.  The crazy pain in my knee.  This time there was no putting pressure on it.  I just stood there with all my weight on one leg.  No tears this time.  Makes me realize that last time the crying I did was not out of pain but out of frustration.  No tears this time because I knew.  I know.  It's just done.  This training is done.

I called Josh and he came to get me.  Ice pack in tow.

The rest of the evening is kind of a blur.  I sat on the couch with my ice pack, some chocolate, a beer, some cheese and crackers.

Salve.

I'm disappointed.  I'm discouraged.  I cried myself to sleep.

This feels like just one more area where I'm a failure.  And I'm really tired of being a failure.

A bathroom update.

In February I demolished our bathroom while Josh was outside working on his Suburban.

(that'll teach him.)



Over the next couple of weeks he would help with demolition, I would pee outside, and we would not have a tub or shower.



Then there was a toilet and a tub but no shower.



There's been no shower for nearly EIGHT MONTHS.  But you guys, we are getting closer.  I'm thinking by the end of the week.  We've also had a double vanity in there but neither sink was working.  We now have one sink working and no longer have to brush our teeth in the kitchen the way we've been doing since February.

A couple of months back I showed you this picture.  I had ordered this mirror months and months ago and we just never got around to putting it up.  While Josh went and climbed Mt. Rainier, I went to the glass company in town and asked if they'd put it up for me.  They came right over.  Then I went on to explain what I wanted it to look like when it was done.  I pulled up Pinterest and showed him.  He put this mirror up and then....



And then he did this!



The guy from the glass company did an amazing job.  It's my favorite part of the bathroom.

For a long time our floor looked like this:



And now it looks like this:



Very inexpensive, very durable, super easy installation, and it looks nice.

Here's the start of the tiling job:



And the (mostly finished product):



Also, the shower curtain I was in love with, yeah, I totally splurged and spent the $85.  She's so crazy worth every single penny.



I really got lucky with my paint colors.  I had seen this curtain online then went to the paint store, picked a couple of colors that I hoped would be close, and oh my goodness, they match perfectly.

As you can see we still need to trim out the door and the floor.  I'm also going to be ordering a new window for the bathroom, it will also need trim.  But, for the most part, this room is nearly done.  We're always pretty terrible when it comes to finishing the odds and ends.  So I'm sure it'll still be awhile.  I don't care, though.  I get to shower in here soon.  And I have a big, beautiful mirror.  Two sinks.  TWO!

It's been a pain in the rear.  It really has been.  And I've whined to many of you.  (sorry!) But I'm still glad we decided to redo this room.  It's my favorite remodel we've done.

And we've done many.

what about me?

This post has been in draft for a couple of weeks because there's a glimpse of my ugly in it.  But that's what we do here.  We do the ugly.  I might get some backlash, and that's okay, it's deserved.

The last couple of weeks have been filled with me doing quite a lot of work around my house.  And not just the domestic stuff I'm supposed to do.  Like dishes and laundry.  But the guy(ish) stuff.

Like tiling my bathroom shower.

And other stuff.

It's been nice to do things that make me feel productive.  Capable.  All that jazz.

I like to work.  I like to start a project and see the fruits of my labor.  I like to be good at stuff.  I've learned over the last few years that I'm good at renovating a house.  I know how to work with drywall, mud, tape, texture, paint, trim, tile, grout, flooring, etc. (i'm aware there's a lot more to renovating a house than just these few things.)

So I thought about buying a little fixer upper in town and that would be my job.

I talked to Josh about it and he thought it was a good idea.  He said he knew I'd be good at it.

Then it came time to plan out our school year/day.

I wrote out our schedule and our day ends about 3:00.  Then it's time to clean up the house, get dinner made, Josh comes home, we eat said dinner, spend time together as a family, clean the kitchen, ready the girls for bed and before you know it, it's 8 or 9 pm.

This doesn't really leave any time for me to have a job renovating a house.

I started feeling a little bitter.  Honestly, I'm still feeling a little bitter.  I know.  These girls are mine to raise and school and this house is mine to maintain, and these should be my dreams.  And they are.  They are.  But it's hard when you have other dreams too.  Dreams I don't get to pursue at this time.  I hate writing this.  Yet here it is.  Ugh.

I'm not good at this mama thing.  Or this teacher thing.  Really, I'm not.  But man I'm really good with a hammer.  When you do something, like mothering, on an hourly basis, and this thing is hourly as I am here all.the.time, and you see fighting, bickering sisters, or a lazy bones nine year old, you see how poorly you are doing at this thing.

But then you're given a hammer and you're good with that hammer and it's like, "wow!  this is what i wanna do ALL THE TIME!"

bah.

Here I am.  Writing all the words.  The too many words.  Always with too many words, Sarah.  And always the wrong ones.

It's just hard, friends.  It's hard to do the same thing day in and day out and feel so bad at it all the time.

Nailed It. - The Boudoir Edition

Have you seen those posts on Pinterest where they show a picture of a really cool cake, and then someone tries to replicate it, fails miserably, then posts that picture with a Nailed It caption?

Just sec...let me see if I can go find one real quick..  Okay, here:

click here to see more funny pics.

That gives you an idea now of what I'm talking about.  You have this awesome idea in your head of what it's supposed to look like, and then bam!  

Fail.

Well.

Once upon a time (last Friday) my husband had his 37th birthday.  I had a couple of different ideas of what to get him.  I considered an Etch-a-Sketch (dude can't draw stick people to save his life, but rocks an Etch-a-Sketch) and I also considered The Millenium Falcon Lego set.

I realize these are both toys, but that kind of gives you an idea of the kind of man my husband is.

(I'm laughing really hard right now, but seriously.  He'll forever be 12.)

While those were really great ideas and are now Christmas gift contenders, I came up with something I thought would be even better.

I thought it might be fun to try a boudoir photo shoot.

I really should quit thinking.

I decide to text Denise (my SIL) about the idea and she offers to do the photos for me.  This is great news because Denise is an incredible photographer and probably the only person I'd trust to see me in um, this delicate situation.  

I create a private board on Pinterest for my boudoir ideas, which, have you ever created one of those and then wondered if it was actually private?  As I'm pinning these half naked women posed in these ridiculously seductive ways, I'm thinking, "Dear Lord, please don't let Debby S. be able to see these."

Denise asks if I have some ideas in mind and I explain that I have a private board on Pinterest with some ideas and that I invited her to the board.

She says she didn't get the invitation.

THAT'S BECAUSE I INVITED THE WRONG DENISE.  

Welcome to my world, friends.  Welcome to my world.

I got that mess figured out and now we had to figure out how to get my husband out of the house yet leave his Suburban because it would be used as a prop.  Seriously, our jacked up '85 Suburban.  Oh my word.  Okay, anyway..

One of the photo ideas needed a cowboy hat.  I don't have one of those but I knew someone who would.  So I text Chelsea, who of course is game for loaning me her hat.  Then she says, "want my chaps too?"

Oh, Lord.

Are you kinda getting the idea here?  I'm getting all embarrassed and sweaty just thinking about this.

Denise shows up, my husband leaves, and I realize I am much too sober.  

Here's a tip, if you're ever going to do one of these boudoir shoots - take shots.  Lots of the shots.

Shots of tequila.

I was sober for my experience and it was brutal.

Denise would probably say the same thing.

We spent the next couple of hours laughing, trying to make me look skinny, and apologizing to my neighbors for indecent exposure.  Denise goes home and a few hours later sends me an email filled with my pictures.  Immediately I'm thinking I could create my own Nailed It post.

I'll spare you the pictures.  You are welcome.

(p.s. husband liked his gift and says he think i could have a career.  bless his heart.)

the time where i convince myself this is just a minor setback

During the 12th mile of my half marathon (13.1 miles) a couple of weekends ago I felt a sharp pain in my right knee.  For most of the race my left knee had ached, but this was now in my right knee and the sharpness just didn't feel very good.  For the next week it was obnoxious during my runs.  On the 21st I ran 17 miles.  The last couple were pretty intense because of this knee issue.  But nothing unbearable.

Until the next Wednesday.

I was out for my scheduled five mile run but at mile three I felt a little sharper pain in that right knee than what I thought should be run on.  So I stopped and walked to my car.  I sent a message to my coach friend and he suggested taking the rest of the week off and then going out for 14 instead of my scheduled 18 on Sunday.

Sunday morning rolls around and I roll out of bed.  Not running for most of the week had messed up my head and I really wasn't feeling like going for a run.  Also, even though Mark told me to just run 14, my calendar (that he put together for me) said 18.  So I was determined to follow that.

I'm always amazed how quickly my poor attitude changes when my feet hit the pavement.

I parked my car at Safeway, started my GPS, and it was go time.

On Pinterest a couple of months back I saw a quote that said,

"Never judge a run based off the first mile."

So much truth in those words.  And as I was feeling absolutely awesome during that first mile, I had to remind myself of them because I still had 17 miles to go, and most likely they wouldn't all feel this good or fast.

Two miles later I learned that was true.

At almost the exact moment my GPS told me I hit three miles I felt a snap in my knee.  Immediate, excruciating pain.  A kind of pain where you just know, "something's not right here."  Instantly I started to cry.  At first from pain, which is a big deal because I don't normally cry from physical pain, but mostly I cried because I am four weeks out from my marathon.  I am 13 weeks IN to my training. 13 weeks! I have literally worked my ass off (I'm down 12 lbs), I have spent hours upon hours on the road, I have beaten my body down and I have built it back up, to have it come to this?  To this snap?

Man, I was pissed.  I'm still pissed.

I had to stop running.  I called Josh to come get me.  He didn't answer.  As I'm walking my knee does not hurt so I decided I'd try to run.  Uh, no.  I call Josh again and I'm in tears and the man, he does not answer and I am thinking, "what the heck?  It is Sunday morning, he should be up making breakfast and getting the girls ready for church.  Why is he not answering?"  I call three more times over the next ten minutes (I also try running again) both to no avail.

15 minutes after I had first called him he calls me back.

"Where have you been?"  I practically scream at him.

"Um, I went to the grocery store to get the food for your run and left my phone at home."  You see, we had talked about Josh stashing some food and drink along my route so I would not have to carry it with me.  The poor man was doing this kind thing for me and I bite his head off.

(why does he stay married to me?)

He asks if I'm okay.  And he asks in such a nice way that I lose it.  I bawl.  I tell him I'm done.  My knee is done.

"I'm on my way."

I walk until he picks me up and when I get in the Suburban there aren't words because what do we say?  My training has been equally hard on him and to think we've wasted it?  

ugh.

We get home and it's time to get ready.  We have to get to church, so I only had a few minutes to sit and rest and ice.  I sat through church but I didn't hear a word.  I didn't hear The Word.  I may as well have stayed at home.

So it's day three and I've been icing when I can.  I'm a mama and a teacher and really there's not much sitting when you do those things.  I will try this evening to run.  My goal is three miles.  Heck, A mile.  Just gonna see what this knee will do.

Things looked pretty grim on Sunday, but I'm not going to say just yet that this marathon thing is out.  I've worked too hard to give up this easily, however, I have to face the reality that the possibility is there.

But it's too much to think about.  It's just too much.  So.  Instead.  I will focus on icing today when possible and lacing up my running shoes tonight.

A child says it best.

When I taught the hot air balloon class a couple of weeks ago I did a little experiment with a toaster and a plastic sack to show that hot air rises.

(thank You, Jesus, that the experiment worked.)

After the experiment I told the kiddos that air and God have a similarity. You cannot see either one, however, you can see evidence that they are real.  We cannot see air, but we can feel it on our skin when the wind blows, we can see the clouds move, etc.  We cannot see God physically, but we can see evidence that He is real.  In His creation.  Waters, mountains, each other, and so on.

At the end of the lesson I asked if there were any questions (scariest part of the lesson) and of course my kid has to raise her hand.

So I point to my nine year and she asks, "How do we touch God?"

(uhhh...)

A little girl, about four or five, and new to our co-op group, raises her sweet little hand as high as she can while keeping her bottom on her seat.

I point to her, "I know.  I know how we can touch God."

I smile and encourage her to continue.

"By choosing Him.  By loving Him.  That's how you touch God."

And I was off the hook.

Who needs an adult to answer a question?  Children always have the best answer.

The First Day of School

This post could have alternately been titled, "Why do I do this to myself?  Do I really hate me that much?"

Apparently.

So today is the first day of school.  The first day of school with no new books because, hello, books are expensive.  The total for the books I need is $678.36.  I know, you can school for free, but not when you're me.

Anyway.

First day of school.

I took a picture of Sugar at one point, very early on, and she was like, "noooo, do NOT post that."  So, no posting to my blog, but if we're friends on Instagram, well, then you got to see how excited she is to be a third/fourthish grader this year.

Instead of posting her crabby pants picture, I thought it would be funny to post her class picture instead.  Always Student of the Month, this one.


 We'll see how the rest of the week plays out.  Using old books is not nearly as fun as using new books.  It's just a whole lot cheaper.

I'm looking forward to trying some new things.  Like teaching us how to play that piano in the background!

Oh.  Also.  I survived co-op last week.  Obvs.  I suppose I could write a post about that one of these days.

Just not this day.  This day I'm done with.

that one time where i admitted to being a nervous wreck about teaching a 30 minute class.

Our homeschool co-op starts in a few days.

I haven't always been the biggest fan of co-op.  It's been my own deal.  The moms are great, the kids are as well.  I've just had a really crappy attitude about it.

Wanna hear my reasons?  They're so petty.  In no particular order:  I'm not the pretty mom.  I'm not the dresses cool mom.  I'm so not put together.  And neither are my kids.  We're a big mess 90% of the time.  Looking pretty ragamuffin.  Also, my kids aren't the smarty pants kids answering questions.  They aren't smarty pants because their mom is a terrible teacher.  Unless we're talking about teaching them to be crabby and impatient and lazy, then I'm totally teaching them those things.  Another thing, I'm always so ill-prepared for co-op.  I forget to have the girls pull a Show and Tell item.  I forget to bring their color crayons and scissors.

And then there's the whole, Sarah you have to teach a class to be part of the group.

Shoot me now.

I offered to do the childcare for the entire co-op year if I could just please, pretty please with sugar and a cherry on top did not have to teach.

Apparently the other moms do not like sugar or cherries.

When it came time to decide whether or not we'd be part of this year's group, I decided that yes, yes we would join and this year I would have a happier attitude about it.  And, dare I say, I actually got excited.

Um.  Til the night before the meeting.

Then my entire life went to hell in just one evening.  I was pretty sure that I'd be moving out, giving up on life as wife, mom, teacher, all of it.  There was no way I could do these things.  So I sat in my (ever in remodel phase) bathroom and I cried the ugly cry.  You know, the one with the snot and tears and broken blood vessels under your eyes?  That cry.  And I emailed Chelsea and I told her it just wasn't possible for me, co-op was my limit.  Beyond my limit.

The next day I get a text.  A long text.  A "you are enough" text.  And I decided that if I was enough for co-op, could I maybe be enough to be wife and mom and teacher, too?  So I stayed in this house another day.  And I went to the co-op planning meeting that night.

I left slightly overwhelmed (these women are all so smart and I am just, well I'm just not) but I also left excited.  I would be the first one to teach, I could get it over with, and wa-la.  The rest of the co-op year could go on.

And now that first class is four days away and I think I'm developing an ulcer.

I'm hopeful that on Thursday at 9:30 instead of teaching a class on hot air balloons I'll instead be in surgery or something.  Something that would be serious enough that I could get out of teaching this class.

You see, teachers have this sweet voice when they talk to kids.  Well, really it's usually mothers in general.  They speak kindly and gently and kids are enamored.

Then there's me.  I talk to my kids like I talk to Josh.  My normal boring voice.  I've never been a baby talker, or an ooey gooey talker.  It kinda grosses me out.  However, that's what kiddos like and need and it's not me.  I'm going to get up in front of these kids and their really smart moms and I'm going to not even know what to say or how to start.

I'm starting to cry.

Yuck.

So I'm scared.  Scared out of my freaking mind.  It's the hardest thing for me.  This being in front of people.  The kids.  And their moms.  And the talking.  And pretending to know what I'm talking about.  It's kinda brutal.

(turning into ugly cry.)

I just want this week over with.

Most families started back to school within the last couple of weeks.  I knew I couldn't start us.  I knew that this first co-op day would consume my thoughts and guts and there would be no concentrating on anything else.  I'm already such a crabby mama to begin with, I didn't think my kids needed to be taught the last couple of weeks by a crabby, stressed out mama.

We will start school next Tuesday.

That is, if I survive this Thursday.

if only i received a medal and beer garden at the end of my housewife day

oh blog.

one day you won't be put on the back burner to life.

and one day i won't just write about running.  but since that seems to be all i do anymore, here is yet another post about running.

Marathon training is going great.  It truly is.  I'm just gonna say it, I think my body is a rock star.  I never would have thought it capable of such hard work, but it is.

I am.

On Sunday I woke up at 5 a.m. after just over three hours of sleep. *yawn* I dressed, I stretched, and I took off running by 5:45.  The schedule said 16 miles.

I ran through town while it was still dark.  I watched the sun come up.  From one town to the next I ran.  And I ran rather quickly (for me) for the first 11 miles.  At mile 14 I was passing Chelsea's house and thinking that I should just stop there.  I was so tired.  I'm not sure how, but I made it the next two miles.

Sixteen.  I ran 16 miles.

I could have pushed myself for another one or two miles, but not another 10.  A marathon is 26.2 miles.  At this point I think I have about 18 in me.  That's eight short.  I know I still have six weeks of training, and that so much of this is mental so I need to quit telling myself 26.2 isn't possible, but crap.  As proud as I am for the accomplishments I've made so far, I'm pretty freaking scared that it will be for naught.  That come Oct. 26 I won't be able to pull off 26.2 miles.

The way my schedule works is that I do three short(ish) runs during the week, with a long run on Sundays. Per this week's schedule I have a "step back" week and am supposed to run only 12 miles for my long run on Sunday. I am running a half marathon with my friend Jessica (the girl who started this whole fiasco for me) on Saturday and will take Sunday off.

Last Friday I went in to see Doc.  I have some hip and ankle issues I've been dealing with.  He asked me, "why'd you decide to run a marathon?"

Blank stare.

I don't know.

At the beginning of the year when I was setting goals a full marathon was not on my radar.  I just didn't think I'd want to.  I had zero desire.  I knew it took a whole lot of commitment.  Time, energy, money, muscle aches, crabby pants, and a whole lot of, "i can do this even though i think i can't."  I usually have so little of that last one.

And I told Doc that.

"I'm a quitter.  I quit everything I start.  Sometimes even before I start."

But this.  This I'm not quitting.

This I'm going to see through to the finish line.  Even if I'm crawling over it.