The one about Decker being my pet

Can you believe Decker is going to be 9 months old on Tuesday? Maybe you can, but it's hard for me accept.  My family is made up of a handsome husband a charming toddler and a sweet baby, isn't it? Well, some days I actually feel like I have one child and one pet. Reed sings songs, asks for snacks, brushes his teeth, kicks balls and "reads" books.  Decker mostly crawls around the house at varying speeds and hangs around my feet when I'm in the kitchen making dinner or washing dishes.  I'm constantly tripping over him or shuffling around him while he pulls at my pants and tries to use me as a support to stand.  I'll reach down and pat him on the head and give him a cheerio if he's a good boy (joke!).  On top of that, Reed is relentlessly trying to "ride" Decker, no matter how much we discourage him.  

So, Decker is now in what I like to refer to as the "pet" stage. I remember this stage with Reed and it very quickly turns in to toddler stage, but not before it looks a lot like a "circus dog" stage (minus the pointy hat and tutu). Watching them learn to walk is so comical and yet so wonderfully exciting and fulfilling!

Decker's coordination is really improving and he's pulling up easily and quickly, but also turning and lowering himself gracefully... most of the time. There are a lot of tumbles when it involves a moving support object like the rocking chair or Reed. 

He has his brand new teeth to show off, both my boys waited till the nearly 8 month mark to get any but now Decker has two perfect little pearls to use on his puff snacks or your finger if you're not careful where you put it. 

He's so busy all the time, I mentioned he pulls at my pants and tries to climb my legs, but many times, once I pick him up, he just wants down again anyway.  He leans his entire body weight out and over when you least expect it and commits himself to grasping anything he set his sights on.  He wants a yellow spoon on the counter, good luck keeping him in a vertical position. He chases Reed around the house like Pepe Le Pew (minus the stinky rapist stuff), Reed is frantically trying to find somewhere to hide, but Decker keeps gaining on him.  Reed finds himself trapped in a dark corner in the pantry and completely loses it- screaming and laughing hysterically. 

Watching them interact is always entertaining, except when it's annoying because Reed is helplessly too rough with him. Decker is tough- that's for sure!  

The one about my RedMan triathlon (including the bike wreck!)

I took a relaxing bath today while the boys napped.  It looked like someone had pushed me in and went sprawling down into the tub, landing with my limbs flung in all directions.  My bike wreck during Sunday’s race has left me with injuries that I’d rather not submerge in water.  I had to keep my left palm out on one side, my right shoulder is skinned, my right ankle has a gash that should have taken 5 stitches, but I didn’t have it looked at until over 48 hours later.  My right hand ate a little gravel, but it’s main issue is my sprained wrist.  Because both of my hands are totaled, I can’t wash my hair which turns out to be a bit of a silver lining because then Mike has to do it.

Mike washing my hair is something I would trade the skin on my palms for.  His hands are big and strong and cradle my whole skull while each of his fingers push the tension out of my scalp.  I don’t really care what my hair looks or smells like- the quality of the wash job isn’t really my concern.  Now the only problem is, finding time for us to “wash my hair” with two kiddos in the house.  Inevitably, one will interrupt us when it’s the least convenient. We even waited till the boys were both down for the night and of course, Reed showed up at the shower door with his teddy bear under his arm.

The race was awesome, save for the small hiccup at mile 10 on the bike.  The morning was going great, Mike’s race started at 7:30 that morning and he finished his sprint triathlon with enough time to make sure I was all set and ready to race my Olympic distance tri at 9.  I’d asked Cassie to come just in case there was some overlap- so she was there to play with the boys and me during Mike’s race.  One big difference between the RedMan and my last triathlon at Arcadia lake is that Hefner lake in September is usually wetsuit legal.  Oh how I love my wetsuit! And what  difference the buoyancy makes.  No longer did I have to worry about sinking, all I had to do was move my arms and legs and I was swimming.  The length was 3x the distance as my last triathlon, so my 1500 meter swim was expected to take me about 45 minutes.  The water felt amazing, the sky was crayon-blue with cartoonish puffy white clouds.  My new goggles didn’t fog in the slightest and I did the whole swim without turning onto my back.  My goal for the run was to not have to walk, which funny enough, was also my goal for the swim.  The lake was so shallow that about 75% of it was walkable for the athletes. And walk it they did!  It looked so ridiculous, that I vowed to myself that I’d swim every bit of it.  The goal is to swim/bike/run. Not swim or run, whichever is faster or easier.  So I head out on the bike and I’m feeling great, no problems in transition with my gear, no issues getting onto my bike and accelerating out onto the course and no concerns about energy or anything else. I was feeling great! 

The bike course was 4 loops, and I had my first loop done. I was thinking about where I could really push, where I could make up the most time and where I could get some active recovery in.  Almost halfway through my second lap, I noticed a guy pass me for the second time and I started thinking about going faster and strategizing.  The bike is supposed to be my sport and yet someone can pass me twice already? I call myself a cyclist? Was I even moving forward? I got so caught up in my thoughts and I was so inside my head that when I was jerked violently back to reality I suddenly realized I was at an intersection and it was time to turn NOW.  Not soon, but NOW.  I had to decide what to do.  I was in my drops on my road bike, so I already had poor handling and reaching my brakes was going to make me even more unsteady.  Do I focus on the handling and try to make the turn at that speed? Or do I brake and try to get my speed down enough to turn at a more comfortable pace? I braked with my right hand, and when I realized I wasn’t going to make the turn anyway, and I was headed through the cones of the lane reserved for the event and into traffic, I flung my left hand out and behind me with my palm facing the approaching car in a very “STOP” kind of signal.  This was before I lost all control and slammed down into the pavement, sliding, skinning and jamming.  I lay there for a couple of beats, pausing at the reality of it all and letting what just happened sink in.  I’m thinking, “Son of a…!!” and I slam my hands down onto the road in anger and frustration and immediately cringe from the pain I just stupidly caused myself with that action.  The car was stopped a few feet away from where I landed in the road with my bike and I jumped up and drug my bike to the side of the road so he could be on his way.  I felt embarrassed and tried to wave him on but he stayed put, a face of shock looking at me through the windshield. All the while athletes are passing and shouting out concerns, “Are you okay? Are you sure?” and the officer stationed at that intersection had made his way over to check on me as well.  I was already pulling tape off the frame of my bike to wrap around my palm, frantically trying to figure out a way to make it possible to get on my bike and finish the race.  The officer asked if I was okay and I looked at him and said, “Seriously, I need you to tell me.  Do you see anything??” I didn’t see any bones sticking out, but I wasn’t sure if I was just missing something completely serious.  All I could really feel was my hand and my ankle.  He confirmed that those looked the most serious and offered to get more tape from his car, but I was anxious to be on my way because, of course, now I had to make up even more time!

I said, “Okay, I think I’m going to go.” 

And he said, “Okay, but you’re a bad ass.”

I put one shaking foot onto my pedal and swung the other leg over to get back on track to finish the race.  I’d trained all summer and here I was race day- my first Olympic distance race and I was doing it, I was in the middle of it.  I had nothing stopping me from finishing.  My bike wasn’t broken, my bones weren’t broken, either way I’d still be sitting here today with one hand bandaged and the other in a brace, but with no finisher medal.  I needed to do it. I pedaled the remaining 18 miles and worried about my ankle swelling.  Wondering if I was going to be able to run six miles on it. Hoping my hands would steer my bike and work my shifters and brakes.  After a few miles the pain subsided and the numbness set in, and I thought, “oh this is convenient! I wonder if I could get two hours of this numbness to carry me through to the finish line!”  The rest of the bike was uneventful in comparison, Mike and the boys were there cheering me on and my coworker Mark was there which means so much to me.  The first half of the run was okay, I was averaging my expected 10 minute mile pace but on the second half, something happened and my hips started to get stiff. My bones in my pelvis felt jammed so that each step felt like I was just pounding my bones into the concrete sidewalk.  I walked a lot of that last 3 miles despite my constant self-bargaining and goals to run the rest of it without walking. 

I made it through the finish and an acquaintance pointed me towards the medical tent where they effectively began to torture me.  They poured peroxide on my exposed flesh and asked me questions that seemed trivial and insignificant, “Date of birth? Pre-race weight? Any allergies?” I wanted to say, “You’re killing me! If you’re going to put me through this much pain, just cut it off! Amputate the hand, I don’t want it anymore!”

I wish I had photos from my race.  Mike and I were both so preoccupied by the event itself that we did a really poor job of capturing it on our cameras.  I’m hoping the race photographer got something worth buying! It was memorable, even if slightly tainted by my little dance with the asphalt.  I’m proud of myself and happy about beating my goal time by eleven minutes! I thought it was a pretty aggressive goal, but after my finish and my visit to the medical tent, I was met with a 2 year old who enthusiastically wanted to tell me, “Mommy is a sand-bagger!”

It’s better to under-promise and over-perform, I say!
 

A few stats

My goal time: 3:45, (or at least under 4 hours!)

My finish time 3:34

My division place 16 out of 17 (Women 30-34) (I was 65 out of 85 total women)

My average bike speed for the 28 miles - 17.1

My 10k run 1:09, pace of 11:17 

Mike's division place 1 out of 27 (age group 30-34)

Mike's overall male place 9 out of 164

Mike's avg bike speed 21.7

Mike's avg run pace 7:05

I love to brag on my husband (someone has to!) but he wasn't really happy with his performance that morning. He felt like he could have been much faster, but he was focused on my event and preoccupied with the task of spending the day out at the lake with the boys.  I still think he did an amazing job and wish I could be anywhere near the natural-athlete he is!

The one about reverse engineering.

There is a theory I learned at a conference I went to a few months ago.  The conference was called “Project Mom, Be a Better You”

One of the things I heard that day was about reverse engineering your children.  The theory goes- you envision the person you want your child to be and then you work backwards to now and from this point forward put in place the things that your child needs in order to become that person.  I’m not necessarily saying it’s occupationally related, I want my boys to choose that for themselves, but there are qualities that I want my boys to have as men. 

When I picture them 20 and 30 years from now I see respectable and dignified men who live fulfilling and happy lives. They are gentlemen who are charitable and compassionate. They know how to be a good friend.  They know how to make people laugh and they know how to capture the attention of a room full of people.  I want them to know and love success.  I want them to be humble and charming.   They will love trying new things and being adventurous.  They will take care of themselves and their families.  They will choose to do the right thing.  They will be there for each other always.

I could go on, but this is overwhelming already.  I mean, look at this list! The pressure! The stress! The expectations! The potential for failure! I’m thinking, this is a lot of pressure to put on myself! Maybe I should pare it down to my top three and work on those, that way there is less room to be disappointed and more opportunity to be pleasantly surprised.  I already have a big job just being their mommy and trying to get them through each week alive.  But we all know how important goals are and you’ll never accomplish anything if you don’t have them.  Also, we have all heard the rules about making goals.  SMART goals.  Specific, measureable, attainable, realistic and time-bound.  So here is my goal in writing: my SMART goal.  I will guide and mold my children to be gentlemen who have most or all of the qualities listed above.  I will test them and challenge them daily to provide the opportunity for them to make the right decisions and I will be patient and listen to them.  I will demonstrate how to be a good person, how to give from my heart, how to challenge myself and accept the reward.  I will laugh at their jokes and encourage humor. I will give them space to explore on their own but be available when they need me to catch them.  I will provide boundaries and rules for them to live by with dependable consequences. I will affirm their actions and tell them consistently how well they’re doing.

When they are adults I will be proud to check-off my list. 

It’s funny how, within moments of birth, parents experience that extreme amount of pride. They don’t even have to do anything- you’re just proud of them for existing!! If you don’t believe me, take a look at a brand new daddy and get some before and after measurements of his chest.

I know my boys will continue to make me proud! 

The one about Reed's birthday & growing up

As a female, I was blessed with certain powers.  Women know that there are ways of getting what we want.  There are two gifts we were given to wield as weapons.  Number one: boobs.  Number two: crying.  Naturally we will try reasoning, planning, or any other variety of ways to get things to go our way, but when it comes down to it and we have to resort to our powers, we will use them because… well because we can. 

Well, I found myself in a grave state a couple of weeks ago.  Things have not been going my way and no amount of cleavage or tears is going to undo what is being done.  I cried, but it didn’t seem to help.  I can’t stop my children from growing up.  Reed is a genius child- the memory of an elephant and some serious deductive reasoning skills.  The rate at which he learns is mind-spinning. Decker is supposed to be the baby but he’s getting so close to Reed’s size that he can almost fit into Reed’s clothes and I’m not even joking.  Last month when Mike’s parents were here Decker kept ending up wearing Reed’s clothes and by all natural laws of physics they should have looked ridiculous on him, but they didn’t!

I told Decker, “We had a baby because we wanted a baby. What is with this growing game you’re playing with me? It’s not funny.”  He replies, “Ah-da! Aah-daa!”  I take that to mean “all done”. I think he got the message.

Reed turned two on August 28^th and we had his party the Saturday before, while my mom was still here visiting.  I wanted to have a perfect party of course. I wanted it to be cute and creative and most importantly a blast of all in attendance.  Mike didn’t want me to stress myself out by doing all the little creative things that I was brainstorming about.  The thing is, all those little details that take time, most of which people don’t really appreciate anyway, are really my creative outlet.  I don’t do it to stress myself out and I don’t do it because it’s expected of a two-year-old’s birthday party.  I do it because I want to and because I love to use my God-given creative talents. It’s truly a waste not to, right?

Well, I shopped all over this city to put together a matching theme of choo-choo trains. My mom can attest to my efforts.  There was no convenient package deal at Party Galaxy so I found things to compile for my theme.  I bought a pack of foam sheets and cut out train shapes to string across the window on the patio.  After the party, I hung them over Reed’s closet. Scrapbook paper with little trains was cut and pasted to blue and yellow cups.  Blue and yellow bins held the matching napkins, plates and utensils.  A blue platter presented fresh pineapple and grapes next to rows of individually bagged fresh popped popcorn.  I cut the pineapple, I air popped the popcorn and filled the bags and I sliced lemons and oranges to float in the icy water.  I ran out to pick up yellow and blue balloons, a 12 pack of Stella for the men and ice to chill the ale and juice boxes.  My day was busy! It wouldn’t have been possible without my mom watching over the boys while I chugged on. I borrowed a toddler size inflatable bouncer from a coworker and set that up in the backyard and baked cupcakes, too. Reed chose the flavor- triple chocolate fudge (with buttercream icing and a chocolate marshmallow on top).  His personal cake was surrounded by chocolate marshmallows on the sides and iced with an outline of a steam engine.

The kids enjoyed bouncing and the adults enjoyed popcorn and beer.  I also had an activity prepared for the littles.  Pails of foam bookmarks and a selection of foam sticker shapes and letters for decorating. Everyone was able to create a party favor to take home.  Reed received so many great gifts!  My favorite of course is the one that I created myself.  I came up with the idea a while ago and the purpose was to have a train track without having another piece of furniture to find a place for- and also to avoid having train track pieces scattered and lost all around the house.  So it’s designed to hang on the wall- like art!  I wanted it to look cool and match his room so I painted the board with the matching colors and had Danny cut and stain the wood for the frame with a dark stain to match our house.  After I stained the tracks and glued them down the masterpiece was finished.  I’ve been complimented on not only the finished product, but the idea itself (it looks great on the wall!) I’m happy to do a few more for some friends- for a price of course!  It was a fun project and Reed begs to play with it- daily.  So the plan to ‘hang it on the wall when he’s not playing with it’ requires him to not be playing with it.  Anyway, if you love it and want one, let me know. Like I said, I’m happy to build more!

So my big boy is two and that means Mike and I have been parents for two years.  Mike argues the fact and says it’s questionable if he was a parent the whole two years *wink*  I say, if you count the nights of baby duty it should really add up to more than two years! 

I know it gains momentum and goes faster and faster as the years pass.  I've been warned about the blinking and them suddenly being old enough to drive.  Trust me, I'm doing my best to live my moments to the fullest and enjoy the time I have with Reed and Decker as babies.  

***allow me to make a note here about why I had to do everything for Reed's party before anyone judges my wonderful husband.  We decided to schedule his baby-making-prevention surgery while my mom was here to help.  It turns out, having the surgery the day before Reed's birthday and Mike keeping himself iced- with his feet up, was more challenging than I had expected!  I love him for taking that bullet for me, tho.  

The one with the race report (Arcadia Tri)

The good news is I’m officially a triathlete again. And actually, I claimed my title back a month earlier than I’d planned.  I knew after I had Decker, that I wanted to do RedMan this year because they’re hosting the national championships for 2012, which only happens every 3 years – and- the exiting part about that is they expand the race to a two day event and include all four distances.  So it gives me a chance to do a sprint distance triathlon in September and there are all kinds of good things about that.  Later in the year means more time to prepare, cooler weather, etc.  Well, due to some complicated circumstances regarding Josie abandoning me- I offered to step into her Olympic distance slot because she’d already registered and I hadn't yet.  Here’s the thing, I've never done an Olympic distance triathlon. I’ve only ever done half that distance, not only that, but it’s been 3 full years and two babies ago. 

So a couple of weeks ago I decided I needed to toss Arcadia sprint distance triathlon onto my calendar because its early-to-mid-August date would help me gauge my ability level.  What I learned was that I have a lot of work to do! It was a reality check, hard core reality check. 

There were days when I really thought I was getting enough training. Enough to finish, not enough to be competitive really, but enough to say, hey I did it.  That fantastical thought went poof 8 minutes into the race. 
I love race morning.  I love the nervousness in the pit of my stomach that says, today is the day! You're going to do it! Checking over everything to make sure I have what I need to race.  Taking that first deep breath after setting up transition. The breath that says- this is the oxygen that's going to fill my lungs and fuel my blood. The warm up jog that questions the legs- what do you have today? Did you bring it?  And, that last stretch before wading out into the water that awakens the arms and releases the tension sleeping between the muscles.

Here’s the tricky thing. In black and white- on paper, it seemed everything was going according to plan.  My goal to finish at Arcadia was 1:40 and my finish time was 1:36.  I was allowing 15 minutes for my swim time, and I was in transition at 13:+.  What these numbers don’t relay is how hard I had to try to get myself to the finish line!

Lets talk about the swim.  I swim in a pool and there are obviously differences that you have to account for.  In a pool, you don’t have to sight because you can see a line at the bottom but in a lake you can’t follow any lines even if they were there because the water is so dark.  In a pool people don’t climb all over you and kick you in the face or throw water into your mouth when you turn your head to take a breath.  The water in a lake full of swimmers is quite turbulent and your body bobs around unpredictably, not the smooth, quietness of a pool where you’re pretty much the only one slicing through the water.  There are no walls to push off in a lake, which give you a burst of speed and a rest for your arms.  I know these things because I’ve done open water swims, but knowing them doesn’t change the fact that they’re still different from the pool and they still suck.  8 minutes in, I’d been kicked, climbed on and swam off course, I swallowed a disturbing amount of lake Arcadia and ended up on my back after the first buoy.  This is when I had my first mental argument with myself about what I can and can’t do. 

The pessimist in me, for lack of a better name, said your arms are too fatigued. You can’t go on.

While the realist in me said- you’ve swam longer than 8 minutes! You can swim longer than 30! What are you doing on your back? Turn over now!

The latter was a much louder voice with much more passion, so I turned over.  Two strokes and I was on my back again. Nope. Can’t.

Connie. Get your ass back in the air and swim, dammit!
Ok.

I made it to shore after the third time, but it was a very long and heated inner-debate! And it seemed like I wasn’t going anywhere. 

Out of the water, up the beach through the sand and up the hill to transition.  Mike and the boys watched as I was trying to get beach sand off my feet because I could just imagine all the blisters I would get by basically “sanding” the skin off my feet between every toe if I didn’t get them clean before I ran!

I spent about a minute and a half in transition- about 60 seconds too long.  But once I got on my bike I felt the tension ease and my body sighed with relief.  “This I can do.” It said to me. My legs took over and we climbed and descended for six miles out and six miles back.  I did my best to burn up everything I had on the bike.  I didn’t care to “save anything for the run” there is no, “maybe my run would have been faster if” because my run is slow and there’s no way around it. I might as well put some distance under my wheels and make at least one leg of the triathlon worth something.  It wasn’t my best time and it wasn’t my fastest, but I think I gave those hills what I had.

My running legs were hiding somewhere and didn’t return until halfway through the run.  I couldn’t smooth it out, my arms and legs couldn’t synch up and my stomach was twisting as I bounced around and pounded my feet into the ground.  I smiled because knew this was it though. I knew I was almost done and I just had to finish this last thing before I could call it a wrap.  I got to see my three boys cheering for me every time I came back near the transition/finish area.  Reed’s big eyes searching for mommy as Mike tried to point him in the right direction, until finally he found me – but then I was running off again!

I knew as I ran that I was going to take him through the finish line with me.  That had to be my favorite part of the whole race.  I came up the hill towards the finish line and reached my arms out, I said “I want Reed!” so Mike set him down and Reed and I went running, hand in hand, through the big blue arch.  The lucky little guy even received a medal for his participation!

I’m happy to be able to say I’m a triathlete once again, I’m also happy that I got that reality check for the Olympic distance race coming up.  I’ve only got a few weeks to prepare, but I think this is going to go down as one of my greater accomplishments –athletically speaking. 

The one about taking compliments

The other day at the gym, a guy was waiting in a hallway and casually glanced over at me and said, “Are you a model?” I laughed at the absurdity and said, “No. Nope, I’m not” and he said, “Well you sure are beautiful enough to be one.” I know this sounds like a pick up line. You’re probably picturing him cocking one eyebrow and giving the line with a half-smile, but that’s not at all how it happened. Somehow he made it sound like a genuine inquiry.

Then again while we were in Park City, Mike and I took a little break and left the boys with my mom and Jessie so we could stroll main street. A woman was walking the nearly deserted streets behind us with her young daughter and said to me, “Excuse me, you dropped this” and handed me a paper I’d put in my back pocket earlier. Then suddenly flustered, as if it were a shock to her she said, “wow, you’re really pretty” I smiled and thanked her, but immediately tried to figure out why the heck she would say that. What compels a person to voice such an opinion? I guess I just don’t have that in me. On the occasion that I see even the most attractive male, I would never feel obligated to tell him so. Especially not just your average good-looking guy. I figure if someone is attractive, they already know it. If I tell them so, it only sounds like a pick up line. So, I really don’t get it.

I used to get it a lot more when I was a younger lady and it’s a surprise every time. I don’t feel that my looks warrant such a strong vocal reaction from people. I’ve had a very conflicting history when it comes to my self confidence. At the tender age of 21, I had a boyfriend who tore me down and told me that I was plain. I was average, and nothing more. Nothing special or exotic about my looks -which is why I needed to be so appreciative to have such a “gorgeous boyfriend”. I would never do better and I should be grateful that a girl like me landed a guy like him. You’re told something enough times that you start to believe it. Of course it wasn’t just him- if that were the only source of the negative image then I’d just label him Grade A asshole and move on. I did that anyway but the point is, there were other periods in life when I felt the same way- as a middle schooler my mom tried to convince me that the other girls were just jealous and the guys were just afraid of rejection. I was almost never asked to dances all the way up through high school. On the complete opposite of the spectrum I had a guy follow me off a bus in Anchorage to tell me “I’m sorry, but I just had to tell you that you are STUNNING”. Stunning? Really? And you just had to? I wanted to ask him if he’d lived under a rock his whole life? No? Just Alaska. Same thing. I thanked him and he was on his way, embarrassed. How is a girl supposed to react when she goes from “plain and average looking” to being chased around the airport by a Weber State basketball player with his camera phone pointed at me yelling “Just one picture! I just have to prove to everyone that I saw the most beautiful TSA agent EVER!”

Good grief, no wonder my self-image is such a mess! I can’t get a consistent report!

Anyway- the point is, I’m flattered by the compliments- they’re just hard for me to take seriously. I want to make excuses for the person’s state of mind!

The one about our family summer vacation

Our vacation was an exciting fiasco. That is literally the best way to describe it. We were gone 7 nights and never stayed in one place long enough to unpack anything. We flew to Salt Lake and stayed 2 nights at the Still’s house, 3 nights in Park City at the Deer Valley St Regis, 2 nights in Green River WY at my sister’s house (a 3 hour drive north) and then a night in a hotel in Riverton Wy (an additional 3 hour drive further north). Sunday we drove all the way back from Riverton to Salt Lake to fly back home. The Still’s home was a very comfortable accommodation for our family. The basement is set up with two bedrooms and a bathroom, plus toys in the living area. Their backyard is cozy, quiet and kid friendly so we spent most of the time relaxing out there. They were actually out of town when we got there so we settled in and spent some quality time visiting with our good friend Clark. Reed became very attached and has asked for Clark so many times since we’ve been home. I’m considering sending him as an unaccompanied minor to visit Clark for a week next summer. *grin*

I also got to spend a little time with my dear friend, Joni. Any visit with her is too short.  Especially compared to the hours we were so used to getting back when we worked together.  How can we even begin to catch up?  Reed and Decker are such attention hogs, too!  Seems like all we can talk about is the boys.  I'm so happy for her and her life - her kids are creating beautiful families and we keep saying how happy we are for each other that we both have all we wanted in life.

My dear Ella is now 5 years old and a beautiful girl with a sweet spirit. Exactly 5 years ago in August I started to nanny for the Stills when Ella was 3 months old. I watched her in my free time until we moved to OKC when she was eleven months old. Her brother Emerson is a clown and I could see a lot of flags going off, signaling similarities in Reed’s personality. The hotel in Deer Valley was booked on points from Mike’s credit card and then upgraded to a suite so we had a nice roomy space. That was a place I could see us staying for a week or two! The fun little thing about the hotel was that it was set up high on the mountain side and could only be accessed by “Funicular”. Which is basically a fancy tram car that glides up the mountain on a set of tracks. We had plans of getting out for family hikes and a little hiking date for just Mike and me when my mom and sister came up for a short stay. Those plans dissipated when Mike threw himself into a rocky ravine on the warm up lap for a cross race Tuesday afternoon.

The call I got was from Mike but it didn’t sound like him at all. He sounded distant and distracted when he told me he wasn’t going to be able to race and was headed to the ER for stitches. I had just prepared the kids and myself for a fun afternoon of spectating. Decker in the hiking backpack, Reed at my side with his cowbell, and snacks for everyone. Instead, I changed gears, called down for the car and loaded the boys up to go find the Urgent Care clinic Mike was taken to. Reed was not dampened by his daddy’s injured state and continued to terrorize the clinic’s facilities and staff. Once he noticed daddy’s “Owies” he fixated on them and kept demanding that, “Mommy kiss it better!” He wasn’t really taking no for an answer, but I didn’t want my lips anywhere near all that road rash. I tried to fake it, but eventually had to give him a firm “no” and distract his attention. The process of getting Mike stitched up and on his way was entirely too long so the boys and I made a Walmart run to pick up Mike’s antibiotic and fortunately found a nice little lawn mower for Reed to play with when we got back to the clinic. He was extremely happy with the $5.88 purchase.

We had s’mores each evening, with traditional fire-toasted marshmallows. It was picture perfect, sitting together as a family next to the fire looking up at the mountain. Luckily for Mike and me, we passed our 30 day meal plan challenge and were able to partake in the s’mores, guilt free.

We left Park City after a nice lunch with Monte, Merry and Jeremy and headed for Green River. Our days were lazy- nowhere we needed to be at any specific time. We soaked up the moments with my family and enjoyed every bit of it. Reed started learning to answer questions like, “what do cows eat? What do frogs eat? What do horses eat?” (birds, bears, and monkeys, too) He’s a jokester and likes to switch them around so you’ll say, “Noooo! Cow’s don’t eat bugs!”

On our way to Riverton on Saturday, we got pulled over for speeding in Lander. Reed was excited about a policeman visiting our car on the side of the road and went into broken-record-mode about the police man. He wouldn’t let it go so I had to tell him, “No, Reed! You don’t get to be a policeman! You can’t have a job where people shoot at you!” So we started teaching him jobs. Monte’s job is architect. Jeremy’s job is attorney. Daddy’s job is Engineer. He also likes to recite, “Fireman drives Firetruck and Policeman drives Police Car.” My favorite party trick is, “Reed, what does an attorney drive?” Reed’s answer is “BMW” (which is what Jeremy drives *grin*) My co-workers ate that one up when I took him to the office the other day.

We all enjoyed the wedding and reception. Dancing and visiting and hugging old friends and loved ones. Nicki wrote on her facebook afterwards about how she didn’t realized she missed me so much. I agree. Distance makes the heart forgetful- makes a friendship seem like it doesn’t need to be such a priority. Then suddenly, being together again it feels so easy and so right. Like we are the friends that we always were and no time had passed. Being apart magnifies our differences and makes it seem odd that we were ever such close friends, but spending just one evening together reminds us of all our similarities, our past together.

Driving back to Salt Lake from Riverton on Sunday was rough, and then adding the plane ride home, too. We let Reed play at Sugarhouse Park again and then went to visit Clark at his house before leaving for the airport. For some reason we had our itinerary confused and Mike thought we were on a 6 o’clock flight, but when I checked it I realized we still had two more hours left of our trip! We headed straight back to the Still’s. Monte sure sweetened the afternoon with a salty lime margarita- I was feeling pretty relaxed when we hit the airport terminal. Both boys snoozed all the way home on the 8 o’clock flight.

The one about the name change

I gave it six months and I still look at his face and think, you’re not a Bryce, you’re a Decker (or something) but you’re not a Bryce.  I wrote about this before he was born, about the fact that I woke up one day in a state of panic over the name we’d chosen.  I just didn’t want to call him Bryce.  The problem was, I got a lot of push-back from Mike and our families. Everyone else loved the name Bryce and had all gotten so attached to it over the previous couple of months.  I had to wonder what my deal was, why couldn’t I just love it?  I don’t have an answer.  I just know that I wasn’t feeling it and shouldn’t my opinion count just a smidge more than anyone else’s?  Carrying him inside my body for 9 months and pushing him out should give me at least 60% stake in the naming rights.  In the end, I couldn’t come up with anything better that Mike and I could agree on- so in the week or two before he was born, I announced that we would be turning back to Bryce.  

I never was in love with the name, but Mike was always 100% on it and that counted for something to me.  Plus, adding Decker as a middle name had a cooler ring to it and gave it an edge.  Here we are a full six and a half months later and I just want to do something about it before too much time passes.  I’ve actually been calling him Bryce Decker or Little Decker quite frequently because I think Decker makes a good nickname and I figured that would give me a chance to try it out.   I like it. He seems like a bit of a clown, so easily amused and quick to smile.  I think he even looks like a Decker, with his bright blue eyes and his duck fluff hair.

I was nervous to tell our families.  I had been given enough grief about it before he was even born!  What were the reactions going to be now, after it’d been six month outside the womb! I know you all might think I’m weird. However, I’m the mom.  You got to name your kids, so let me name mine.  And rename them. And rename them. *grin* Okay, I think Mike might have a limited amount of name-change-coupons made up for me to use.  I’ve had a few friends that have exclaimed how much they love the switch to Decker and I’m the kind of girl who really needs a few big noisy supporters.  While we were on vacation we stayed at the Still’s house the first couple of nights and I told Monte that I really wanted to make the switch to Decker.  He said, Okay. Let’s do it. We’ll call him Decker starting now.  I thought, yeah! Why am I so worried about what other people will say or think? I’m thankful for Monte’s bold encouragement.

Reed isn’t having any problem with it. He’s heard me calling his little brother “Bryce Decker” and “lil Decker” over the past few months, so it’s no surprise to him when we refer to him that way all the time now.  He goes back and forth between the names, but I’m sure he’ll easily learn that his brother is going by Decker.  

The one about my friends

Kelly and I were cracking up at Josie's new friends!

True love wasn’t such a hard find after all. Sure I had my share of dirtbags I had to sludge my way through, and I had my share of fun and kind people who helped me learn what I was really looking for in a man.  But, true love literally walked right into my cubicle at the tender age of 23, and delivered itself as easy as a piece of interoffice mail.

A best friend, however, seems to keep me searching.  A really good friend is a tough find.  I wonder why that is?  True, I have a nice circle of wonderful people in my life, and I don’t want to give any of them up.  But, I continue to search for that friend who will always have my back no matter what, who shares the same opinions and views on the big stuff and the little stuff, too.  A best friend that’s reliable and compatible with my personality.  I envy my friends who have such a person in their lives.  If it weren’t for these friends and their claims, I’d just throw in the towel right now and say that my idea of a best friend is an urban legend, a myth, a fairy-tale of the wickedest kind.  Perhaps it still is, perhaps the stories I hear are exaggerated and it’s a conspiracy against me.  Perhaps, most likely of all, it’s just that my expectations and standards for a best friend are too high, my parameters set too tight, and perhaps, just maybe, I drive away great friends because I think they’re just good friends and don’t accept them and the friendship for what it is.  Nah, I’m not considering that last part!

I'm slightly more pregnant than Josie ;o)

I’m an initiator.  Once I consider a person a friend, I’m the one who initiates the get-togethers almost 99 percent of the time. Sometimes I think I’ve accepted this and I’m okay with it, but really the truth is that if someone never invites me to do anything or asks me to hang out with them then eventually the natural conclusion is that they just don’t find my company worth the inquiry.  Right?  I mean, if I were that fun to be around, it would occur to them to invite me over instead of just waiting for me to ask and then accepting when the opportunity is convenient for them.  I want someone who wants to hang out with me. 

Like I said, I do have a little circle of nice friends.  I know they care about me and enjoy my company.  Kelly is also an initiator, and its wonderful to have someone who  is comfortable with both planning ahead and throwing out the spontaneous invite as well.  Our friendship is like a Z. It’s a zig zag of common interests and complete opposites.  Fortunately, there are enough similarities in the important areas to keep us coming back for more.  I know she fills a special place in my life and that space is reserved just for her.  I'm lucky to have Cassie in my life- she is generous with her wings and takes our family under them as if she owed it to us.  As if it were an obligation to her and Keith to accept us, but of course it's not, which makes the Christmas dinners and Superbowl parties all that more special.  As the quote goes, "friends are the family we choose for ourselves."

Josie taking Reed & Luke to pet the goats

   
I was so excited about my friendship with Josie and had such high hopes for a “best friend” status.   There are a couple of important factors that matched up so perfectly for us.  For one, we both have space in our lives for a good solid new friend.  Most of my friends here already have an existing friend-foundation andfar as to say Luke was Reed’s best friend. Besides being a mother, Josie and I are interested in the same activities. We’ve got cycling, running, swimming, triathlons, traveling, coffee, Mexican food, kiddie concerts, spray parks… okay this list go really go on. The point is, we can exchange tips, tricks and warnings. We can borrow, trade, and share gear. Our boys were getting so good at playing together that Reed was often requesting play dates at Luke’s house. I’d go so far as to say Luke was Reed’s best friend.

As Kelly put it, Josie was a staple in my life until two weeks ago when she packed herself up and ran away to Denver with Luke and her growing belly.  Her husband snatched up an opportunity to take a job in Denver where she’s from, and left us here abandoned.  . Give another couple-few years.  But no,  they opened that door, pulled the trigger, flew the coop!  It took multiple attempts to hold back the tears because the longer we talked about it and the more the reality of it set in, the more sad I got.  My friend! My Josie! Our friendship foundation had been poured and was starting to set!  We had something solid under us and I had to say goodbye to it. 

Our very last play-date was one big denial.  I kept telling her that I’d be stopping by later to drop off a gift for Luke.  A little going away present for the road trip, so I didn’t need to do my goodbyes yet.  Then when I did stop by that night, I just stood in the entry way with a plead at the tip of my tongue and the urge to beg tickling my knees.  Hands in my pockets, toes fidgeting in my shoes, eyes cast downward.   “Any chance I could talk you into staying?” I asked awkwardly.  If I had thought there’d be a chance that begging would have worked, I’d have tried it.  But, I know from experience that when you have to go, you have to go, even when you’re leaving behind people you care about.       

It’s been two weeks since the last time I saw Josie.  I miss her kindness and thoughtfulness.  She would stop for lattes on her way over to our house to play.  When Mike was out of town, she would invite us to hang out at her house for a long afternoon/evening play date.  She’d make dinner and we would eat together.  Another time when Mike was out of town and Bryce was just a newborn, she left Luke with Matt when he got home and came over to keep me company.  She stayed and held Bryce so I could put Reed to bed, and that was when I knew I had a true friend to count on.  Josie was always helpful. I try to pretend I have it all together.  Actually, I really try to have it all together!  I just don’t sometimes, and extra hands, extra eyes and extra snacks are as valuable as diamonds.  She was always so helpful and made outings easier on me.  Now I’m really starting to feel it.  Two weeks of doing it all on my own, I’m lucky I haven’t lost a child, or had one lose an eye or break a bone.  Its more and more temping everyday to just hole up inside for the next couple of years!!

What I want to say is, Josie I miss you.  I’ll do my best to replace you, but I doubt I’ll be successful!

The one about getting back on the sports wagon

I’m officially back on the wagon!  Two weeks ago I ran my first sanctioned 5k at the first annual “Riley’s Run”, which started at the school across from our neighborhood.  The course was too convenient not to participate, plus Mike was going to be pushing the jogging stroller instead of me- so how could I say no?  My goal was to finish under 30 minutes and not have to walk. I only made one of those goals. I ended up walking 4 times, but my speedy husband was pushing us too fast and that’s my excuse!  It was a great experience to run as a family, all four of us doing it together had the spectators and fellow runners cheering us on.  Most of the comments were for Mike- “That’s a real man!” I heard one lady say.  Others suggested that it was their turn to ride in the stroller.  I wish I had a picture from that day, but I chose not to buy the professional photo that was taken because they were charging $15 for a  4x6.  No thank you! 

I’ve been running at least twice a week (Tuesdays and Thursdays) with the boys in the stroller and biking … not much, but here and there.  I took them both in the trailer last week and I’m hoping they start to enjoy it more.  We made it a total of 6 miles in 30 minutes and about 15 of those minutes the trailer was wailing as it rolled over the hills and down the road.  It’s very distracting to a cyclist and not considered enjoyable!  Of course, each time I decided I couldn’t do it and was going to turn around, Bryce would settle in and stop crying.  Reed really did pretty well, considering he had a baby screaming directly in his ear. Not to mention Bryce’s tiny fists were flying up and hitting him square in the nose.

I’m signed up to participate in the Draper Duathlon this Sunday.  I haven’t competed in multisport since 09- the season before Reed was born.  I’ve done this course, so I know what to expect. The problem is, I was in the best shape of my life last time I competed and now I can barely run 30 minutes straight!  The course is 3k/20k/3k and its run/bike/run.  My goals are #1. Finish.  #2.  Not have to walk  #3. Not pee my pants in public.  #4 finish under 2 hours (this should be a sandbag goal, I should squash this time).  I’ll check back in with you about it next week. 

I’ve also signed up to compete in the Redman Olympic Distance Triathlon in September.  This is double the distance of any triathlon I’ve done before.  I remember at the end of my last tri season, the morning of Redman I was preparing for the race and thinking, “Why am I still doing sprints? I should be moving up and doing the Olympic distance. I’m such a sandbagger!”  However, an hour later, as I was flailing around in the water, trying to finish the swim, I reminded myself why.  “I am SO GLAD I didn’t sign up for the Olympic!” and again during the run. I couldn’t imagine running 6 miles and thanked my lucky sandbagging stars that I was only running 3.  Well, here I am, three years and two babies later signed up for this doubly butt kicking race.  Supposedly, muscle memory will kick in. That might have expired, actually. I’m pretty sure I’ll have to rely on good old fashion training.  Which, by the way, is cheating in my book.

I figure, if I know I’m doing the Olympic, registered, paid and planned. Then that’s what I’ll train for, right? Because the difference three years ago was I was always signing up and training for sprint distance. I can do it, because that’s what I’m planning on this time. Who cares if I’m getting older? What does that matter? What difference does being a mom make? This body created and delivered two babies!  Triathlons are just for fun- a hobby.  I should be able to make this happen.