Every day I think, oh, as long as I'm online I should write a blog post, I really should, I will, I'll just start typing...
and then I spend another forty minutes studying tartans under the (utterly mistaken) impression that if I had a kilt made for Steve he would wear it. Maybe with cowboy boots.
[It would be the ultimate cheesy romance novel mash-up; right here in my living room.]
Steve came home from Colorado very wet but unharmed for which I am grateful (heh - the clause, it dangles. See?) Two days later I ran a 5k. Initially I wrote "two days later I ran my first 5k" but I dunno. Isn't that like introducing a bride as someone's first wife? Doesn't it imply that there will be another?
You know what? I hate running. I absolutely hate it. There was nothing about the 5k that I enjoyed except perhaps the first two minutes when I felt as sharp as a North Sea breeze and the two hours afterward when I sat down with my friends and plastic cups full of wine procured from the post-race "bubbly bar" (it was a women-only race. we had wine. and hair-braiding.) As for the last two minutes of the race all I wanted to do was throw up and after I crossed the finish line I sat down in a puddle. So much for endorphin boosts and feelings of accomplishment. I've felt a greater rush of satisfaction after cleaning my kitchen sink (which I have to admit happens just about as frequently as my running three consecutive miles without being chased by someone with an axe.)
So I will go on the record as someone who started running later in life, worked her way up to an actual race-with-tshirts, felt proud of myself but concluded that it was all much, much worse than eating a brownie. Oh and I have developed a limp that is aggravated by periods of inactivity. Inactivity, like, say, sitting behind the wheel whilst driving children to school. Right now I have to use both hands for leverage when I get out of the car: I call it "carpooler's hip" - an affliction best described as a repetitive use injury similar to tennis elbow or housemaid's knee.
This is a picture Caroline at breakfast this week reading the second Stickman Odyssey book. Have we talked about these? Probably not since I just discovered them at random in the library. Christopher Ford has written two Odyssey inspired graphic novels and they are brrrrrrrrillllllliant. Patrick liked them. I loved them. Caroline would drive all night again just to read a single page.
(Why yes she DOES dress herself for kindergarten. This time as a cat burglar. Why do you ask?)
So hi and I'm trying to write and I know I failed this time but to compensate you for clicking on this here are two book recommendations for you:
Stickman Odyssey books 1 and 2 by Christopher Ford ( age range: everyone but mostly over 10) (and Caroline)
Flying Beaver Brothers by Maxwell Eaton III (I cannot attest to the quality of the Flying Beaver Brothers books by Maxwell Eaton the Second. They might suck.)