God Bless America

Something really cool is in the works! We are organizing something so amazingly cool and nonprofit and amazing for our soldiers. More to come soon!

Blah, Blah, Blah

I'm procrastinating- I don't want to go to bed. Sleep is such a waste of time and so boring.

The days are passing ever so slowly now that we are back in the routine. Single parenting is not fun; with Marc still on the road with Eddie, all I can think about is making it through the bedtime routine without backup. Teaching kids, carting kids, reading to kids, dropping kids, picking up kids, flossing and brushing kids- I'm beat. I'm more than a little cranky, too, since I never make the coffee as well as Marc, so I have all but given up trying the last two mornings. There is a drive thru for that, I know, but somehow I haven't been able to mobilize before noon after trying to straighten out everything in the morning and who wants coffee anymore at lunchtime? I feel blah.

I long for a speedy workout with the 5:30 crew. Nagging pain in my leg reminds me I'm not better and have no business running speed, but I'm hoping Dr. Jim doesn't show up and lecture me next week. When I bumped into him at the pool, I pretended I had done the whole workout with a pull buoy, per his suggestion of no kicking. I'm thinking he may have bought it, but Gene may have given me up with his smug and distrusting grin. This week as a single mom, I think I'm fragile without Gus to blow off some steam. 40 minutes on the elliptical trainer is not cutting it for this junkie. I need a fix. I thought very seriously about bringing the kids into the boxing gym to hang out while I workout, but I thought that might be a little obsessive and far too putrid an environment for them.

To add insult to injury, Marc keeps sending really epic pictures of life on a mountain bike through Moab. Does life get anymore amazing than the Arches? Someday I am going to get on a bike and just ride into forever. I wonder if I should first sit on the trainer Marc set up for me to become reacquainted with my bike? Nah.

"Holding Pattern"

I hate flying. I detest everything about it. I hate being smashed into a germ tube with several strangers all forced to breathe the same recycled air. I hate having to pee into the same, small receptacle with all of them. I hate the smell that circulates through the cabin, and I hate being told to sit for several hours on end. I hate getting off the plane, wanting to eat my purse because I am so hungry. I hate the bumpy wind along the rickety wings, and I hate the anxiety of wondering if the kids are going to hold out, cramped up and caged for hours (they do better with this than I do). I hate the take off and the landing, but I hate, I HATE, the "holding pattern".

Nothing could have been worse news than those two words after a turbulent and hideous flight into Salt Lake until the captain said, "Snow squall". Then, as if we didn't hear him the first time, he said, "unexpected snow squall", which was even worse than before. He tried to lessen the blow by throwing in the adjective "small", as if this were to take away from the trauma of having to hang out and fly in circles for an extra 20 minutes due to winds so severe. How was my claustrophobic self to absorb this information?! My breathing felt shallow and all I could think was two more bad words: wind shear.

Then in a flash, the decision was made to land the plane- almost abruptly- to take us out of the holding pattern and just go for it. No warning. The captain just made the call (with obvious approval from the ground) and the flight attendants were to remain seated because it was far too turbulent for anyone to be about the cabin. It reminded me of the panicked decision the doctor made to take my son by c-section. There was little discussion or decision with regard to Marc and me- it was simply an urgent, definitive decision that we were going along with. Just as the nurses flew into action that early morning years ago, the flight attendants knew their roles. It was like batten down the hatches and brace for impact. There was no polite, "Attendants, please prepare the cabin for landing". It was something more along the lines of, "Sit down, hold on, and shut up." When I heard the stress in one of the attendant's voices, I knew it was serious. What good is a holding pattern if we were to crash and burn anyway? Why prolong the agony?

After finally setting the plane down and fishtailing all over the runway in ice and snow, it came to a halt at last. Cheers and applause rang through the isles and I guarantee I wasn't the only one who threw up a few prayers (I think it was more like bargaining with God, but I'm not certain anymore) in those tense minutes. My kids were rattled, but quickly forgot the fear when they stepped out into the falling flakes of beauty. Nothing could have been more contrasted than the searing heat from my head and burning anxiety in my chest from the landing than the serene beauty and quiet of the snow we stepped out into. Nothing was more peaceful than the delicate white world all around us. Nothing could have made me happier at that moment than seeing Eddie's black Escalde when he pulled around the terminal to pick us up. He had driven cross country from Florida the week before with all the gear, and now I know why.

The week was a blur of one activity after another. Skiing, snowshoeing, sledding, mountain biking, swimming, running- it was the exercise addict's dream vacation. Every time one of us needed another fix (and I dare say Eddie and Lotte are worse than Marc and I), there was another line to snort by means of bike or sled or skis or shoes. Utah is an amazing place- we were like kids in a candy store, not sure where to go or what toys to play with first. I hardly remember Utah as a teenager in the summertime, and seeing it in a veil of white was a whole new lovely experience.

Eddie and Lotte were the perfect host and hostess. Their home away from home, again, a stark contrast to all things Florida. The mountains cascaded over us like something out of a dream. The snow flurries danced around us that first night, my kids dancing outside in it until eleven o'clock. The evergreens a delight for eyes soured now to too many palms. The whole experience was a revelation. How did we end up on the East Coast again? Just being around familiar restaurants and architecture, landscaping and businesses, I felt so much more at ease. I felt like I was home, even though home was another 11.5 hours south in the car (we debated the escape route more than once). It's not even a matter of the West Coast being "better" or "superior" to the East, it's merely a matter of comfort and familiarity.

And so I have to ask myself the obvious question: how much longer will we be in this holding pattern? Are we waiting out something less than ideal, something stressful and anxiety-producing, to reach something really fantastic? Am I really doing anything here, touching any lives, reaching anyone in some small way, or am I to crash and burn? What purpose am I serving in a town from which I still feel so disconnected? How can God use me when I feel so useless? I know it is all in the attitude, but my heart is still broken for home. When my old best running guy and "scheduler" called me today to check in and the same question is posed, "So, when are you moving home?" I still feel baffled and lost for words. How many times can I silently scream inside, "NOW! I WANT TO COME HOME NOW!"

Instead, my steady answer remains the same, "Marc is doing really great things. His company really loves him. He loves his job. He has achieved so much success. We are grateful for a really great job in a really bad economy..." and this is always met with the same nods of agreement. This is all, of course, true, but why then do all the little things here still gnaw at my insides? When will the tugging on my heart ever subside? How will I ever come to terms with liking old people (I detest them as much as flying)? I hope I don't go to hell for that. I'm working on that one, faced with it daily.

And so all I can tell John, or any of my other buddies from home, is what I believe to be true: God has a plan. He has the blueprint and I am trying to read it. It doesn't make a ton of sense to me most of the time, but I think I sometimes read into things too much. I'm simply trying not to flail and fishtail too much in the interim.

Utah Bound

We're out of here! We leave Monday for skiing in Utah with Eddie and Lotte and I can't wait! Not sure if I am more excited about playing in snow or just the idea of exiting this small town and small mentality? We are so ready for vacation, with the past few weeks so chaotic. Marc's half Ironman in the monsoon in Sarasota, then his company race a week later. Not only did he PR at his event, the half marathon and 5K we have worked on for the last 3 months came off without a hitch, which was awesome. He did such an amazing job as race director and we are so proud of his efforts to pull off that kind of event.

Of course, the same weekend of the company event, our daughter landed a leading role in her first ever theatre performance. This was all very thrilling, but the lines she had to memorize were insurmountable and her solo for the musical needed a ton of work. While I made it to both performances, Marc only made the second one (after breaking down the race course), and was nodding off throughout. We are still in awe that our kid got up on the stage and belted it out, and elated that she was one of three kids in the performance who was offered a nomination to go to Montana this summer for a two week camp on the lake. She has never even expressed any interest in theatre, so this is a huge honor, one she is still cherishing. We are still exhausted from all of the hype.

Then, on to Marc's birthday and now Easter. Will the fun (and madness) never end? Somehow, Easter has just snuck up on me this year. Today was really fun- egg hunt with 50 other kids at Dr. Jim's house. His wife is Mother Earth (or Mother Easter?) with all of the eggs that went out and all of the preparation that went into planning the party. My kids always love that venue and leave with lots of loot. The best part is the doc dressed in Bunny garb and the kids sitting on his lap for pictures. Cuter? This is the first year my son will actually go near him in that bunny suit. Even though he knows who is inside, he remains skeptical.

Tonight, our Easter Bunny comes (thinking this is the last year our older one will buy it) and I love all of the tradition that goes along with it. Some old, some new (like dying eggs today outside in swim suits by the pool), but making beautiful memories, to be sure.

I ran yesterday for the first time in two weeks, and again today. I'm hoping my leg will hold up and remain pain-free (amazing how the pain stops if I don't run?). George said no "hill" running (he meant the bridges) for a few weeks, so I wonder how running in Utah fits into that equation? He never said anything about mountains and snow is soft, right?