Yo, Adrian! I Did It!

I am happy to report that despite pouring down rain, forgetting my time chip in the hotel room, and a couple of huge hills that would not quit, I can now check "half marathon" off my list. And someone out there must have been sending me happy thoughts, because right as I was reaching my limit, about mile ten, guess what song a group of high school football players decided to blare through their speakers? That's right - the Rocky theme song.

Looking chipper, before the face off with the mountain hill.

Rocky is my idol!

I'm in there somewhere, trying not to puke.

I accomplished my goal of finishing, and of running the whole time, and I am proud to report that I beat the winner of the full marathon by two whole minutes. They didn't call me Lightning Leslie in high school for nothing, you know. (Full disclosure - one of my other, probably much more realistic, nicknames was Slower than Shit Schrock. Pfffft.)

Something else awesome that happened this week? I handed in my final Master's Degree project. I do believe that it's time for a nap little celebrating, but I'll settle right now for some warmer weather and more time for trips to the park and snuggles with Anna. You would think that with all my free time I would be able to get around to all the things I neglected when I was furiously working on my project. Like that weird smell coming from the kitchen sink, or the mounds of empty wine bottles and old newspapers that need to be taken to the recycling center. But instead, I've taken this week to start a couple of new knitting projects and catch up on 30 Rock. 

I do have a plan to get all that stuff done, but more on that later. For now, I'm going to be knitting, purling, laughing, and snuggling. And I just might be wearing these while I'm at it...

It's the Final Countdown!

The Rocky theme song has been buzzing around in my head for the last few days, with good reason. (Side note: the Rocky theme song is infinitely better than the other song that's been constantly stuck in my head lately, the theme song from Elmo's World. Seriously. Those Sesame Street people don't mess around. Not only is Anna crying out for that fuzzy red creature, but Mike and I find ourselves humming that darn song at all hours. Well played, Elmo. Well played.)

On Sunday, my miles and miles of training will pay off when I hopefully cross the finish line of the Flying Pig Half Marathon. I've been a little worried the past few weeks - vacations and training don't always seem to go hand in hand, and our trip to North Carolina, while lovely and relaxing, wasn't exactly conducive to getting my miles in. That twelve miler that I was supposed to do? Not so much. More like eight, with a side of red wine. I kind of want to kick myself, because I've been pretty religious about strictly following my training program. But what are you gonna do?

That's where Rocky Balboa comes in. This is also the part where I admit that I'm a huge dork, because I'm totally a believer in envisioning things in my head going a certain way, and I'm really convinced it works. I think it was my dad who first taught me this, back when I was playing softball. Want to throw a strike? Imagine yourself doing it. Drive in the winning run? Smack a line drive in your mind. I tucked this technique into my bag of tricks, and I use it all the time. Playing golf. Getting Anna to sleep (for real - when you're that sleep deprived, you will try just about anything!). And now running. I've crossed that finish line probably a hundred times in my mind already. Every time, I'm smiling, and happy, and looking cute (did I mention I bought a new outfit just for the race?) while that Rocky music plays in the background. And I am definitely, definitely, NOT looking like this:

If you happen to be awake around 6:30 on Sunday morning, send some positive vibes my way for an "Elmo's World"-free race and sing a little Rocky theme song in my honor. Positive thinking or not, I'll need all the help I can get, especially when it comes to that pesky puppet.

Hippity Hop Hop

Jelly beans are a health food, right? I mean, they have the word "bean" in them, so I'm just going to go with it...

Even though I wouldn't consider myself a very religious person, I love holidays. Admittedly, I had to ask Mike to clarify the whole meaning of Easter for me yesterday. A quick trip to Wikipedia cleared things up, but it got me thinking about celebrations and holidays and why we do things like turn our fingers green trying to dye hard-boiled eggs and consume our weight in marshmallows shaped like little birds.

I had a roommate in college who tried to tell me that I shouldn't be allowed to celebrate Christmas because I didn't really understand the real point of the day. And while it's true that my family never went to church and I almost flunked the New Testament course I took in college, that comment totally pissed me off. Because for me, even though holidays might not be about the birth of Baby Jesus, they sure as heck are about being with family and friends and taking some time to carry on traditions and have a little fun. Especially now that I'm a mama, and can sneak out into the yard to hide brightly colored eggs or stuff Christmas stocking with goodies, I totally understand the true point of holidays, probably more than ever.

Yesterday was no different. We joined my parents, my aunts, and my grandma for a brunch that has been a tradition for as long as I can remember. Eggs Benedict, cheesy potatoes, a mimosa or two, and lots and lots of Peeps. Throw in an Easter basket for my little bunny, and you've got yourself a mighty fine holiday.

The best part was that we kept stealing the eggs from her basket and re-hiding them. 

The teacher in me just cannot resist...

I hope that your holiday, whatever way you were celebrating, was just as nice. And for your sake, I hope you didn't stuff as many jellybeans down your gullet as I did.

Happy Monday!

Not a whole lot going on around here. It's the week before a vacation, and it always seems like those are the days that drag on forever. My brain is spinning with packing lists and project ideas and fun ways to keep Anna entertained on the fifteen hour car ride we're taking on Friday. Luckily, my in-laws will be en route with us, so there will be a couple extra sets of hands for playing peek-a-boo and force feeding occupying her with snacks. With any luck we'll arrive on the beaches of North Carolina with our eardrums still intact and the sun shining.

Until then, a couple of shots of our girl to get you through the week...

Happy Monday!

Do You Take One Space or Two?

I like to fancy myself as hip to the times, even though some people might disagree.  I have a smartphone.  I use Twitter.  Heck, I read Us Weekly, so you know I am in the know when it comes to all the stuff that truly matters.  Or so I thought...

I came across this article and it shook me to the core.  Because it turns out that perhaps some of my habits are a little antiquated, and I was none the wiser.  Basically, this story is about what an old fuddy duddy you are if you put two spaces between sentences instead of one.  Um, what?  Here I've been, happily hitting the space bar two times after every sentence,  when the rest of the modern world was lazily only doing it once and laughing at me for being so out of the loop.  I guess those Us Weeklys aren't as educational as I thought.

And it got me thinking.  Is this the beginning of the end for me?  Does it start with an extra space and end with me, shaking my fist at the youth and cursing their new-fangled technology?  I can't even imagine the stuff Anna is going to have access to as she grows up - the kid can practically beat the hardest levels on Angry Birds, and she's only fifteen months old.

Kids these days (See?  It's already happening!) don't even know how to write the English language.  Cursive handwriting isn't a subject in most schools.  Text messaging has taught a whole generation how to communicate entirely in acronyms.  OMG!  LOL!  U R OOC! Using the correct form of "there", "they're", or "their"?  Forget about it.

So perhaps this does mean that I've officially reached the peak of my coolness.  Because if I was clueless about the new rules regarding spacing, I don't even want to know what other things I'm happily oblivious to.  And you know what?  I tried to get on board with the whole one space thing, I really did.  And I have to admit that it's just not for me.  I'll leave all that crazy stuff to the young'uns.

In Training

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about the titles we go by.  Daughter.  Sister.  Wife.  Mother.  Friend.  Some, we're simply born into to, and others we fight for.

Over the weekend, I wondered aloud to Mike if I could consider myself a runner.  You know, the people who can casually drop in a conversation, "Well, I'm a runner...".  The people that, before a few months ago, I would want to sucker punch right in the gut, because, really, who likes to run?  And then I did this crazy thing and signed up for a half marathon.  On Saturday, I ran twelve miles. And it wasn't terrible.  I've even made a few running friends, and we were talking about what an awesome feeling it is week after week to get up at the butt crack of dawn and then set a new personal record or run a little bit longer than you've ever gone in your life. So when Mike looked at me sideways, like, duh, I could kind of believe him, maybe I actually am a runner.

Another title that I often find myself struggling with is probably the most important - mother.  I don't mean that to sound like I'm struggling with the act of mothering Anna.  I love being a mama, more than anything I've ever done.  What I mean is that sometimes what I'm doing and the idea of motherhood I have in my head don't always match up.  Sure, I find cheerios in all my pockets, and I can change a diaper practically with my eyes closed, and I've even done that thing where I lick my thumb and then proceed to wipe something off Anna's face.  But then I spend a little time with my mother-in-law or my own mom, and I'm so in awe of all these amazing mom skills they possess that just seem so natural, and I'll think, "When will those instincts kick in for me?"

I know they have both been mamas much longer than me, but I'm not sure I'll ever get to the point where I walk into a room (ahem, my kitchen) and immediately start cleaning, wiping, or putting away.  In the past month, both my mom and mother-in-law unloaded my dishwasher.  Awesome by itself.  Even awesomer that both times there was a renegade bowl or dish that I had probably run through the cycle approximately twelve times because there was some kind of food stuck to it, and instead of doing the proper thing and washing it by hand, I would just plunk it back down and hope for the best on the next go around.  You can probably guess what those moms did, and that's exactly what I'm talking about, that mom-ness that somehow seems to escape me.

I'm working on it.  There's no training program you can sign up for, although I guess you can argue that the whole process of raising a child is one big, fat training program.  Every goodnight kiss, and sad tear wiped away, and milestone reached is bringing you one step closer to crossing that finish line.

I look forward to the day when I can easily say, "Well, I'm a mother..." and not feel like I'm totally clueless.  And hopefully along the way I'll learn a thing or two about dealing with those pesky dirty dishes.

Back to Life, Back to Reality

It seems as though I've been neglecting this poor little blog, and for all five of you who actually read it, I apologize.  Anna and I had a busy week basking in the Florida sun, and it's taken me longer than I thought it would to get back into the swing of things at home.  Throw in a Master's project and a lost hour from Daylight Savings Time, and blog writing just went right out the window.

Here's a little bit of catch up...

Anna survived her first plane ride.  I admit that I was totally nervous, but she did much better than I expected.  My days of enjoying plane rides while scouring the pages of trashy gossip magazines and Sky Mall catalogs and chomping on airline peanuts might be over, but my child did not scream the entire flight nor did I need to brave the airplane bathroom to change a diaper.  I consider that a big, fat win.

Who, me?  Cause trouble?  Never!  Now, pass me that Sky Mall catalog...

Our week in Florida with Kristin and Drew was awesome.  We ate yummy food, road tripped it down to the Florida Keys, and took Anna to the beach for the first time.  I also managed to squeeze in an eleven mile run and a brunch with some old high school friends I hadn't seen in seven or eight years.  The only thing missing was Mike, who was stuck at home working.  We missed him like crazy, and I think I began to realize just how important to my sanity having him by my side is.  Yes, I was with my parents and sister and brother-in-law, and they were all more than willing to chase Anna around and keep her from chewing on electric cords occupied, but there's no substitute for our number one guy.

Anna and her favorite Auntie

You want me to put my feet in the water?
Oh, hell, to the no!

There were a couple of times during the week that I couldn't help but feel like I was in high school again.  My parents, sister, and I spent so much time down in Florida, being back there brought on a whole flood of memories.  With Mike at home in Michigan, and Drew busy training, we had a few afternoons with the original Schrock clan, plus one cute little addition.  We went on bike rides, and visited a few of our favorite places, we even got Slurpees one afternoon.  It was kind of neat to be a foursome again, and it got me thinking about all the memories Mike and I will be able to make with our own family.

Back home, my pathetic attempt at a tan is already fading, the coconut-y smell of sunscreen has been washed out of all our clothes, and I think I finally got the last of the sand out of the diaper bag.  Reality has been calling, and after a couple of weeks of sending him straight to voicemail, it's time to pick up the phone.  And that's ok.  Because, as it turns out, reality is actually a pretty cool dude.