Crossing the Finish Line

Training.


I had never officially trained for anything in all my 36 years. In the past, I had been able to complete most tasks without check-ins and schedules. Then, on the brink of summer, I declared I was going to be a runner. I knew I could not do it on my own, so I joined a training group led by my friends.


Much like the four times I anticipated childbirth, the preparation for my very first 5K race was wrought with pure uncertainty. The training session carried on for eight weeks...two-thirds of our summer. The procrastinator and denier in me refused to calculate how many miles were actually in five kilometers until our third week running.


5K = 3.1 miles


Wow!


Now you know, too.


For experienced runners, training for a 5K race may seem so minute. Experienced runners breeze through 5K every time they step out their front door for a morning work-out. For a newbie runner like myself, my journey was anything but breezy. During every single run, my brain and body battled through so much.


Nerves.


Fear.


Breathlessness.


Pain.


Tears.


Doubt.


Exhilaration.


Relief.


Anticipation.


I was the most beginner of beginners, and I was often the slowest runner. Even after eight weeks, the longest I had run was 20 minutes. Leading up to the race, which was the culmination of our training, I still remained unsure how I would manage. I hoped that the adrenaline and excitement of the crowds would keep me moving, even if my legs and lungs would try to quit. New friendships were formed and old ones had been strengthened, so I leaned on them as well.


Then, there's the whole reason why I began to run at all. There is my family. My four kids watch me walk out the door in my neon shoes and know their mom is a runner. The confidence and pride that have blossomed in the past two months are life-changing. I'm modeling behavior that will have positive effects on my children. Some have even started to run with me. They often leave me in the dust, but seeing me sweat and work and fight through my running sets an example for determination and perseverance.


Every runner has to start somewhere. Every runner has a first race. I captured many of the moments of my first race in my mind as I pounded through those 3.1 miles, but the moment I hope stays with me forever is when I passed my family on the side of the course. Their dad boosted them off their lawn chairs when he saw me coming around the corner, so all four of them jumped up and clapped for me, cheering, hollering and yelling.


They shouted, "Go, Mom!! You can do it! Come on, Mom, you're doing great!"


My kids. Little kids, whom I have been watching and supporting from the sidelines for years and years, were there to cheer for me. It was surreal.


I passed them with a smile and a fist pump in the air and kept on running. As the course wound through more neighborhood streets, I began to grow weary. Tired. Nervous if I could keep going. As I followed my way back out of the street, I knew that I could keep going because I would see my family again. Those three silly boys and my motivational daughter were waiting, once again, for me to emerge from the path.


Aaaannnnd...that's when I lost it!


My official cheerleaders were relentless in their encouragement, as tears of elation streamed down my already red and sweaty cheeks. Mark worried for a second I was hurt, but shouldn't he know better by now that I cry at everything? I waved again, soaked up their love, and kept on running to the end.


So, maybe all of this crazy talk I'm spewing would discourage anyone who's reading from ever wanting to take up running. I hope that it's the absolute opposite.


Please take a look at my face as I crossed the finish line. See the pure joy in my eyes?

Did I just say pure joy from running?


I did, and I meant it.


After our race, we were enjoying fresh blueberries around a picnic table, and my dear friend and coach, Renee, said these words to my children:


"Do you see your mom? Look at what she did and how strong she is!"


Moms are strong. We should want to show our children what our bodies and minds can do when we try. They will learn from us to be confident in themselves, too. Three hours ago, I met a woman new to our group who was running for the very first time...ever. A delicate place in my heart pounced with excitement, as I insisted that she CAN and WILL be a runner.

What will you be? Please take it from me, you can do it.

 

 

My friend, Rachel, snapped these photos of me reaching my goal and heading toward Mark and the kids for the final time. I'll be running another 5K in September. The kids want to do it with me. Mission accomplished!

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Being the Mom Who Doesn't Record Everything

Nineteen days have passed since I last clicked my keys to blog. My last message, about empowering ourselves to be bold, was left hanging in the air for over two weeks...waiting for me to return to write again. I have yet to allow this much time to pass in between posts, but I'll tell you that while I was away from blogging, I was happily living in the blurry, hurried moments with people who matter to me. Today, I finally have time to exhale-and write!


Living in the moment is something I realized I was doing a few years ago, long before the internet was filled with wiser-than-thou experts begging people to look up from their phones. The first time I was aware that I was living in the moment was when I attended a celebration for my oldest son's fifth grade class. I made a conscious decision not to record the performance. I chose to view the children, and thus my son, through the lenses of my own eyes...not that of a two inch screen. When he walked forward to the microphone to give a short speech, I wasn't worried about hitting record. I wasn't worried about having him in the center of the shot. I wasn't worried about the zoom.


Instead, I opened my ears and soaked in everything that he was saying to a very crowded room of parents staring back at him. My composed and poised son blew me away. He knocked the wind right out of me, and then came the water works.


Later, I realized that I was one of the only people not recording the performance. I was positive that I would not have felt as connected to him had I been watching him from behind my camera. Would I have been so moved by my child and still remember it to this day had I recorded him and watched him later at home? I don't think so.


Obviously, I do use my camera sometimes. I wouldn't want entire childhoods to pass by without any proof. I simply choose not to make capturing the moment (and then sharing the moment) a priority. The freedom that comes with leaving the stress of photography and videography behind makes me such a more relaxed mom at big events. I've seen so many parents miss the actual moment they were there to witness while they were setting up the camera. Capturing the wrong kids. Hitting photo instead of video or vice versa. Oops.


In a sea of phones and tablets and cameras blocking everyone's view, I'm the other mom...the one without any of it. Maybe you're thinking, "Doesn't she realize this is a big deal?" Maybe I look as though I don't care enough to preserve the moments with a digital memory. However, the opposite is true. I am able to watch it happen live and absorb it all. I see the raw emotions on the teacher's face as she bids a final farewell to her class. I see the bright smiles that naturally widen as small children are allowed to stroke the fur of a soft, fluffy rabbit. I see the rise and fall of a kid's chest as she completes a difficult athletic feat. It's beautiful. It's satisfying. It's what we dream about as parents.


I'm not here to tell people to stop taking videos or pictures of kids, because it's always fun to play them back and see them later. I'm here to introduce the idea that we can thoroughly enjoy experiences without a camera, too.

Have you ever gone to one of your kid's events and not recorded or photographed it? How did it feel?

 

I'd love for you to find me on Facebook:
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My Kid Drank from a Fire Hose!

I'm pretty confident that the title of this post and the picture tell it all.

 

However, the incident does come with a cute story. Last summer, when Marshall was still only three, we were all attending a picnic and carnival for Mark's company. Trixie and I were in line for the face painting lady, while Mark took the three boys to check out the fire truck that had been parked on the property. The firefighters had hooked up their gigantic hose to a hydrant. From every vantage point throughout the carnival, guests could see high pressure water shooting across the lawn.

 

The face painting line was very long, so during our wait, Trixie and I heard many boys asking their parents if they could take a drink from the hose. Every mom said no, of course! That's what moms say. "No way! That water will knock your head backwards. It's too dangerous." Sensible moms.

 

Eventually, Trixie's face was painted like a puppy with a drooling tongue, so we met up with all the guys by the fire truck. That was when I learned that their dad had not only allowed, but encouraged, all of his sons to drink from the fire hose! Leave it up to four males to try something so crazy. Apparently, Marshall was the only one willing to do it, although I was surprised that the firefighters let it happen-twice. Marshall actually took one drink and then went back for more, which is when Mark took this photo.

 

For weeks, Mark was showing it to everyone we know, bragging about his brave baby drinking from the fire hose. I made sure to preface the sharing of the picture with the fact that I, his careful mother, was nowhere near the fire truck at the time. After seeing this shot dozens of times, I decided to look at it more closely, and I realized that it was actually a really cool photo.  Little Marshall was not hurt in any way, and he does like to tell people about it, too.

Let this be a lesson to sensible moms that dads (and grandpas and uncles) are capable of entertaining and playing with our children without our control. They can make their own fun, their own adventures and their own memories.

 

Can you think of a time when a man in your child's life (or your own) did something that a mother would probably never do, but it turned out to be just fine and even fun?



Sneaky Kid Digs into Banana Brunch Coffee Cake

I've spent the past twenty minutes looking through my kajillions of digital photos for one very specific picture. It is one that I took when Chip was four years old. I had just made two really delicious Banana Brunch Coffee Cakes and were letting them cool for a while on the kitchen counter. That's what we, meaning bakers, do when we make cakes. We let them rest for a while before we cut into them, right?

Well, that's what adults do. That's what people who have developed self control do. That is not what little boys do. Chip decided that he did not want to wait for Mama to slice him a piece of that cinnamony-sweet banana cake with a crunchy crumb topping. He decided just to help himself.

Did he know how to use a knife and spatula? Of course not! He just dug his chubby, stubby hands right into the middle of the cakes. Both of them!

What did I do when I found a chunk had been taken out of each cake, that just so happened to be the size of a toddler sized fist?

I laughed and ran to grab my camera!

 

DUH! What else would there have been to do?

 

Not long after the coffee cake incident, when Baby Marshall was just about to turn two, all of his other sibs were off at school for the morning. He and I were home alone, and I must have been in the other room for a little too long. When I returned to the kitchen, I found him sitting at our dining table, doing this...

 

  

I don't know what it is about my baby boys that makes them feel the need to sneak sweets, but obviously, I reached for my camera again. I am so glad I did, and I have my mom to thank for that foresight. She always told me to have my camera ready, because we never know when a moment will hit us that's worth remembering. 

 

Since that day, when I found Marshall eating just one bite out of at least seven powdered and chocolate Donettes, we began to refer to Marshall as Sneaky Baby. He became quite adept at finding treats when no one was watching him. I once caught him eating from a tray of Christmas candy that he pulled to the floor.

 

I suppose these shenanigans should be expected when you are not the first or even second child in a family. Your mama is busy, harried, frantic, tired. You name it, she feels it, and so being left to your own devices once in a while might lead to mischief.   

 

I'm as guilty as the next modern mom of not printing enough of my digital pictures. I don't do scrapbooks. I've already told you about the Dwindling Baby Books around here. I have learned to let go of the guilt that surrounds it, but I am definitely glad that I do indeed have some photos stored somewhere, easily accessible with the click of a button! I had such a blissful time reminiscing tonight, giggling to myself while I looked through these pictures, seeing the bits of nonsense my four hilarious kiddos have caused over the years.

 

Goofy poses, faces covered in my mascara (Chip did that to himself once), throwing leaves, juggling apples, years worth of Halloween costumes, showing off their bloody gums from missing teeth. I loved seeing them all!

 

So, although I don't have a beautifully staged photo of my Banana Brunch Coffee Cake, I still want to share the picture I do have with you. It's the picture that documents the time Chip ripped half of the cake out with his hand and shoved it in his mouth. It's a memory I love.

 

This cake is actually one of the recipes that family and guests request from me very often. It is moist and perfectly sweet from the bananas, but the added spice of cinnamon and nutmeg on top really makes it into something special. It's simple because it begins with a cake mix, so there's very little measuring to do, and we all tend to have leftover bananas lying around the kitchen. Please let me know if you try it.

 

 

Banana Brunch Coffee Cake

 

Ingredients

 

1 c. mashed ripe bananas

1 pkg. yellow cake mix

1 small box instant vanilla pudding

4 eggs

1/2 c. veg. oil

1 tsp. vanilla

1/3 c. brown sugar

1 tsp. cinnamon

1/2 tsp. nutmeg

 

Instructions:

 

1. Preheat the oven to 325 degrees. Grease and flour a 9x13 inch baking pan.

 

2. Combine bananas, cake mix, pudding mix, eggs, oil, and vanilla in a large mixing bowl. Mix well at medium speed for 8 minutes, scraping side of bowl occasionally.

3. In a smaller bowl, mix the brown sugar, cinnamon, and nutmeg.

4. When the batter is finished mixing, pour it into the prepared pan. Sprinkle about half of brown sugar mixture on top and swirl slightly into batter with a butter knife, making figure eights. Sprinkle the remaining mixture on top and bake until toothpick comes clean. 

 

Helpful Tips: Start with baking for 30 minutes and go up to 45.  A lot of times, I divide it all into two square pans, so then the time is less. Keep an eye on it or add foil if the top is browning too quickly.

 

I also really love to make this recipe into muffins. I use cupcake liners and sprinkle the topping over the batter. I use a toothpick to lightly swirl it together.

 

 *Recipe is adapted from Favorite Brand Name Baking, 2002 

 

Have you ever thought to take a picture of your kid when he's wreaking havoc on your house or your schedule or your life? I promise, if you try it, you'll be able to laugh about it later!