Call It An After-Christmas Miracle

Still working on the list of resolutions - procrastination what?

So in the meantime, here is my most current display of blatant narcissism (aside from the obvious blog that's all about me)...

A photo essay of....

Myself.

Of course it is.

These photos were taken from a 5k the day before my wedding (can you tell?) called the Lung Run. The run was to benefit lung cancer research, and since my dad died from it, I figured it was a nice way to have my dad present that weekend.

The visor was a gift from one of my favorite gals, Spie.

So enjoy me.

You're welcome.



What?!?! How did this little smooshie make it in here?! Okay, he can stay. Don't you just want to eat his face off? Yum.

Me and the Devs. Otherwise known as, "Boobs and Not."
MIL, Ellie, Smooshie, Devs, Me, Adrienne, new niece Kennedy, new aunt-in-law.



Must.Burn.Calories.For.Hawaii.Bikini.



Adrienne running me in....

"Haaaay bitches!"

Sweaty bride-to-be.

Obligatory sweaty armpit shot. Goodness, you'd think I ran 20 miles, not 3.1

Happy me.

Me and Ellie and Smooshie.

Gals.

Kennedy getting her nails done afterwards.

And that's it for now. Hopefully that Resolution post will be forthcoming....at some point...soon...in the future....

Hello Old Friend

In honor of the new year 2010, I decided to break from my usually Facebook stalking and write a sinkin’ post.

No way does it have anything to do with the barrage of emails and texts from family members wondering about the lack of posting.

Nothing at all.

Or you, Angie F.

Naw, I kid, I kid – I need a little accountability when it comes to this thing nowadays, and I appreciate the "where in the world are you?" check-ins.

It's just that most of the time, I just don’t feel I have a ton to say anymore.

Well, at least not race/training wise - I'm fat and out of shape. That sums it up.

However, in regards to all stuff local/world/political, I usually have a mindful of stuff, espeically with the nonstop news/reading of the last few months.

But given the firestorm of last year, I haven't quite recovered from bashing and hence am keeping most of my thoughts in that regard to after-dinner conversations.

Interestingly, taking those topics off the table for this blog has been a hard decision to make too - after all, this is my blog, I should be able to say anything I want, no?

But there's too much emotion involved on both sides, and my thoughts were being massively misinterpreted all the time. I just got tired of having to justify my opinion, and later read comments by other people about me on other sites (yeah, I read those)that it just wasn't worth the anger and frustration.

Wait, hang on – I gotta poop.

Hey, it’s early morning (for me) and the coffee’s kicking in – give me a break.

…………..

……*flush*……..

Okay, I’m back.

Where was I?

Poop.

Right.

Quick relate side note here - I’ve developed this new (to me) habit of the bathroom.

I read in there now.

I know it’s not that weird because a lot of people do, but for me it is.

See, as someone who drinks a ton of water and already spends an inordinate amount of time in the bathroom, I never quite understood the willful spending of additional minutes browsing some random magazine while trying to pinch one off.

I am generally a wait-til-the-very-last-second-it-falls-out-then-sprint-to-the-bathroom-and-drop-it-flush-wash-and-leave kinda gal.

But two things happened over the holidays to change all of this:

1. Between Thanksgiving and Christmas, I had at least four airplane trips, and hence lots of constipation, thus requiring me to spend extra time in the loo working for the pay-off.

2. I found both a Runner’s World and a Triathlete magazine I got at least two months back that I must have (gasp!) thrown into my nightstand reading pile and forgot about. Seeing as how the absolutely MUST get read, I decided I would pass my excruciating painful waste of minutes crapping by reading them.

And voila! A new habit is born.

So bowel movements aside, let’s give a run down of the last month since my absence:

.
.
.
Umm..
.
.
Work…..
.
.
Cheese’s recovering…
.
.
Two Christmas’s in Kansas…….
.
.
.
Yup, that about sums it up.

Can you see why I haven’t posted?

Basically between work, Cheese's arm, more work, and the holidays, I haven’t really had a ton to say. Life just…is.

Once I get my act together I am going to come up with a list of resolutions, though.

I used to not make any, and really I still don’t, but this year for some reason, I really like the idea of the “Reset” button. It’s been a good year in many respects (what with getting married and all), but I have also let some things slide, so I like the idea of kick starting some newer/better habits, you know?

So sit tight, and I promise I will power off that list in the next 24 hours.

And most likely from the bathroom.

Overheard at the County Jail

While waiting to conduct an interview of my own at the county jail today, I sat and listened as a 40-something woman talked loudly into her cell phone to a child of approximately 10 years of age:

"Hey kiddo..yeah, it's grandma...listen baby, I need you to listen to grandma. Yes, I'm here at the jail. Your daddy saw the judge today, and the judge told your daddy he needs to go to the Bad Boy Jail...Yes, he has to go to the Bad Boy Jail. He has to go to Bad Boy Jail for 2 1/2 years.

(Pause)

No, no, it's not the judge's fault, it's your daddy's fault. Every time he hits someone, he breaks their bones, so now he has to go to Bad Boy Jail so he can learn to be good. He needs to learn to be good, or he is going to keep going to Bad Boy Jail.

(Pause)

Well, baby, I know that - your daddy may not be big, but he's stronger than he knows, so when he hits someone, it hurts. He hit your mom and shattered her eye socket, and he hit Uncle Kiko and broke his jaw, and then he hit that police officers.

(Pause)

Now sweetie, you're just going to come live with grandma, and we are going to live together for however long it takes. First for 2 1/2 years, and then forever, if we have to. You know that grandma loves yuo very much, and I'm not going to let anything happen to you.

(Pause)

No honey, they won't let you see your mommy either, but maybe someday when she gets her things together, you can see her too. Now, I need you to not talk to your sister and brother until I get home, and I'll be home at 5:30, and we'll all go out for pizza like we talked about.

(Pause)

I know, kiddo, but we'll get through this. I love you very much, and we will be fine. I love you. See you at 5:30."

(End call)

(Me, in head) Damn. That sucks. The violence, the incarcerated (now absent) father, dysfunctional mother - you wonder how much of that this kid witnessed.

I tried to imagine myself as that kid on the other end of the phone, being told concepts and words that no child should ever have to hear - jail, shattered eye socket, etc.

Sigh.

I don't know that kid on the other side of that phone call, and it's not yet a case for my Department, but I made a mental note of the family name in the event that the case does come down the line.

I know it doesn't sound "clinical" or anything, but - Fucking parents, man.

The Other Shoe

It was one of those weekends that is so blissful, you take pause in a random moment just to remind yourself that, yes, this is your life.

I went to Tennessee to visit my brother and his wife.

They are expecting their first child, and my whole family flew down for the Sunday baby shower.

But Saturday was all about family time in their new house.


It's Jenny, all pregnant and hanging in the backyard.

My brother, showing off his new bow-and-arrow hunting skills. The natural athlete he is, he just started hunting (an idea very foreign to us city-folk) and off course is amazing.

He tried teaching my brother-in-law.

The rest of us were kickin' on the deck, hangin' with the Mayor and his lil' brother.

Even the Mayor needs a little Momma love sometimes.

"Here Uncle No-No. It's Miller time."

Momma Q and Aiden.

The Mayor

The boys.

Cookin' with Coo-Coo Nana. I have to brag, because The Mayor has been cooking with my mom and his mom since birth, and he is really quite good, and not even 3-years-old yet. Look at him crack that egg!

Of course, if he's playing in chocolate, he must be cooking with Auntie Megan!

Me, Ellie and Aiden off for a walk, just outside of Nolan's backyard.

And on the way back.

Its hard to convey how glorious that day was in just these few pictures (and more to follow). The weather, the family, the laughs - it all culminated with an early Thanksgiving dinner and a Mayor-inspired dance party that evening.

Even now, I chuckle when I think of the little dude "Nodding my head like Yeah/Moving my hips like Yeah" just as instructed by Miley Cyrus.

Funny though, how quickly things change.

Like in an instant.

Fast forward to Sunday morning - my phone jolting me out of a sleep. It was Cheese's number. I didn't want to wake everyone up, so I silenced it, and tried to scurry out of the bed and into the hallway to talk. The phone continued to ring - two more times.

When I answered, it was Cheese.

Telling me he just fell off a roof.

In Virginia.

Because my husband travels out-of-state and climbs on roofs for a career, this was the call I always suspected I would get, but I always hoped would elude me.

I found out what it felt like to have your world stop in an instant.

Long story short, he took a dive off roof while getting off a ladder, falling onto his right shoulder as he hit a wooden deck below. Of course, not before he fell through a patio table.

Instead of flying home to Chicago that night, I flew right to Virginia. I found Cheese in his hotel bed, discharged from the hospital with a shoulder the size of a small child.

The diagnosis - his humerus (upper arm bone that is round at the top to fit in the shoulder socket), broke right off at the ball. Thus, the ball-part of the bone was still in the socket, while the rest of the humerus was just....hanging.

His arm was completely disconnected from the rest of his skeleton.

Long story short - we saw a surgeon the following day, who encouraged us to go back to Chicago for surgery. We flew back the following day, saw an ortho at Rush, and got ourselves a surgery day for Monday (why not Friday, I don't know. Neither of us thought to ask).

As for how he is - in excruciating pain. The bone keeps hitting the part it broke away from, the muscles are spasming, the swelling is cartoonish, and his body has finally brought the bruising to the surface, and has turned his arm black.

In my moments when I cry in frustration for not being able to minimize his pain, I reprimand myself - reminding myself that it could have been worse - a broken skull, a broken back - the mind can wander around all the ways it could have been much worse.

But it wasn't, and he's still here.

He's home, with me, in our house.

He's here.

Foto Friday

Glorious Friday!

Five days ago, your arrival seemed near impossible.

But alas, through my perserverence, you are finally here!!

And because I try to be a woman of my word, I am again attempting a Foto Friday, an idea stolen like a college freshman's virginity during football season from Fool.

Top spot goes to baby brother Nolan and his wife, as I make my way down to Tennessee tomorrow for the baby shower!!


Sure is weird to see the little kid that once refused to wipe his butt after taking poop because he claimed that "the shower takes care of it," now prepping to be a dad to a baby boy himself. Circle of life, my friends.


And what kind of blogger would I be if I didn't give a shout out to all those racing IMAZ this weekend? Of course, this race holds a special place in my heart, and it's always nice to flashback to that unforgettable weekend in Arizona last April 2008:





















Ah, it never gets old, or at least to me.

You, on the other hand, likely have one finger hovering on the mouse, ready to right-click outta here if this post doesn't get more entertaining.

Foreshadowing: It doesn't.

So this might be the best time to wrap it up, wish the racers best of luck - A, I'm looking at you - and say YAY! to the spectators, some of who have traveled long ways to get there!

Enjoy your weekend!

A Little More Auntie Love

So like any other childless aunt that dotes on her nephews, I am going to fill this post with pics of my little smooshies. Maybe at some point I'lll get back to actually writing content, but alas, my life is so blah compared to the sweetness of these boys.





















Happy Sunday.

Foto Friday - Family Men

Hello Bloggies!

Have we met?

I don't believe so, so let me formally introduce myself - My name is Aiden.

And M is my auntie.

You know M, right?

From what I can tell, she likes to poke fun at everyone, she is always eating my mommy's food, always smells a little like she just rolled out of bed, and sometimes she gets really nervous when my mommy puts me in her arms.

And what's up with her hair?

Anyways, she seems nice and all, but...um...hey - can I tell you something? Between you and me?

So far, she hasn't been a super great auntie.

I mean, she comes in, she swings my big brother No No around, gives him lots of kisses and love, and he loves it and they play fire trucks together. She even brings him donuts that my mommy makes her take back home because she says it's not good from her "baby weight."

Whatever that means.

But then, with me, she mostly just comes over to me in the swing, leans in close, and says right in my face, "How come he always sleeps when I come over?"

It sort of bothers me, especially since I am just starting to get this whole vision thing down. I mean, she already looks sort of funny from a distance, so it's not hard to imagine that super-up-close version with a little vision-distortion can freak a little man out, right?

Sigh. I just don't think she likes me so much.

And people, how could you not like THIS face?



Maybe with time she will come to appreciate my finer qualities - my non-fussiness, my ability to sleep long stretches, the general containment of my poopies to my diaper (which, for a newborn, is not small feat, people). And besides she seems to talk a lot about running and some bike thing, so maybe once I can move on my own, master that whole "crawling" thing, wipe my own butt, and develop coordination, maybe then she might come play with me.

But I guess until then, I guess I still have my brother:


Yeah, this ol' boy isn't all that bad - I mean, once he got past the fact that I wasn't leaving, he seems to have stopped torturing me, poking my eyes, and slapping my head.

Although he has taken to peeing on the floor in his bedroom since my arrival. I wonder what that means...

Well, it's time for my mid-mid-morning milkies, and my mom gets cranky when I get off schedule. See ya later!