The treadmill and I got up close and personal this week. The treadmill has been my main exercise machine for the last nine years. We've logged a lot of time together. I am not saying this in a bragging tone but so that you know that after this much time, it would be safe to say that I'm well versed in the safety measures one should take when using this effective machine. Apparently not.
Monday was interval training day where I run at 10mph for 30 seconds and the a light jog for a minute and then repeat this cycle 10 times. I was on the last seconds of my first 10mph when I heard something rubbing against the track. I hit the stop button and jumped to the side of the track. Now, when I say I hit the stop button, I need to be clear that the track doesn't just come to a dead stop but gradually slows itself to a halt in somewhere around 10 seconds. So, again, I hit the stop button, jump to the side of the track and also start to turn to look behind me to see what was making the noise. And this, my friends, is where all the common sense I had left my brain and went on vacation and mistake number one is made: my foot catches the track and my body is immediately thrown to the side and catapulted off the treadmill. Here is where mistake number two comes in and has actually been there since we moved into this house almost two years ago: the end of the treadmill is backed up right against a wall. What this means is that I was chucked off the treadmill only to be pinned up a against the wall so that the track (which, let me remind you, is slowing down from the speed of 10 mph) is now performing some major exfoliation on my leg and arm. The thoughts that are running through my mind during this harrowing escapade went something like this: "This is not good. I can't afford to get hurt. The team cannot afford to lose another player! This is NOT good!"
Finally the treadmill has slowed enough to the point where I can peel myself off of it only to then to be blind sided by the pain coming from my leg and arm. Bracing myself, I look down at my leg...ohhhhhh...that's not good. However, I will not be one of those wooses who let a minor injury like this stop me from finishing my workout. I'll just go upstairs, clean it off and then finish my run. Seriously, the brain cells have stopped functioning. I grab a dish towel and wet it and then start to blot and then...
...AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
It's at this point that I decide to go on sabbatical from my workouts for a week or two. And how about for good measure, any bending, stretching or flexing of my leg as well.
Now, five days later I can happily say that I'm able to bend the leg but it is essential to where loose fitting clothes. I'm tempted to take a picture of my wound to show to you but I fear it will horrify you to the extent that you would never want to come back to this blog again. I'll just tell you that when my brother was in 6th grade he suffered from severe 2nd and 3rd degree burns and this is nothing compared to that. He did, however, have skin grafts taken from other parts of his body to cover the burn and my wound looks like the places where they performed his skin grafts. Only my skin was not put to good use and is now lying in embedded streaks on the treadmill.
There are two things that I'm grateful for out of all this. One is that Sage was downstairs playing just out of view when it happened and never saw anything which is such a relief because I really think it could have seriously traumatized her. The second thing I'm grateful for is Neosporin. God bless you people who came up with it and also the people who came up with the generic and cheaper version as well since I've been going through this stuff like a banshee.
I'd like to think that my brain is now functioning normally (whatever that is, I'm not sure) but I guess we'll find out! Oh, and in case you were wondering, I looked to see what had been making that sound and it was a card from one of Sage's games. Hardly worth the pain but at least I wasn't hearing things. Right? Hey, I'll take whatever optimistic thoughts I can grab at this point.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Monday, April 27, 2009
Favorite Moments
The other day Sage asked if I would play dollhouse with her. This is a huge deal because playing dollhouse is like self therapy for Sage where she works out all the dilemmas that life throws at her. Issues like staying in bed until it's time to get up or sharing with Clare are all played out everyday with the dolls appropriately named Mommy, Daddy, Sage and Clare. There is also a Grandpa Buck (because the doll is bald), a Grandma Jane and a little boy who is sometimes cousin Kade and sometimes her friend, Gideon. So I really felt like being asked to join her was like an invitation into a very sacred world...or the part of a therapy session where the mother is brought in to be blamed for all the issues the child has. Hoping to come out this unscathed, I let her lead the way in playing out what the characters are up to that day. She decides that I will play with the Daddy doll and she will have Mommy, Sage and Clare. This is already interesting.
Quietly I hold the Daddy, waiting to see what inner struggle will come out. She walks the Mommy up to Daddy and says in the sweetest voice "Hi! I love you!" Then the Mommy plants a big, loud kiss on Daddy.
This is the part of therapy where the mother is trying to control her tears as to prevent further trauma to her child.
Of course, being the willing playmate to Sage, I offer in my best Daddy voice, "I love you too and I missed you! You are so beautiful. The fairest of all! Now that I'm home I will see to it that your delicate hands will never wipe a poopy butt again!"
Later, while sharing this story with Brent, I told him how touched and actually relieved I was that in spite of his absence, this is how Sage sees her parents relationship. Ever the romantic, Brent's reply was "Yeah, better than having the parents beat each other up."
Note to self: when Brent gets home he is NOT allowed to play dollhouse with Sage.
Quietly I hold the Daddy, waiting to see what inner struggle will come out. She walks the Mommy up to Daddy and says in the sweetest voice "Hi! I love you!" Then the Mommy plants a big, loud kiss on Daddy.
This is the part of therapy where the mother is trying to control her tears as to prevent further trauma to her child.
Of course, being the willing playmate to Sage, I offer in my best Daddy voice, "I love you too and I missed you! You are so beautiful. The fairest of all! Now that I'm home I will see to it that your delicate hands will never wipe a poopy butt again!"
Later, while sharing this story with Brent, I told him how touched and actually relieved I was that in spite of his absence, this is how Sage sees her parents relationship. Ever the romantic, Brent's reply was "Yeah, better than having the parents beat each other up."
Note to self: when Brent gets home he is NOT allowed to play dollhouse with Sage.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Welcome Spring!
Don't tulips just make you smile? The rabbits have been quite merciful on the these lovely flowers this year and I couldn't resist snapping some pictures of them this last week. They are so cheery and have been begging me to share them with you. The last one was taken this morning when a cardinal was roaming amongst the tulips, looking for a tasty breakfast during this mornings' rain. I'd like to think he was enjoying the ambiance as well.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Someday...
I haven't been very diligent at blogging lately and it's not because I'm breaking down or too stressed or anything like that. Quite simply, I haven't had the time and the little time I do have I just want to sit, not think or plan or contemplate...just sit and bask in the silence. I have say too, that the girls and I have had many fun filled days lately as we took a two week trip to Minneapolis over Easter (thanks Grace and Kevin!) and have been soaking up perfect weather to play outside in. Unfortunately it's left little time for me to sit down and blog which leads me to the reason for the title of this post. Someday I hope to be more consistent on posting the little things we do or the random thoughts that stick around long enough in my brain to actually pour themselves out on the screen in front of me. For that matter, someday I hope to have more time to practice piano, landscape the backyard, learn to sew on my fabulous sewing machine, take up golfing, organize all the baby stuff to sell in a garage sale, have a garage sale and reupholster my sofa. For now, I'm just trying to stick the important stuff like making sure the girls are loved, fed, clean, educated and trained to sleep threw the night. That last one still needs a lot of work. The rest of the time is spent being a wife to a husband on the other side of the world, keeping this house running (I've become quite proficient at fixing toilets) and getting in my daily workout. In light of focusing on what my priorities are right now, I feel really good about where we're at right now in the craziness of this year and even though there are many things that plague my mind from the department of "I really should..." I'm okay with letting those things ride in the backseat awhile longer. Until then I'm going to try to focus this blog on fun things and celebrate the discoveries these precious girls make everyday.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Silly Me
My Mom called me tonight to ask me how the blog ended. I was very confused at this question. I was quite certain I had not published an unfinished blog but apparently I had.
Hee, Hee, Heee...
Oh, for certain I've lost my marbles!
In case you were at all curious, Brent called while I was in the middle of writing a sentence and while I was certain I had hit the "save now" button, I must have hit the "publish post" button instead. I have now finished it in case you were feeling bored enough to want to read the rest.
I have not stopped laughing at myself since which tells me that a) I've lost my mind and need medical attention, b) I need to go to bed right this minute since my overdoses on coffee lately have not been an effective treatment to the state of exhaustion I'm walking around in or c) I need to get out more because this really isn't that funny when I think about it and yet, I'm still laughing.
Brent, I'm sorry if you come home to a wife whose eyes are bugged out and is running around the house chasing phantom bats with a broom yelling "I'm gonna getcha! I'm gonna getcha!" I'll do my best to hold it together but let's just both pray this is all over soon. Day and night, pray. Like seriously, maybe every time you think of me or the girls. Let's synchronize out watches and then maybe every five minutes we'll ask God to keep me going. Like a little wind up toy who is beating his drum slower and slower until someone comes along and gives it a crank. That's me. I need God to give me a crank. Every five minutes sounds about right.
I'm going to bed...
...after I pray.
Hee, Hee, Heee...
Oh, for certain I've lost my marbles!
In case you were at all curious, Brent called while I was in the middle of writing a sentence and while I was certain I had hit the "save now" button, I must have hit the "publish post" button instead. I have now finished it in case you were feeling bored enough to want to read the rest.
I have not stopped laughing at myself since which tells me that a) I've lost my mind and need medical attention, b) I need to go to bed right this minute since my overdoses on coffee lately have not been an effective treatment to the state of exhaustion I'm walking around in or c) I need to get out more because this really isn't that funny when I think about it and yet, I'm still laughing.
Brent, I'm sorry if you come home to a wife whose eyes are bugged out and is running around the house chasing phantom bats with a broom yelling "I'm gonna getcha! I'm gonna getcha!" I'll do my best to hold it together but let's just both pray this is all over soon. Day and night, pray. Like seriously, maybe every time you think of me or the girls. Let's synchronize out watches and then maybe every five minutes we'll ask God to keep me going. Like a little wind up toy who is beating his drum slower and slower until someone comes along and gives it a crank. That's me. I need God to give me a crank. Every five minutes sounds about right.
I'm going to bed...
...after I pray.
Monday, March 23, 2009
To Be a Kid (completed)
When we had Sage I was determined that I would not be a parent who competed with other parents in the game of who has the smartest, most brilliant, Einstein in the making, Harvard should be calling any day, child. Along the way I've met parents who were just as determined to lure me into the boxing ring of "here's what MY kid is doing now" jabs but I feel I was able to hold my own and steer clear of throwing any jabs or uppercuts from my corner. (I think I've been doing a little too much tae bo lately) Now, for certain, there are people who actually care and are interested in your child enough to want to know all the little details. I'm not talking about them, I'm talking about the ones who ramble off all the latest and greatest accomplishments there child has made and then ask you that inevitable question: "So, what is YOUR child doing now?" My answer was usually something like "Oh, we love to go to the zoo and tickle the sharks swimming over our heads" or "Sage is just getting into having me paint her nails and sometimes we make it extra special by also painting polka dots on them!" Secretly, I'm hoping my answer annoys the socks off them.
Still, I couldn't help falling into the trap of questioning if I'm teaching Sage enough right now. Is the new norm to have her reading before she gets to kindergarten? If it is then I'd better snap to it. Not to mention, we really need to clear up her numbers because mixing up 6 and 9 will be sooooo not cool by the time she's in preschool.
Then I read something so provocative that seriously, I feel like a new parent with a whole new set of parenting tools. There's this book that I highly recommend by Dr. Brazelton (he's a huge voice in the world of research in child development) and I had finally gotten around to reading his the chapter in his book Touchpoints that was on three year olds. When I got to the subject of cognitive development, what he had to say was so incredibly shocking to me that I think I ended up reading three times. Here's the first part of it.
"In the pressured world of families today, many parents of children aged three or younger will wonder when to begin teaching them to read and write. My response: Don't, until she demands it."
Don't teach your child to read unless she demands it? Are you kidding me?
He goes on to talk about a study done in the 60's where a group of three year olds were taught to read and gained adult approval because of it but were shunned by peers who hadn't learned the skills. Then they began to slip in second and third grade because the learning process they'd used earlier wasn't enough in the more complex studies of later grades. Once they lost their place in the top of the class, they also lost the adult approval that had fed them before and ended up truly in a sorry state since they had never developed the social skills needed to get along with their peers. In the end he concludes that the best thing you can for your child at this age is to let her learn for herself. Achieving a task on her own will give a sense of accomplishment that will serve her much more for future learning than if the parent had pushed her.
Let me tell you, since I've read this the air has changed in this house and it's been an eye-opener to me at how much I was taking charge of the activities we did. By far what I've noticed the most is how much more I enjoy just playing with them or watching them play. It's as if I'm learning right along with them only my lesson is on discovering more about my girls and who they are even at this young age. So thank you Dr. Brazelton for my lesson on withstanding peer pressure. I never thought I'd need that lesson at the age of 31 but apparently I did.
Still, I couldn't help falling into the trap of questioning if I'm teaching Sage enough right now. Is the new norm to have her reading before she gets to kindergarten? If it is then I'd better snap to it. Not to mention, we really need to clear up her numbers because mixing up 6 and 9 will be sooooo not cool by the time she's in preschool.
Then I read something so provocative that seriously, I feel like a new parent with a whole new set of parenting tools. There's this book that I highly recommend by Dr. Brazelton (he's a huge voice in the world of research in child development) and I had finally gotten around to reading his the chapter in his book Touchpoints that was on three year olds. When I got to the subject of cognitive development, what he had to say was so incredibly shocking to me that I think I ended up reading three times. Here's the first part of it.
"In the pressured world of families today, many parents of children aged three or younger will wonder when to begin teaching them to read and write. My response: Don't, until she demands it."
Don't teach your child to read unless she demands it? Are you kidding me?
He goes on to talk about a study done in the 60's where a group of three year olds were taught to read and gained adult approval because of it but were shunned by peers who hadn't learned the skills. Then they began to slip in second and third grade because the learning process they'd used earlier wasn't enough in the more complex studies of later grades. Once they lost their place in the top of the class, they also lost the adult approval that had fed them before and ended up truly in a sorry state since they had never developed the social skills needed to get along with their peers. In the end he concludes that the best thing you can for your child at this age is to let her learn for herself. Achieving a task on her own will give a sense of accomplishment that will serve her much more for future learning than if the parent had pushed her.
Let me tell you, since I've read this the air has changed in this house and it's been an eye-opener to me at how much I was taking charge of the activities we did. By far what I've noticed the most is how much more I enjoy just playing with them or watching them play. It's as if I'm learning right along with them only my lesson is on discovering more about my girls and who they are even at this young age. So thank you Dr. Brazelton for my lesson on withstanding peer pressure. I never thought I'd need that lesson at the age of 31 but apparently I did.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
A Level of Respect
Since we first moved to Omaha and started this military life, I have always wanted to make note of something so far from normalcy in the civilian world that happens here everyday on the base. For my friends who are military and happen to read this blog, please feel free to share your first or memorable experience as well. I was raised on a farm and my life was so far removed from this world of rituals and abbreviated EVERYTHING, where your doctor shows up in camouflage and expects you to not think twice about his or her attire. There are many positives about this life that I don't want to forget and this is one memory I will smile over for the rest of my life.
Everyday, sometime around 4pm, loud horns can be heard from any point on base. If you are outside when you hear this, all activity must stop. I'm not sure what those inside buildings must do but I do know that I've never had to stop grocery shopping when they've gone off. If you are driving in your car, you must pull over. If you are active duty you must actually get out of your car and salute in the American flag as the National Anthem is then played throughout the base. This happens during rush hour on base when everyone leaves around 4:30pm so can you imagine all these cars pulled to the side of the road, out of respect for the anthem, everyday?
Now imagine what it would be like if you were an officer in your car and experiencing this ritual for your first time...only no one told you what it was about or what you were suppose to do. Yeah, that was the case for poor Brent. If I remember right, he just kind of played it cool and followed along with everyone around him. Sadly, there have been many other "here's something else that we do that is in no way considered normal that somehow you were just suppose to know" moments. Live and learn, right?
My first time hearing those horns blast was while we were swimming in the base pool. By this point Brent had already had his lesson on car etiquette in this situation but what do you do when you are swimming in the deep end of the pool? Were we suppose to get out? Could we quietly just keep swimming? Being the street smart people we are, we stole glances at the seven year olds swimming next to us and gathered from them that the people in the pool were suppose to turn to the direction of the flag seize all movement or quietly tread if you couldn't touch the bottom of the pool. The mother's who had been soaking some rays all put their books down, stood with hands over their hearts and showed their respect along with the rest of us.
Okay, I totally get the patriotism and respect that is shown in all of this and it there is a sense of pride every time when we take that moment out of normalcy to honor what this country and not to mention, the whole point of being in the military is about. But I'm sorry...it's a terrible, embarrassing thing for me to do...I just can't help but get the giggles every time. I think it's because I always think of Pavlov's dogs and that this could be mistaken for some mighty impressive conditioning.
Case and point: On my Mom's last visit here we were walking into the commissary (grocery store) when the horns started. I immediately grabbed my Mom's arms and told her to stop. She had no clue what was happening and thought we must be in some kind of danger but thankfully, before she tried to take cover or make some other defensive maneuver, she saw that everyone around her had stopped as well and were not in the least bit concerned. I looked around and tried imagine what this scene looked like to her as people who were on their way to their cars with the carry out person toting their groceries behind them, stopped dead in their tracks--even if it was in the middle of the street--and stood with somber faces and hands properly placed on their chest. What was she thinking when she saw the lady a few feet away standing by her open trunk with groceries only half loaded? At first she had the proper response of "how neat" and "there is dignity and honor in doing this." But then...
...then came the giggles.
Everyday, sometime around 4pm, loud horns can be heard from any point on base. If you are outside when you hear this, all activity must stop. I'm not sure what those inside buildings must do but I do know that I've never had to stop grocery shopping when they've gone off. If you are driving in your car, you must pull over. If you are active duty you must actually get out of your car and salute in the American flag as the National Anthem is then played throughout the base. This happens during rush hour on base when everyone leaves around 4:30pm so can you imagine all these cars pulled to the side of the road, out of respect for the anthem, everyday?
Now imagine what it would be like if you were an officer in your car and experiencing this ritual for your first time...only no one told you what it was about or what you were suppose to do. Yeah, that was the case for poor Brent. If I remember right, he just kind of played it cool and followed along with everyone around him. Sadly, there have been many other "here's something else that we do that is in no way considered normal that somehow you were just suppose to know" moments. Live and learn, right?
My first time hearing those horns blast was while we were swimming in the base pool. By this point Brent had already had his lesson on car etiquette in this situation but what do you do when you are swimming in the deep end of the pool? Were we suppose to get out? Could we quietly just keep swimming? Being the street smart people we are, we stole glances at the seven year olds swimming next to us and gathered from them that the people in the pool were suppose to turn to the direction of the flag seize all movement or quietly tread if you couldn't touch the bottom of the pool. The mother's who had been soaking some rays all put their books down, stood with hands over their hearts and showed their respect along with the rest of us.
Okay, I totally get the patriotism and respect that is shown in all of this and it there is a sense of pride every time when we take that moment out of normalcy to honor what this country and not to mention, the whole point of being in the military is about. But I'm sorry...it's a terrible, embarrassing thing for me to do...I just can't help but get the giggles every time. I think it's because I always think of Pavlov's dogs and that this could be mistaken for some mighty impressive conditioning.
Case and point: On my Mom's last visit here we were walking into the commissary (grocery store) when the horns started. I immediately grabbed my Mom's arms and told her to stop. She had no clue what was happening and thought we must be in some kind of danger but thankfully, before she tried to take cover or make some other defensive maneuver, she saw that everyone around her had stopped as well and were not in the least bit concerned. I looked around and tried imagine what this scene looked like to her as people who were on their way to their cars with the carry out person toting their groceries behind them, stopped dead in their tracks--even if it was in the middle of the street--and stood with somber faces and hands properly placed on their chest. What was she thinking when she saw the lady a few feet away standing by her open trunk with groceries only half loaded? At first she had the proper response of "how neat" and "there is dignity and honor in doing this." But then...
...then came the giggles.
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