October 19th, 2008 § Comments Off on Run, Run, Run § permalink
In lovely Lowell, MA, it’s going to be a lovely 54 degrees today–perfect marathoning weather! But at the moment, it’s a mere 34 degrees, which begs the age-old running question: shorts or tights? Wear shorts and I’ll freeze my ass off for the first hour. Wear tights and by the end I’m a sweaty mess.
I’ve been really casual about this marathon. For one, it’s local so there’s no disruption to my life. The family isn’t even coming out–Doodles has religious school and after they’re all going to the birthday party of the daughter of one of Adam’s closest buddies. I’m up, I’m about to drive to Starbucks to pick up a friend, and then head to the marathon. I won’t even have anyone at the end of the race, because I have just one friend running the full–everyone else is running the half so will be done hours before me. It’s not like I’ve done a zillion marathons–this will be my fourth–but it just doesn’t seem like any big deal. I kind of feel like I’m just going out for another long run.
…except that I had these weird dreams last night. Someone mentioned the course can get really thinned out. New York had 45,000 runners. Miami had 10,000. Baystate has 2,500 total for the full and half. So I dreamed that all the runners were pretty spread out so I had to follow the path myself. Except the marking was this faded yellow chalk line down the street, and of course I got lost. And just like the night before my first NYC marathon, I dreamed that at some point I stopped to hang out and chat and relax and then I realized after a bit, “Oh, shit! I’m in the middle of a marathon! I’ve got to go!” And off I went to keep running.
So I guess I’m feeling a little more tense than I thought. I have no idea what a smart pace would be for me–I really feel confident I can do under 10-minute miles (my basic goal), but how far under? I don’t, don’t, don’t want to go out too fast and hit the wall at 20 miles, like I did in the first NYC race. But then again, it’s also a sucky feeling to finish and think, “There’s still some juice left in me. I could have spent more.”
Well, we’ll find out for sure what I can do, I guess, in about six hours. In the meantime, Run, Mommy, Run. Oh, and I’m wearing the shorts.
October 13th, 2008 § § permalink
I’m just a week away from my race, which means I’m in full-on taper mode. Tapering is when you ease off the running in preparation for the race. I hate tapering. Hate, hate, hate. Tapering plays with your mind, makes you think you’re slow. It has you itching to go out for a good, long, hard run. I went out this morning for a “30 minute easy run with 5 pick ups” and all I could think was, “It probably wouldn’t hurt me to go just another four miles,” but I have to stop myself. This is the one time I also try to really pay attention to what I’m eating, consume lots of veggies and pay attention to my fat and alcohol intake (in other words, no drinking this week), which I know I should be doing all the time, but let’s face it, I don’t.
My previous marathon PR (personal record) is 4:25:07 in New York in 2006. That’s a 10:07 pace. I really want to break the 10-minute-a-mile pace in this marathon, as that’s a real psychological block for me. But with that three-week injury, at this point my only goal is to finish uninjured. Taking those weeks off of running really did a psychological number on me. I think breaking the 10-minute block will be like the two-hour half marathon. I couldn’t do it. No matter what I just couldn’t run faster than a two-hour half marathon. And then, running with a friend, I did in September 2007, and since them, I haven’t run over two hours since (I’ve run a total of five half marathons now under two hours). I think once I break that 10-minute mile, I’ll always do it. But until that first time….
So for now I’m thinking fast thoughts. I’m envisioning myself at the finish line, the clock reading 4:20 (which is just under at 10 minute pace). Of course the more I do these ridiculously easy taper runs, the more I long to run Comrades (on an up year, of course). Something about not even breaking a sweat makes me think I can do anything. My ultimate goal with all this running is to run Comrades before my 45th birthday (figuring that five years is enough time to get back on our financial feet after the remodel and that five years from now, I’ll be more open to traveling halfway across the world with my children).
10 minute miles? I hope so. And if not, no biggie. It’s all just training for Comrades, right? Run, baby, run.
July 30th, 2008 § Comments Off on Random Crazy Kidness § permalink
Whenever people hear that my kids are up at 5 or 5:30 in the morning, they get this horrified expression on their faces and say, “How can you stand that?” Even when I explain, they don’t quite believe me. But the honest to God’s truth is that we end up waking up our kids. I’m out of bed before the alarm (set for either 5 or 5:30) every day. I can’t remember the last time my alarm actually went off. And with our creaky house, Adam and/or I always end up waking at least one child up. This morning, I got out of bed at 4:57 a.m. I went into the downstairs bathroom to change, but before I was out, I heard thump, thump, thump on the stairs in a way that was either Adam sleepwalking drunk or a child. It was Pie.
Me: Pie! What are you doing up? It’s still night.
Pie: I was all done.
Me: But look, it’s still dark!
Pie heads to the window. The tiniest inkling of dawn is far away, but visible. She exclaims, in a very loud voice: Look, Mommy! It’s not dark! There’s light out there!
The plus side of this is between camp and a playdate after camp, she’ll be exhausted and she’s been known to fall asleep while watching her show, often at 5 p.m. I expect that will be the case tonight.
(And why was I up at 4:57 a.m.? My boot camp went for a 5 1/2 mile trail run–what an incredible way to start the day, running through the woods. It’s really a much tougher workout than straight running. I can generally run 10 miles at a 9:25 pace; here I did 5.5 at about an 11-minute pace. Hills, navigating tree roots and rocks, mud–all slow down the pace. But it’s such a serene day to start the day that I came home even more energized than I usually do after boot camp.)
Doodles slept a smidgen later, but not enough to keep him up very late tonight.
The two of them have been killing me lately, but in a fun way. Doodles is still in his independence phase, but it’s gotten a lot easier to tolerate. He’s mellowing some, I’m mellowing some. Pie can still unleash a wicked temper tantrum, but they’re fewer and farther between. But they are a trip together.
Doodles is completely laid back and Pie is fairly high strung (hmmm, I wonder which parent each of them takes after!). Pie will get really worked up about something, and Doodles is just, “Whatever!” Like yesterday at ice skating. Doodles always wears the dark blue gloves; Pie wears the light blue. Pie began to have an absolute fit. “I want the other blue gloves. The OTHER blue gloves!” I suggested she take a deep breath and simply ask her brother.
Pie: [taking deep gasping breaths till her voice is normal] Doodles?
Doodles: Yeah?
Pie: Doodles, can we trade mittens?
Doodles, shrugging: Sure!
Nine times out of ten, Pie wants what Doodles has. And nine times out of ten, he’ll swap with her. Especially because of this, I try to be especially respectful when he doesn’t want to swap or share. And generally, I can tell who’s the instigator in any problem.
For instance, yesterday, there was a battle over a drum. I’m 99.9% sure that Doodles had it first, and Pie didn’t want him to have it. I caught the two of them struggling with it. In true Solomon’s wisdom fashion, I told them, “If you guys can’t figure a way to make this work, I’m going to put the drum into time out.”
Pie immediately latched on. “Yes! Drum in time out! Drum in time out!”
So of course I handed the drum to Doodles. Later I came out when I heard Pie yelling, “Close the gate! Close the gate!” I found the drum on the steps and Pie trying to close the bottom gate. We never close that gate except when someone is sitting on the stairs in time out. She was determined to give that drum a time out one way or another!
Of course the biggest problem with have is with… smooches! Doodles is an affectionate kid and he smooches Pie. Pie sometimes likes it, sometimes not. I heard blood-curdling screams two days ago, and I ran, figuring someone had impaled himself or something equally horrific.
Pie, trying to talk in the sobs: Doodles smoooo me! He smoooo me!
Me: He smushed you? That wasn’t very nice.
Take Pie to Doodles.
Me: Where did you smush her?
Doodles: Right here [points to the top of his head]
Me: You smushed her head?
Doodles: Smooched.
Me: Oh! You smooched her!
Nods from everyone.
Pie: He smooched me! He smooched me!
Me: Well, there’s only one thing you can do!
Pie looks at me expectantly.
Me: Get him back! If he smooches you, you should smooch him back! Even more!
Pie instantly stops crying.
Pie: Yeah!!!
Pie goes running after Doodles, smooching him all over his head while he mock cries.
Crisis averted. Peace reclaimed. Maybe I should be sent abroad as a peace envoy. I’ve got loads of experience.
July 28th, 2008 § Comments Off on Running by Rote § permalink
It’s 8:11 a.m. and I’ve run 8.58 miles (which included 5 x 1200 at an average of 7:45 pace), showered, had breakfast, drank coffee, made my kids’ lunches, read e-mail, and am now writing a quick blog. What have you done so far today?
Seriously, though, I’m at the point of my marathon training where I kind of dread the next workout, although when I’m actually doing them, I’m moving pretty much by rote. I was talking about this with my friend A.M. on our Saturday run (14 miles, 9:23 pace), how your legs can be moving but it’s as if they’re moving on your own–you’re completely disconnected from them. I feel that way about my workouts in general. I don’t set an alarm anymore; my body just wakes itself around 5 a.m. I roll out of bed without even thinking about it, dress, eat a banana, have some water, and then head out the door. I’m barely aware of what I’m doing. I just go. I only run three days a week, although I cross train the other two. Boot camp one day–that’s easy as it’s already part of the schedule. I’m having problems coming up with what the other day of cross-training is. I alternate between biking and walking, although I’m hoping to add some yoga in.
I keep a poster in my office from my first marathon that reads, “At 18 miles you wonder why you do this. At 26.2 it all becomes perfectly clear.” I feel that way these days. I’m running, I’m running, I’m running, and I think, “Why? How ridiculous is this, a woman in her 40s running and running and running and where does it get me?”
But then I remind myself. I do it to be healthy (although I’m at the other dreaded point in my training where I start adding on weight–always happens). I do it to set a good example for my kids. I do it because I love that feeling of crossing a finish line, of completing a goal. I do it to hang another medal onto my collection. It’s just what I do.
So when the next line on my training schedule says 5 miles at an 8:30 pace, that’s what I’ll be doing. And I’ll just keep telling myself, “One foot in front of the other. One foot in front of the other,” until I have another medal to hang.
July 2nd, 2008 § Comments Off on Foggy Head § permalink
I have this evil cold that was given to me by my dear, darling children. Of course, they get a cold and keep running. I get a cold and I want to bury myself beneath a pile of blankets in my over-A.C.’d house, with a stack of magazines and a big bowl of chicken soup. So, because I don’t have an original thought in my head right now, other than, “Nyquil! Now!” here’s a little wrap for you of the past couple of weeks.
Our vacation: Did you know we went away? No, you didn’t because I oh-so-cleverly scheduled a post for while we were gone, just to keep you entertained (wasn’t that nice of me?). We took our third–and final (boo hoo!)–trip to the Wildflower Inn in Lyndonville, Vermont. It was as heavenly as ever and the kids loved going to “camp,” Adam and I loved having alone time, and it was nice to escape computers and work and room parent assignments and all that other good stuff. This is only our last year because the program we go to is for babies, toddlers, and preschoolers. And we’ll have but one preschooler next year.
The highlight for Pie was definitely her counselors. Oh, she found one who she fell in love with. Pie came back to the room on Tuesday afternoon.
Pie: I asked my counselor to paint my nails.
Me: What did she say?
Pie: She said, no. She said, ask your mommy.
Me: Does your mommy let you paint your nails?
Pie: No.
Me: When does Mommy say you can paint your nails?
Pie: When I’m three.
Me: And how old are you?
Pie: Two.
Me: Right, two. So no painting nails.
Of course, Miss Thang comes back very proudly from dinner, showing off bright purple-y nails.
Pie: Mommy, look!!
Me: What did Mommy say about painting your nails?
Pie: Mommy said no.
Me: And what did you tell your counselors?
Pie, with absolute innocent glee: I told them YES!
How could I get angry with that joy? We had a little to-do today when I went to paint her (toe)nails for the 4th of July. But I’m talking about the relaxation of vacation, so we’ll just not go there now. And it was relaxing: swimming, kayaking, massage, dinner sans kids, hiking, hot tub, swimming, batting cages (for Adam and Doodles), goofing off on the tennis court (for me and Pie), drinking, and a general good time was had by all.
Boot camp: Ever done anything like say, oh, skiing, and there’s some person who has the top-of-the-line everything–the professional goggles, the killer skiis, the aerodynamic skiing outfit–but is clearly a completely novice who doesn’t know he should point his skis down the hill? That was me, today. Boot camp went on a bike ride and I still had all my gear from back when I biked almost seriously. Back when riding was something I spent entire weekend days on; when I rode to work, from work, and then tossed in an extra ride at the end of the day just for good measure; back when I had money to burn and a Bianchi road bike.
I still have all that stuff. But do I have the biking body that I did in 2002, which as far as I can tell, was the last time I was on a bike? Again, let’s not go there. A friend was kind enough to do a tune-up for me on my hybrid (no way was I going with the clipless pedals of my road bike), but I showed up in my little biking shorts and my cute purple biking jersey. Thank goodness I left the fingerless gloves and groovy glasses at home. Because, man, are they wrong. You can totally forget how to ride a bike. “Wait, wait!” I kept asking. “I don’t remember! The bigger gear for going up the hills? Or down?” It was humiliating. But fun. And who knows? Maybe I’ll start biking again. Once I remember definitively what the big gear is for.
Movies: I’ve been working my way through the suggestions everyone gave me for flicks to watch (still open to more! Always welcome a good movie recommendation). But I want to give a particular shout-out to Lionness, because a movie she suggested, The Bubble, is one of the most thought-provoking movies I’ve ever seen.
My birthday: Adam outdid himself. I didn’t think he could do it, but he did. Got me my own personalized bowling shirt. Had my sister come up to surprise me. Arranged for his brother to babysit. Rented a limo “happy bus.” Stocked it with friends and beer and champagne. Took us all to Jamaica Plain for bowling and food and booze and cake at the Milky Way. And you know what? For once, I don’t have a single snarky thing to say. It was perfect.
And with that, I’m off to find the Nyquil. Ah, happy Nyquil. How I missed you all those years. Welcome home.
May 14th, 2008 § § permalink
This past weekend was a big running weekend for me. I went up to Alton, New Hampshire, early Saturday morning to run the Big Lake Half Marathon. Supposedly it’s a very beautiful course. I’m not really sure. I didn’t fuel up properly beforehand (normally I eat a peanut-butter sandwich and a banana, but since I left the house at 5 a.m. and the race didn’t start till 9, my belly got all rumbly before then) and I tried to keep up with my much-faster friends for the first three miles, so by the middle, I was just kind of chugging along without a whole bunch of steam. Much more “I think I can, I think I can,” than any speed engine. I did notice some very sweet houses on the lake (oh, how I want a summer home on a lake!), but other than that I was very focused on getting to the end. I did respectably: 465 (out of 1202) and 24 (out of 89) in my division. My chip time was 1:54:47 for a 8:46 pace, which is fine, but not my best. I was heartened to see that if the race were just one and a half months later, I’d have finished 20th in my division (the only reason I can see to truly look forward to turning 40 is that it bumps me up into the next age category).
As a recovery run, I decided on Sunday morning to do the Melrose Run for Women. This is the third time I’ve run it (fourth I’ve signed up, but one year the rains were so bad the course flooded and the race was canceled), and it’s such a lovely run. My kids talked all week about the race they were going to run, as there’s a fun run beforehand. I think Pie was disappointed because the kids’ run for the under 8s was only a dash (“too short!” she said after) but she had a blast doing it. And she ran in the right direction this year! Last year was her first time running it and she kind of spun around confused. Doodles of course took off and proudly wore his ribbon afterward. I’m so psyched my kids are into running–I look forward to the day we can do full races together (remember the days, before we were married, when Adam ran with me? Ah, yes. And we were married–what? five minutes–before he announced he hated running and never laced up any running shoes again?). The race is a nice course and it’s an easy 3.5 miles. I did a fine job on it, especially after the half: no chips, but my gun time was 27:11.5 for a 7.46 pace. I finished 56 out of 644.
Now I have to figure out my next races. My name is in the lottery for the NYC marathon again. If I don’t get into that, I’ll run the Baystate Marathon. I have a half scheduled for September, the same day my brother-in-law is getting married (and by pure coincidence, the race and the wedding are in the same town in Maine and the race is in the morning and the wedding in the afternoon. What luck!). I don’t want to schedule too many other halfs until I figure out which marathon I’m running . But if anyone wants to meet up somewhere for a race, I’m generally game. The races wear me out, but in a good way, and I’m always up for another one.
Run run run. Of course there is one added benefit: Sorry, Adam. I’m really too tired after those races to put the kids to bed. Can you handle it yourself? Snooooooze.
April 23rd, 2008 § Comments Off on Built for Speed § permalink
A huge shout out to my boot camp buds, Petra and Chris, who ROCKED the Boston Marathon.
Monday morning was Patriots’ Day. As you may know, I first thought Patriots’ Day was a ridiculous made-up holiday. But I was a fast convert. Patriots’ Day should be a national holiday. Battle re-enactments! Parades! The marathon!
Doodles and Pie slept too late to go to the Lexington re-enactment of the Battle on the Green because the previous two nights’ seders went late (and those kids of mine were so cute! Doodles recited the four questions like a pro the first night and the second night, Pie chimed in with a question herself [there’s a video on the site if you’ve got the password]), but I suggested the marathon.
“I don’t want to go to the marathon!” Doodles whined. “It’ll be boring!”
That kid is all about “boring” these days. But I used the ultimate weapon: the TV. I turned on the marathon to catch the start, and the kid was hooked.
“Wouldn’t it be fun to go watch that?” I suggested mildly.
“Yeah! Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!”
Of course, three minutes into actually watching the marathon and he was “bored! Bored! Bored!!!” He and Pie started playing ball on the sidelines, drifting farther and farther away from me. I’ve got one eye on the race, trying to spot my friends, and one on the kids.
“Get back here!” I kept yelling, and I finally grabbed Pie around the waist and pulled her back, yelling, “If I miss seeing my friends because I’m watching you, there will be trouble!” (“There will be trouble!” is the most oft-repeated phrase in our household. I find it menacing enough to put a touch of fear into their hearts and yet vague enough that I don’t have to give up my–I mean their–TV show.) Luckily, the new and improved Friendliest Brown found a young boy to play catch with and I was able to spot not one, but both of my friends. And they looked gooood!
It really motivated me to want to run Boston. I’ve tossed my hat in the lottery for NYC this year, and I plan on running Miami next January, but Boston is out there waiting for me. I determined to get there on my own–no fundraising numbers–and I’m still a way off on my time. Although, the best thing about aging is that the qualifying time for Boston gets slower. I will qualify. One of these years. Of course, Doodles won’t be watching. He’ll be playing his Leapster. Because marathons are bo-ring!
February 20th, 2008 § § permalink
This past weekend, I took my first night away from the kids. And. It. Was. Heavenly. Last summer I joined a boot camp class. My town has an e-mail list and a woman, C., posted to form a class for “serious athletes.” Despite my misgivings about the “serious” part, I joined up and every Wednesday over the summer, I had my ass kicked by a big, mean drill sergeant (okay, so he’s not that big and other than making me do 200 sit-ups and 100 push ups, he’s not exactly mean, but the effect isn’t the same if I write, “And this nice guy with a sweet South African accent made me run fast”). Seriously, the class was tough–and hour and a half of sprints, weights, sit ups and push ups–and it was a big bonding thing. Just by happenstance, all the takers for the class were women, and since we’re all into the sporty thing, we just clicked (I realize from this blog, you probably don’t know how into the sporty thing I am, but I’ve become kind of jock in my old age).
For the winter, it wasn’t practical to meet outside at 5:30 a.m. anymore, so now we rent a space and meet up just every other week for a “winter tune up.” About an hour worth of heavy core and weight work. Every time, the night before class, I tell Adam, “Ugh, I don’t think I’m going tomorrow.” And every boot camp morning, I trudge myself out there and while I’m not so happy in the middle of push-up set number seven, I’m always glad afterwards.
So the past weekend, our fearless leader, C., arranged for us to use her husband’s family home in New Hampshire. Seven of us women and C.’s husband trudged up to Jackson, N.H., on Saturday morning for a day of cross-country skiing. It was my first time cross-country skiing, so of course I dove in with boot camp, which meant a four-hour outing to cover 15.4 kilometers (about 9.5 miles, but doesn’t 15.4 sound so much more impressive?). The day luckily wasn’t as cold as predicted (supposed to be a high of 11, but I’m pretty sure it was in the low 20s), so it was great. Adam and I had one of these conversations that make me wonder who I’ve been living with for the past eight years:
Me: So, C. suggested I wear running tights and then snow pants.
Adam: Sounds good. Or you could wear my long underwear.
Me: You have long underwear?
Adam: Yeah. And you can take my neck gaiter.
Me: You own a neck gaiter?
Adam: Yeah. And you can zip a lining into my North Face jacket and it’ll be really warm.
Me: Your jacket converts?
Anyway, Adam warned me I was wearing too much gear, and he was right–halfway though I had to take clothes off because I was sweating so badly. But it turns out, I LOVE cross-country skiing. It was really difficult–I could feel it my outer thighs as I was doing it and I was always at the back of the pack–but it’s absolutely exhilarating. We skied out, stopped for a picnic lunch in the snow, crossed a frozen river (only to read the sign to the right when we returned–oops!), and felt generally macho and cool.
That night we retreated to C.’s house and luxuriated. Of course, that was only after a team shoveled our way in (what? No, not me! I had the good sense to sit in a warm car till the way was cleared); a good three feet of snow had the front door completely buried. We all showered–and with all of Adam’s clothing advice, did he remind me to bring a change of clothes for after skiing? Nope. So I was the one lounging in her sheep pajamas, but hey, after that first glass of wine, I really didn’t care. C.’s husband cooked us an amazing dinner and we all drank too much wine and laughed a lot.
Before going to bed, I made the mistake of checking my voice mail. Adam called from home. I heard:
Adam: Can you leave Mommy a message?
Doodles: Mommy, I miss you! Good night!
Adam: Pie, it’s your turn. Do you want to say something to Mommy?
Pie: WWWAAAAAAAA[click]
The next morning, our hearty group all arose early. Only one other soul was brave enough to make the morning run with me in the balmy seven degree weather, but it was a great run (okay, so she dragged me out there, but I got the run in, so let’s not quibble over details). I’ve never had that frozen eyelash experience before and while it was rather creepy, it only added to my machoness, don’t you think?
We left nice and early to head back home and I met with my family at a kid birthday party. It was great to see them…for about five minutes. Once the whining started, I was already plotting how to get back to Jackson….
February 13th, 2008 § § permalink
I cut my finger last week. Not a big deal. A little bloody, but minor. But the thing is it’s on my thumb and as such I keep hitting it and it’s not getting better, so I’ve been putting Neosporin on it and stuck a Band-Aid on. Which is kind of like pasting a flashing neon sign on myself that says, “Please, ask me about my cut. Again. And again. And again. And again…”
Pie: What’s that?
Me: I cut myself.
Pie: How?
Me: With a knife.
Pie: Why?
Me: Because I was careless.
Pie: So you cut yourself?
Me: Yes.
Pie: With a knife?
Me: Yes.
Pie: Why do you have a Band-Aid? [Repeat ad nauseam]
And then, the coup de grace: On Sunday morning, I got up early and without thinking I grabbed a Band-Aid and stuck it on. It wasn’t until it was out of the paper that I realized my error: I had grabbed a Sponge Bob Band-Aid.
Pie: What’s that?
Me: A Band-Aid.
Doodles: Is that a Sponge Bob Band-Aid???
Me: Yes.
Doodles: Why do you have a Sponge Bob Band-Aid?
Me: I took it by mistake.
Doodles: I LOVE Sponge Bob!
Me: What do you possibly know of Sponge Bob? You’re not allowed to watch it.
Doodles: I LOVE Sponge Bob. Can I have a Band-Aid?
Me: No.
Pie: Can I have a Band-Aid?
Me: No.
Doodles and Pie: I WANT A BAND-AID!
Luckily I was running a half marathon that morning so I only had to deal with the Band-Aid bandits’ demands for a mere three hours before being dropped off in Hampton, New Hampshire. I met up with my friends from my boot camp class, although I knew I wasn’t as prepared for the race as they were, so I chose not to run with them and ran with a friend from my Saturday running group who assured me she’d be going slowly but still beat me by a good minute (Hi A.M.! Good run!). The race itself was pretty good–not too hilly, nice scenery, lots of the run was on the coast–but the weather wasn’t great. Started off chilly, but nice, in the lower 30s. By about mile 8 the rain started. By mile 9 it turned into a heavy snow that kept flying into my eyes. By the end, I was jonesing for both the soup and beer waiting for me. But I did much better than I had thought I would–I ran it in 1:54:34–although I was sore for a good two days after.
Anyway, after the race Adam and the kids and my in-laws met up with me, and we all went out for a nice lunch at the Old Salt. Doodles has made HUGE strides in his feeding group, and he will now eat a fish stick or two, which means our dining options have grown. So we went for lunch where I smell (no showers after the run), Doodles is eating fish sticks, and Pie is trying to choke herself with my medal. Halfway through the meal, I look down and comment to Adam, “Um, my Band-Aid is gone and I have no idea where it is.” But the highlight was when Doodles hopped up from his seat and proclaimed loudly enough for the next five tables to hear: “I need to poop!”
Adam quickly shuffles him toward the bathroom, and I can hear him calling loudly, “I have poop inside me! I also have–“
Adam quickly cut him off with “We can talk about it when we get in the bathroom.”
So of course, in the bathroom, Doodles completes that thought: “I also have sperm inside me.”
(Note, I’ve tried explaining to him that, no, he doesn’t have sperm in him yet, but that conversation has gone nowhere fast.)
So now I’m sore. Doodles has sperm. And, for the record, Adam found my Band-Aid. In the wash.
And no. You can’t have a Band-Aid, either.