The (Running) Addict

Hi, my name is Karen. And I am a runner.

Well, technically right now I am a recovering runner.....it's been close to three weeks. Three weeks since I took a run that was of any significance. Three weeks since I finished my marathon. Two weeks since I did that short 4 miles that would significantly alter my reality.

You see, two weeks ago, after resting from my marathon for almost 5 whole days (I know, crazy right?!), I jumped back on my treadmill and started running again. The first run was a gentle 3 miles. It felt tired and sluggish so I took the next day off. At a week post marathon I got back on the horse and did a 4 mile run that seemed fantastic: good pace, energetic, almost perfect. I only stopped because I knew, from all my reading and perhaps a little experience, that you had to ease your way back into post-race running.

The next morning something was off. It was as if I had partaken just a bit too much. My left knee was tight and painful. It felt like the tips of my quads were singed, like the quadriceps tendon had been stretched past its snapping point. I did not panic. I simply stretched and iced and took another day off.

And then another. And another. And then it became apparent that something was wrong. Every time I tried to run, I was fine for about a quarter mile and then the tightness, the pain, the burning arrived like that time of evening when out of nowhere the mosquitoes appear and there's simply nothing that can stop them from tearing into you.

What's a runner to do if they can't run? What meaning does this life have if the very reason for breathing no longer exists? (Ok, maybe that's a little dramatic but really, that's sort of how it felt.) What am I if not a runner? (That's a rhetorical question y'all! Be nice!)

So, I did what any good Dory would do: Just keep swimming, just keep swimming, whatcha gonna do, you're gonna swim, swim, swim....

And when I realized that my knee hurt to even kick softly in the water, and I was using a pool buoy to hold up my legs, I realized it was time to see the doctor. (Ok, and to be honest, my brother had to scare me into it.)

A friend of mine works at one of the Orthopedic clinics here and got me in quickly with a doctor who is an Ironman Triathlete. In other words, I could trust her. She's been there and done that (times like a million). She checked me over, felt around, felt nothing. She told me that basically I had what was called IRS (my term, not hers): The dreaded Impatient Runners Syndrome. I needed more rest, more time. Just keep swimming, she said. And call back in a week if it isn't improving.

Ok. So, two days ago I set the goal of swimming a mile straight. (Something had to keep my fitness level up.) After nine laps (50-yards each), Kurt interrupted me to tell me he was leaving. What did I do? I started over. 42 laps later, I had done over a mile of freestyle, got out of the pool limping and started thinking maybe I needed to set loftier goals. Maybe instead of doing a triathlon one day (a goal that I only just recently took to)  I should set out to do an Ironman. (Who does that? Crazies, that's who.)

One problem, I can't run. I did everything the doctor said, including cross-training, grass running trials, and loading up on anti-inflammatories (kinda wishing I had thought of that one myself, duh!). It's been a week. I am going nuts, just ask Kurt. I am shaky, jittery, restless.....I can't sit still long enough to write and sleeping is becoming increasingly more difficult. Withdraw stinks.

So, today is the day; the day I call and say, "Okay, I give up. Let's scan this baby and see what I am up against." I am praying it is only more IRS accompanied by a little WQS (Wimpy Quad Syndrome) compounded by my nuttiness.

I will surely keep you posted......and no, I don't know how you got so lucky. Just savor it. :)

Speaking With Wolves

(It's like Dancing With Wolves only you are less likely to embarrass yourself.....or get eaten.)

Here are some of the latest quips and conversations noted in our family (and by latest, I am talking in the last month or so as I have been taking mental notes but writing next to nothing!):

While out in CA, Kurt decided we should drive the kids into Stanford by way of University Boulevard which is lined with the most gorgeous Palm trees imaginable. As we were driving through, pointing out the pretty trees, Kurt started telling the kids:

"This is the campus your mom and I lived on when we were first married and where I went to business school...."

Lily: "You mean, you and mom camped here?"

Madeline: "SQUIRREL!" 

And that was the end of that conversation as apparently they are neglected and have never seen squirrels before.....

****

One night in the middle of my marathon training, Solomon awoke screaming (it turns out his eardrum had perforated but we wouldn't discover that until the next morning). Somehow, I managed to sleep through the noise until Kurt nudged me awake and in his mostly asleep state said: "Could you please go turn off the screaming?!" 

****

We were on the way to church one Sunday when Lily started trying to spell a word. 

".....A-T-S...."

"Lily, what are you trying to spell?' Kurt asked. 

"That's," she replied. 

"You mean like, 'That's my mom?'" Kurt questioned.

"No, no!" she said adamantly. "I mean like, 'That's a rock.'"  

****

For father's day, I had the kids make a list of why they loved their daddy. After Aidan, Madeline and Lily had all written their sentences, I asked Liam: "Liam, why do you love daddy?"

He gave me a look like I was some Neanderthal who was asking what a car was used for, but without skipping a beat he said: "Uh, because I like EVERYONE!" (The duh was implied I think.)

****

Enjoy your day!

Running Review: Part Two

Then I considered all my hands had done and the toil I had spent in doing it, and again, all was vanity and a chasing after the wind, and there was nothing to be gained under the sun. -- Ecclesiastes 2:11 

Running a marathon is a silly endeavor. Really. While thinking about the race the night before, I started realizing that there was no good reason to ever run 26.2 miles, short of being chased by something that could eat you. (If only I had realized that 6 months ago!)

Think about it: what good is there in running a marathon? Really and truly, other than bragging rights, there is no reason for it. (And that one surely falls short of the values I try to live by!) Come to think of it, there are probably more reasons NOT to run a marathon than there are TO run it. It certainly isn't the best thing for your body. That kind of pounding and stress over such a long period of time is as likely to cause chronic overuse injuries (and the need for early knee or hip replacements) as it is longterm fitness and health. I have heard it said that people who run marathons have as many free radicals floating around their body as those who smoke a pack of cigarettes every day. (While that might very well be a contrived statement by someone who scoffs at the notion of running long distance, there are certainly countless articles floating around that point to the health risks associated with marathon running.) And for those looking to drop a few pounds, marathon running is certainly not the way to go. (If anything, this last marathon added several pounds to my scale, leaving me 5-7 pounds heavier than my pre-pregnancy weight. Yeah, yeah, I know: "It's just added muscle or water weight"....good luck convincing my ego of that.)

So then why do it?

As I stared at the ceiling the night before, that is precisely the question with which I wrestled.

What do mortals get from all the toil and strain with which they toil under the sun? For all their days are full of pain, and their work is a vexation; even at night their minds do not rest. This is also vanity. --Ecclesiastes 2:22-23


I like a good physical challenge. I will claim that. I like to exert myself and push beyond what I thought was possible. I like to look into the mirror and see someone who is working toward something, even if that something isn't at all significant or meaningful to anyone else. I like to rationalize that it is good for my kids to see me working toward and achieving goals; or at least learning from the process. Would I prefer to be able to save lives, secure clean drinking water for all people and stamp out disease and pestilence across the entire universe and beyond while doing so? Of course I would! (Don't think I didn't get all sorts of grandiose ideas running behind the World Vision sponsored ironman guy for so many miles!)

But the truth is, this marathon was about completing a selfish and self serving goal. Yes, I tried to maintain a sense of the holy: reading my bible while training on the treadmill for instance and trying to count my blessings at every mile marker during the race (somehow with the lack of blood flow to the brain, I only came up with about 3 different things that circulated whenever the going got tough....I fell far short of counting blessings every mile!) but does any of that matter in the grand scheme of things? I suppose I can hope.

I will spare you the details of the 26.2 miles. YEAH RIGHT!

So, where was I? The gun exploded and off we went, a giant wave of 889 runners, eager to spend the next few hours doing what we came to do. At first, I wasn't sure about whether to stick with the 3:30 pace group or not. You see, everyone I had spoken to, with the exception of my five-time-Boston-Marathon-running-friend-with-four-kids, had told me to go out slow, 20 to 30 seconds slower than pace for a good three to four miles, easing into the race before hitting my goal pace. Well, apparently that wasn't in my cards. Instead, I simply tried not to run FASTER than pace in the beginning. I kept the World Vision guy in sight because I knew his pace was going to be slightly faster than mine and at first, I hung right behind the pace group.

Kurt was there to cheer me on within the first few miles, telling me the kids were wondering if I was done yet (met with a slightly disgruntled laugh). I ran on.

Around mile 6, I noticed my right calf was tightening and my plantar fasciitis was flaring up a bit. I knew I would have to stop to stretch at least once. After hesitating to do so, I fully caught up to the pace group before pulling off to the side to stretch my calves. After only a few seconds, I jumped back on the road and again caught up to the pacer. That would be my only stop.

About that time, I started getting the itch to pull ahead and go a wee bit faster. Still wary of going too fast, too soon, I jogged ahead and by the time Kurt saw me for the second time, I was well ahead of the pace group. He gave me some water and ran next to me for about half a minute, maybe less.

Along the course, I met several great ladies who wanted to chat but each time I had to explain that if I wanted to stay on pace, I wouldn't be able to talk much. We exchanged emails and phone numbers and went on our separate ways. (No, we did not do that but seriously, you almost feel like you should sometimes....)

Suffice it to say, with the exception of running on river rock for a couple of miles around miles 15-16 and then heading straight uphill, plateauing and then straight up again around miles 17-20, it was a fantastic course. And all the training paid off. I never hit a wall and I ran faster than I had intended (in part because when my pace slowed off a tad and the pace group caught me at the hills, the new pacer for the second half was so annoying that I had to get farther ahead of her so that I couldn't hear her constant chatter anymore!) And even though I did have to apply counter pressure ever so often to the IT band insertion near my right hip, I was still able to do what I enjoy best and start picking people off at the end....first the guy in the minimalist shoes (who said they were great up until we got to the rocks, ouch!) and a handful of women, one who was wearing a running skirt (a personal pet peeve).  Four Gu's and one massive yet painless blood blister later (I'll spare y'all the picture I was going to post....ewww), I finished in a personal best of 3:26:18! (My last marathon, ten years or so ago was a 4:23.) Better yet, my fastest mile was the very last one which I ran in under 7 minutes ending with an all out sprint in the last 200 meters or so. There was brief ecstasy.

And then, like every obsessed runner I know, I left the race feeling like I should have done better. (Yes, seriously.) Certainly I could have run it faster given the amount of energy I had left at the end. Don't get me wrong, I was on cloud nine: partly because of runner's high and lack of oxygen to the brain, partly because I was so wobbly the wind nearly knocked me over several times which I thought was absolutely hysterical (again, because of the runner's high), but mostly because I had reached my goal and qualified for Boston! Yippee!

Yet, within hours, I was plotting out my next course of running action. I mean, surely I can do better than that! While eighth overall female finisher isn't too shabby (uh, did someone mention something about bragging?), there were still SEVEN MORE TO BEAT! (No, that is not really my goal.....at least two of those women ran close to 3 hours flat which is not likely attainable for this gal. Oh well.)

Hopefully next time, I will train even better, learning how to keep life in balance as I go....hopefully I can find a way to add more meaning beyond just self-accomplishment and pride, thus completing my joy just a little more. (Could I, too, somehow wear a charity-sponsored racing shirt or is that only for elite athletes? Could I fundraise while I ran? Why do people give money to charities just because people run anyway? Perhaps I am destined to lead a running group, helping others achieve their fitness goals? Should I become a pacer and be that annoying person that pushes others to do better? Suggestions anyone?) I have to admit, I get shaky just thinking about running Boston....what if I don't succeed? What if it is scorching hot like this year and my time stinks? What if during my next taper I get taken out by an unexpected Ebola outbreak that makes it all the way here to MN from some high security CDC research lab on the east coast? What if......

What gain have the workers from their toil? I have seen the business that God has given for everyone to be busy with. He has made everything suitable for its time; moreover he has put a sense of past and future into their minds, yet they cannot find out what God has done from beginning to end. I know that there is nothing better for them than to be happy and enjoy themselves as long as they live; moreover, it is God's gift that all should eat and drink and take pleasure in all their toil. I know that whatever God does endures forever; nothing can be added to it, nor anything taken from it; God has done this so that all should stand in awe before him. That which is, already has been; that which is to be, already is; and God seeks out what has gone by. --Ecclesiastes 3:9-14

***Next up in the race series: an August Duathlon relay. I will be the running half of team Mieux a Deux during a 5k-run/18-mile bike/5k-run race.....hopefully I can actually run again soon because right now I am still barely making it up and down the stairs!*** 

For now though, it's time to get back to the neglected family I left behind a few months back....I think in the course of my training, Aidan joined a rock band, Madeline played Carnegie, Lily took up roller derby, Liam learned three languages so that he could better greet people in his world travels and Solomon became a highly renowned Jazz Singer after he became the youngest person to ever climb Mt. Everest....

Or something like that.....

Running Review: Part One

You may recall last fall when I went crazy and signed up for a running race series which included five different races this year put on by the non-profit Team Ortho. I thought I was nuts but figured it would be a great challenge. (And perhaps get me back into shape after a decade of having babies!)

So, there was the Polar Dash 10k on January 1st where I learned I could actually run faster than I thought. (She says, shamelessly patting self on back.) I had not trained for speed and so I set out to run an 8:30 min/mile pace but much to my surprise I ended up running a 7:18 pace. Who knew?!

In March, there was the Get Lucky Half Marathon where I learned that I could run fairly fast for even longer than I thought. I set a goal of running a 7:40 pace and ended up running a 7:29 pace, finishing in an hour and thirty-eight minutes. After that race, I decided that perhaps I needed to set tougher goals and so after playing around with various online pace calculators and reading numerous articles, I realized that it was within my reach to at least aim for a Boston qualifying time.

At first, I did not speak this idea to anyone. I kept it inside, letting it brew until a crazed excitement boiled over from this ridiculous idea swirling in my head. Twenty years ago, if someone had told me I would crazily think I could run a marathon fast enough to qualify for Boston I would have thought them insane (or perhaps I would have said, Boston? Boston what?) But there were a few select people with whom I shared this ridiculous notion....and to whom I am ever so thankful for their ongoing support: some who ran with me on my lighter days and rode bikes with me on my long runs and others who simply listened to all my neurotic rants and worries in the process!

At any rate, for the last few months, I have trained: sometimes running 20 miles on a treadmill and other times trying to keep at Marathon Goal Pace while pushing a jogging stroller with a sleeping/crying/eating baby inside. I have spent time fretting over the most recent overuse injuries, IT band syndrome, Plantar Fasciitis, icing, stretching; on form, gait, running shoes and other running paraphernalia, while working towards being able to run ten 800-meter repeats each at three and a half minutes (like Bart Yasso, world class running coach, would have told me to do.) My goal: to run a 3:30 marathon, or as I told most people, to get within the window of 3:30 and 3:36. (A qualifying time in my age group must be under a 3:40:00....I figured I should leave myself a little wiggle room, just in case....)  

Like so many competitive runners, I was completely obsessed. I ran hard and fast, slow(er) and long, endured countless protein shakes and endless hours cross training in the pool while fitting in physical therapy exercises for core strength and stabilization. I gave up my yoga practice, slowed down my music studio until it stopped almost entirely, often left the house in shambles (sorry Kurt), nearly gave up playing violin and piano altogether, let homework slide until some kids were perched precariously on the edge of failure (really not proud of that one!), and failed to write anything on this blog for weeks on end in order to stay the course.

Looking back, I have to believe there is a more balanced and sane way of training well.

Needless-to-say, by the week before the Minneapolis Marathon, neurosis had set in. (Yes, it gets worse!) I had finished all my hard training runs and was at the end of the taper period when a flood of doubt took over, looming heavy in my heart. I struggled to fight off droves of negative thoughts and images while obsessing about every ache and pain that crept up while my body tried to recover from the training in preparation for the race.

Kurt had given me a gift card to a local spa to get a pre-race massage and while it was an incredibly helpful gift, the day after the massage, I started getting chills and began to feel downright lousy. I tried to tell myself that it was just the effects of the massage which worked out all those toxins and sent them floating through my body. I raced to the store, picked up Airbourne and Emergen-C vitamin drinks, zinc and echinacea lozenges and then sat at home, drowning myself in herbal tea, chicken noodle soup, hot epsom salt baths and anything else I could think of that might help me ward off the impending cold or flu OR MENINGITIS I was convinced my body was fighting. (Seriously, I had lost it!)

This was a very low point. I had worked so hard, sacrificed so much time and energy and now I wasn't sure I would even be well enough to run the race. I began to read articles online and browse through forums where other runners told similar stories and by Friday night, I tried one last thing: a glass of wine.

Lo and behold, I started feeling better. Relaxed, I went to bed with more positive thoughts taking hold. Realizing I was probably just dealing with allergies, I started pushing out the demon of doubt and instead rehearsed my pace and running strategies. By Saturday morning, I was sure I would be able to run the next day and prayed that I would not have to stop and use the bathroom during the race (a more relevant concern than meningitis!)

I awoke around 1:30 a.m. on Sunday morning needing to use the bathroom. Half an hour later, Solomon was up screaming and while I tried to get back to sleep after that, I was so nervous that I was actually shaking. By 4:30 a.m. I figured I should just get up and get going.

After getting the babysitter settled in and then a quick drive, listening to Rush's song Marathon for extra inspiration, Kurt and I arrived at The Depot Hotel in the Mill District of Minneapolis. He dropped me off so that I could check my bag and get to the start with enough time to use the port-a-potty before the race. The slight chill in the air was a welcome relief even as it sent shivers down my spine and left me covered in goose bumps.

And within a very short time, the gun sounded and the race had begun......

Combo Disaster: Part 3

Solomon and _________________. (Insert anything there and it is pretty much going to be a disastrous combination.)

I figure this one is well suited for some simple pics describing why Solomon with anything other than perhaps a locked, padded, empty room, is a disaster.

The blotch next to his eye is where he met with an unexpected hard corner in the airport....a few days of recovery time and he looks pretty good. 

Solomon is relentless in his pursuits on the playground.

Hey, look, I found a gallon of Milk just sitting around.....

Notice, it is not empty.....

Here he is moving the furniture....FYI, that belongs under the mirror. 

I think he might be trying to take it back here.....

Solomon running away from us....he does not look back, just runs forward. 

Here is a video of Solomon climbing Mt. Highchair.....so glad he learned THAT one. 

What happens when Sister gives Baby a chocolate chip pancake.....

The big smile is due to the entire box of golden raisins Solly dumped out on the floor.....so much for me practicing piano!

No biggie Mom. We can just eat them off the floor.

Combination Disaster: Part 2

Combination Disaster #2: Me and anything related to fashion.

Ok, so about a year ago we covered this topic in the post on my sister's NYC wedding and the clothing dilemma I faced when preparing for that trip. I didn't get it right then and well, I have to admit, I didn't get it right this time either. Which of course is not really a news flash for a jeans and t-shirt wearing gal like myself.

You see, Kurt's business school reunion, like all reunions I imagine, consisted of a weekend full of various events, each requiring different attire. Friday night was to be business casual; Saturday morning and afternoon and Sunday morning, casual; and Saturday night, cocktail attire. I was okay with the casual. I mean, I can come up with all sorts of ways to wear my jeans! What I was lacking was anything that seemed appropriate for Cocktail Attire. Actually, I wasn't even sure what that meant to tell you the truth. I figured, um, a dress? A short black dress? Isn't that the answer to all fancy events?

I pulled everything out of my closet and spent an hour dusting it off and then trying on each and every possibility. Much to my chagrin, the 40-60 miles I am running each week in preparation for my upcoming marathon did NOT guarantee that I fit into my pre-pregnancy dress clothes (most of which I have had for over a decade now anyway). The most appropriate of dresses didn't fit me in the least! (Darn expanded post-pregnancy rib cage....and, um, 10 "maturing" years!) And so I called around to see if any of my friends had a "cocktail dress" I might borrow.

After trying on the beautiful dresses of a friend, none of which seemed quite right, I realized I was just going to have to bite the bullet and buy a new dress. I headed to the nicer of the department stores in our community mall, Von Maur, where I took my eye off the ball and tried on dozens of pairs of jeans while trying to chase down Solomonster every two minutes. I justified this misuse of time by acknowledging the fact that all my jeans are full of holes and tears and certainly I couldn't go to Stanford with ragged jeans now could I? But, to my dismay, Solomonster figured out how to escape from the dressing room within about 30 seconds and after an hour of chasing him down, I just bought the 6 pairs of jeans I was deciding between and figured I would bring back the 4 pairs that didn't work later.

Still, I had no dress. After trying some of the local consignment shops nearby, I was thoroughly stressed as I had come up with nothing.

The day before we were scheduled to leave, I rushed out to the Mall of America, Solomon in tow, and took a shot at Nordstroms. I found two dresses in my size and tried them on. The first one fit perfectly. I stepped out of the dressing room and asked the sales person (whom I truly thought I could trust.....seriously, I have issues) if this fit right and was considered cocktail attire.

"Oh yes. That is perfect. It looks terrific, blah blah blah....."

"Great!" I said. "What would I wear with it? Black shoes? Do I wear black panty hose?"

"Oh, you could definitely wear black shoes and black hose if you wanted," she assured me.

Now, in case your fashion savviness is anywhere close to mine, here's a little tip:

NO ONE WEARS PANTY HOSE ANYMORE.

Not here, not there, not anywhere! And if you are shaking your head thinking, "Well, shoot, I DO!" Then you need to read that again. Apparently panty hose went out around the same time as the dinosaurs as the black scrunchy. (I missed that one, too, something about having my head in the sand, with the scrunchy still on....)

So, we arrived at the evening of the Cocktail Party. Kurt, having seen several guys go into the party in what appeared to be dressed-up jeans, put on a wrinkled button down shirt and pants and stopped there. I was stuck however because I only had the one option: this incredible red dress, with sheer black hose and thick black heels (that I probably bought with my last installment  of Teen Magazine of black scrunchies, like 8 years ago.)

We arrived on the scene: probably close to 200 people crammed together in a bright and sunny, outside patio, mingling. (This is where the record player comes to a scratching halt and all eyes turn in our direction.....What? We don't use record players anymore? Since when?!) I would have felt just as comfortable had I been wearing a big orange Halloween Pumpkin Costume because as I glanced around, I realized that California "cocktail attire" resembled something more like the sundresses I might wear to the beach on a lazy summer day, OR ONE OF THOSE KNIT DRESSES THAT I WORE TO MY SISTER'S NYC WEDDING! and here I was, dressed as if I were a lady Kurt ordered from a local Escort Service. I was all Pretty Woman, BEFORE the help of someone who knew proper dressing etiquette....and minus like 10 inches.....in several different areas.....(One of my friends told me after the fact: Next time you have an event, call me and I'll hook you up without hooker-ing you up.)

Anyway, suppressing the incredibly excruciating urge to run back to our room and put my jeans back on before anyone else noticed us, I clung to Kurt's arm and did not make eye contact with anyone until we could slip into the darkness of the actual event. At least there I could hide myself under a table (well, at least my lower half) and pretend that I was as up to date as everyone else. And the few times I got up, for a necessary drink or bite to eat or what have you, I simply prepared a line: "Kurt has a panty hose fetish, what can I say".... in case anyone approached me, which they didn't. I did make sure to tell all our friends that though, you know, because that's how helpful I am with the whole "networking" thing. I figure, if they care what I have to say when they consider investing their livelihoods into his firm, well, they might need to reconsider their investment strategies anyway.

So, to sum this up before I write the next Moby Dick sized novel, if you ever invite me to an event, please consider coming over to my house and picking out my attire for me, will ya? That's what a good friend would do.

(But hey, at least I got a beautiful dress out of it....

                                 ....one that I have sworn to never, ever wear again.)

Combination Disasters, Part 1

The next few posts are going to focus on what I will call Combination Disasters: Two or more things that, although perfectly good alone (sometimes), are simply no good when combined. 

For example, five kids and an airplane.....that gets delayed for an hour and a half AFTER boarding. (Think Three Men and a Baby, only, the baby is on steroids and the three men aren't at all funny. Actually, no, let's just stick with five kids and an airplane.....)

When Kurt decided a few months back that we were in fact going to take the entire family out to CA for his 10 year Stanford Business School (GSB) reunion, I practically begged him to go without us. It isn't that I didn't want to go back out to CA: I really love CA, at least parts of it. And it isn't that I didn't want to take some sort of vacation. I mean, we can all use a little break sometimes, right? But I really didn't fancy getting on an airplane with five kids, well actually, one kid loomed large in particular: the 15 month old Solomonosaurus. The idea of being trapped on an airplane for four hours and then having to conduct life with this barrel of Solomonkeys in a tiny hotel room for five days just didn't sound like much fun. 

So, after much stress over wardrobe and packing, the day finally came and we arrived at the airport and easily made it through security. (And I have seriously saved you like three hours of reading just typing that one sentence and not looking back at the details! You're welcome.) I asked Kurt to keep an eye on the baby while I went to fetch some breakfast for the kids. When I got back, Hans Solo-mon had a lovely bruise and scrape down the side of his face where he had apparently picked a fight with the only hard corner in the airport. I personally considered this a blessing though: random ER trip averted! Yay!

Pretty soon we boarded the plane and sat down, eagerly waiting to see if the person next to us would kindly switch with Aidan who was sitting by himself in front of our other two rows. When the nice guy finally arrived, I think the conversation went something like this:

Me: "Excuse me, but would you be willing...."

Very Nice Guy: "YES, Certainly! Yes, yes, yes, Thank you!" 

I didn't even have to finish the sentence practically....apparently he was pretty perceptive (or had already gotten a good look at our crew in the lobby) and realized his fate was far better off NOT sharing a row with two parents and a Solomonstrosity.

So, we're sitting on the plane, heading toward the runway when the plane stopped and the Captain came on over the loud speaker to let us know that all departing planes had been grounded due to weather. Yay! But never fear, we'd be able to stay on the plane and wait it out. (Yay again!) And we did. For an hour and a half. With conversations like this:

Kid: "Dad, can you check the weather report?"
Kurt: "Yeah, just a second. Hey, Liam, open the window shade. Ok, the weather report says there is a 100% chance of thunderstorms right now."

And then, after a while, the kids sang "camp songs" to a quieted and weary plane. The other passengers were so thrilled. I could tell by their sweet looks and kind whisperings.

"JOHN JACOB JINGLHEIMER SCHMIDT! THAAAAAAT'S MY NAME TOO!".....

But, apparently the kids don't take requests because when I asked the amused men a few seats ahead if they wanted to hear Lily's Louis Armstrong impression, she quieted up real quick.

Meanwhile, Joe Solomonggio decided to practice his pitching skills and chucked the Sky magazine into the row next to us. The man who caught it (in the face) was reading a tiny book called, "Done: What Most Religions Don't Tell You About the Bible."

He seemed very polite but he hardly got my joke when after a while I told him, "If this delay takes much longer you will be DONE with that book before we even depart." Apparently he doesn't like jokes. Or maybe it was just really bad. Or, most likely, he couldn't even hear me over the kids who had moved on to Oh, Susanna and Skip to My Lou and Yankee Doodle and any other such song likely to get stuck in your head for the next 4 hours. At any rate, he seemed to be stuck on a particular section the entire flight (probably a How-To Guide to Loving Thy Noisy Neighbors on an Airplane).

We tried to make light of the situation of course, telling Liam all about when we were kids and they would actually let the kids into the cockpit to see the pilot and all the buttons and stuff and then would send you away with your own set of wings to wear proudly on your shirt. But, "Too bad Liam. You don't get to do that." (Which got a good laugh from the two young women sitting in front of us anyway.)

And then finally, the pilot told us we would be heading to the other side of the runway because of course the winds had changed. Luckily, we were the first in line to take off. After being in the air less than 2 minutes one of our kids yelled out, "Are we almost there yet?" And that's when I realized I forgot to pack our DVD's for the trip.

Yes, seriously.

Ok, apparently I was wrong. They do still do this as Liam got to spend the entire boarding time (for the flight back) with the pilot....not sure why I was the only paranoid one who thought maybe this was a bad idea.....really, don't they need to check things, like engines and fuel levels and whatchmacallits without the distraction of tiny boys sitting there asking questions and likely to push the wrong thing without them knowing it? And seriously, is this like the longest  caption ever???