Never Again

Tuesday night I went to the gym and ran on the tread mill. Whatever. That's not the point. I leave the gym all smelly and decide that since I don't have the kids with me that this is a good chance for me to run some errands.

As I am leaving my final destination (the copy store) I see my reflection in the door. Red sweaty face, disheveled hair, maternity jogging pants rolled up to keep them up but thereby making them two inches too short and making my waist look unnaturally fat rolly especially since the entire ensemble was topped off with a tighty undershirt that I had been wearing earlier that day. Whew! What a mess. Oh, and I failed to mention that I was wearing orange socks and pink tennis shoes that I bought 5 years ago at Kmart. They have silver reflectors on them---as if people wouldn't already be able to see me coming.

At that moment I vowed never to be seen in public like that again. Enough was enough. It is time for me to take charge of myself....

That lasted until yesterday, when I was feeling crappy, it was getting dark and I needed to run to the grocery store for some milk. Out I went in pajamas. I didn't even bother to consult my closet or a mirror for that matter. Bad decision on my part---when I came home my husband laughed and laughed. Finally choosing to look in the mirror I found myself with a Hitler style mustache left from my earlier fight with a spray paint can. At that moment I vowed never to be seen in public like that again. Enough was enough. It is time to take charge of myself....

Until next time.

Upon further self reflection I think that perhaps I should just give up and rename this whole blog something like "Liz's adventures in ill fitting clothing" or "What not to wear when buying Dr.Pepper" or (and I'm stealing a word here from my friend Beth) "How to dress like a Hobo". Hum...something to consider.

I Haven't Done This Since 8th Grade...

Tonight I did something that I haven't done since 8th grade. What could it be---the Roger Rabbit? Make out underneath the bleachers? Play Rad Racer? Peg my pants? No, no, and no. Although, I did play Rad Racer the other day at my parents and I enjoyed it. But that wasn't it---I ran a mile. Just one single solitary mile.

I know what your thinking and the answer is yes and yes. Yes, I really haven't run a mile since P.E. in 8th grade. Seriously. Runnings not my thing. And because I didn't take P.E. in high school or college, which eliminated the only reason I would have been found running, it's been that long. And yes, while it is true I've run around the block looking for a speeding bike child, there is no way I've run 1 whole, complete mile since the 8th grade.

So why did I do it? Pride. Insanity. My husband and brother just finished a marathon and want to enter more races. Not wanting to be left out and to show my superior toughness I signed up with them. However, before I can prove my mad running skills I need to develop them.

I'm not ashamed to admit that it took me 12 minutes and 25 seconds to run my first mile. And I figure that's not bad for almost two decades of unlimited shuffle, swagger, and cross-legged immobility.

For the record I did better on my second mile and for the record I will continue to do better. From now on it's me and the tread mill. So watch out boys because at the next race it will be "Liz, Liz baby. Dun Dun Dun Da Da Dun Dun"

My Guilt Knows No Bounds

Recently I've been racked by guilt. Literally everything makes me feel guilty and it has gotten out of hand. In fact, it's spreading and infecting innocent bystanders. For example:

A while ago I was out pulling some weeds when a big old nasty spider crawled across my path. Now I HATE HATE HATE spiders. Really hate them. So as I am pulverizing the poor creature I notice she is carrying an egg sack which she curls her entire body around in an effort to save her babies. As I rained blows down upon the poor creature and her egg sack with my shovel I felt guilty and sad. Here was a mother just going about her business when along comes some big jerk and destroys not only her life but her children's. I saw her desperate attempts to save her babies and what do I do? I smash them with a shovel.

But, I'm a mother to and a few feet away from the spider is little Grace and there's no way I'm letting anything hurt her so the spider had to die and I had to feel guilty.

After the blood bath I told this story to my friend who already knows I'm crazy and then forgot about it until today....

This afternoon I stopped some liquid refreshment off at her house when she tells me that the other day she opened her garage to find some monster mama wolf spider trucking across the floor packing an egg sack. She wanted to kill her but couldn't because of the guilt. MY GUILT!!! AGGGHHHHH!

My guilt it is contagious. Which of course, causes me to feel more guilt! Why can't I just keep my neuroses to myself? Now I envision my friends garage wall teaming with wolf spiders, eyes peering out waiting to attack her with their legions of spiders babies in some sci-fi battle extraordinaire. It gives me the guiltified creeps just thinking about it.

Oh guilt! If only you were as easy to brutally murder as a heavy laden spider....

An Astronaut?

Simon: Does Heavenly Father live in "outer in space"?
Me: Ummmm...well, kind of.
Simon: So, is he an astronaut?

The Naked Truth

So today I climb out of the shower just as Simon comes barging through my bathroom door in a panic because he couldn't get the lid off of the peanut butter. And there I am stark, raving naked.

Before I could even do anything Simon stops in his tracks and squishes up his face. "OOOOHHHHHHH Mom!" He says, "That's gross! You need to put on your clothes!" And stomps out of the bathroom.

Looking in the mirror I could see it was a fair assessment. So much for an illustrious career in the adult film industry. I just hope Simon won't need counseling for this.

Thank You Crazy Eyes

I was having an exceptionally bad day. And what do you do when times get tough? You head to the gas station for an extra large Dr. Pepper of course.

It was the night crew and so they don't know me. (Not like the day crew that knows me all too well and even gave me gifts when I had Grace.) Anyway, even though I don't know these people one of the workers has some interesting features and I've seen him working there quite a few times. Oh and then there's his name...in my evil brain I've named him "crazy eyes".

So I get my drink and get in line to pay. I get up to pay and I'm at a disgruntled employees register. She rings me up and before I can pay Crazy Eyes steps over and clears the register. "It's on me, " he says.

"You can't do that!" she says.

"It's on me," he says. And with that he pulls a handful of change from his raggedy old pants pocket and buys my drink.

"You're crazy," she says.

Like and idiot I just stand there.

"Now go on, and have a good day," he says and jerks his head toward the door motioning for me to leave.

Eloquently I say "Um, thanks" and head to the van bus where I cry and cry. Something so small seemed so generous and changed my entire outlook on the day. That small, unsolicited act of service at the gas station buoyed me up and I was ready to once again get to work and to well, "have a good day".

So, thank you Crazy Eyes for showing kindness to a stranger, for making my day, for buying my soda.

Returning to the scene of the Crime

I had lunch today at the exact same table we ate at in the Karma and Chameleons story. As Simon turned his ice cream into a science experiment and Grace peppered her head with sprinkles two old women stopped at my table.

Super, more unwanted advice.

Nope! A most refreshing surprise... The women wanted to let me know how darling my children are and how lucky my mom was to have such sweet grand kids. They were so genuine and so nice I wanted to cry. And then I hoped that somewhere out there today my dear friend from my earlier luncheon was being met with the same kindness.

Were you?