It's Party Time is Code for I'll Be Asleep in Ten Minutes

Spidey chasing a pillaging Viking.

Who needs a mask when you can just cover your face with your hands.

Meandering her way down Candy Lane.

The parade. Way ahead. Stella and me. Way in the back. She took her time getting her treats.

Mark just informed me It's party time. Not entirely sure what he has in mind. Currently he is flipping back and forth between Ballroom Dancing on PBS and games of the football and baseball variety. He must be referring to the Edy's Hot Cocoa ice cream thawing on the kitchen counter and the Horror movie, Session 9, sitting on top of our DVD. It's the Eve of Halloween, after all.

Our Boo-tastic weekend has certainly been jam-packed already. We kicked Friday morning off with an appointment with CMC's Pediatric Infectious Disease group. Creepy, right? Stella has an additional noxious antibiotic to add to her twice a day regimen and a looming second surgery that seems to be dialing in on inevitable.

Being scheduled on the Friday before Halloween is actually the perfect time to visit the practice. You get a brainy doc dressed in an orange wig, oversized orange glasses, and a Fisher Price guitar strapped over his shoulder. He looked a cross between Bozo the Clown and a member of Deee-Lite, the long defunct house/dance music group from the early 90's. You also get more than your fair share of candy while they poke you with big needles and draw more blood than you can imagine a tiny girl having in her body.

I managed to throw a 13ish mile trail run in this morning. It was just what this mommy needed to face the afternoon of power outage, no naps, and buzzing children wanting 4:30 to desperately get here so they can dress up in a costume, wander down a neighborhood street, and get lots and lots of treats.

Some time ago, HeHe gave Heath a Spider-Man costume. Some time more recently, Heath talked Mark into getting a Batman costume. And some time even more recently, Heath tried to talk me into getting an Iron Man costume. Or Bakugan costume. Or Snow White costume. Or Cat in the Hat costume. Or some other costume, any other costume, besides Spider-Man or Batman. I held firm--Batman or Spider-Man. Those are your choices. And how nice to have two to choose from.

At 4:20, he made his choice. Spider-Man. No mask. And if anyone wants to know what footwear Spidey wears--running shoes. To run so fast after bad guys.

Stella was, of course, a Pumpkin.

The cutest, I mean, scariest couple of Vikings I have ever seen showed up at our house with their Viking mom and beleaguered Cameraman dad. We all made our way to the start of the neighborhood parade, led by our neighborhood Fire Truck, good ole #16. Stella and I were the caboose of the parade. She preferred stopping at each driveway to collect a piece of candy, then ask me to open it. I would say, No, let's wait until the end of the parade. And we would SLOWLY walk to the next basket, while she would proceed to try to eat the candy anyway, wrapper and all, until we reached the next driveway or person with a bowl of candy.

Heath was ahead with Mark and our friends. When we met at the end of the street, it was clear he had managed to hit all the candy bowls, and had also managed to quickly sneak a few pieces of chocolate in. No naps, jacked up on candy--party, indeed. (I think the party Mark may be referring to is the sound of sleeping children.)

The celebration continues tomorrow with a Halloween party in the morning at a preschool pal's house. We'll see if Spider-Man goes, or if Bruce Wayne will emerge from the Batcave as Batman. Either way, going out again tomorrow evening to collect more candy feels daunting at the moment. I'm starting to think Clover, SC had a good idea with Saturday night Trick-or-Treating.

Nothing But Sincerity As Far As the Eye Can See

Spooktacular Festivities are well on their way at the Ropko house. The kiddies watched It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown tonight. The two nearly laid eggs from all their cackling over Snoopy dressed in his World War I flying ace gear, taking on the Red Baron.

Heath finally posed the question, What are you going to be for Halloween? Good question.

Meanwhile, my fellow baby jogging buds have had Stella and I busy this week. In addition to our 6.17 miler on Monday, we've also managed 3.84 on Tuesday, 4.59 on Wednesday, and a whopping 7.16 today. Rain, hills, pushing two year olds, retrieving items thrown out of jogger by two year olds, and odd late October heat wave sweat. I guess freezing temps and a half marathon will be our next challenge.

So, what AM I going to be for Halloween? Mark says he's going to be a construction worker. He was a construction worker last year. I think we can do better than that.

And additionally meanwhile, Heath said he wants a red dragon birthday cake. With hummus and tootsie rolls inside.

Mmmm...delicious.

Have You Checked the Children?

The countdown is still on. 3 days until the neighborhood Halloween Parade. 4 days until Trick-or-Treating. And enough time to change a person's mind about what their costume is going to be over and over and over and over...

The morning started off with a Hot Wheels race car idea. I dropped Heath off at school and he let me know that he was going to be Wolverine. I picked him up and he informed me of his Iron Man plans. Just before dinner he made a Snow White declaration. I am almost tempted to back off my You're Batman. Period. stance just to see what Heath would look like as Snow White. He frequently asks me to look at his pretty lips. The perfect Princess accessory.

To really raise the level of spooky-consciousness in this house the Netflix queue has been Thriller/Horror-fied. We kicked it off with the 1979 classic, When a Stranger Calls. Mark was asleep within 45 minutes, and I was left only mildly spooked. I have higher hopes for our next fright night. The Blair Witch Project.

Run, Forrest, Run

Sometimes, when you're ready to head out for a run, the gray clouds that are busily sputtering tee tiny flecks of rain water slowly begin to part, and just as quickly a beaming sun reveals its bright, smiling face. And then, with a warm pep in your step, you confidently continue on your running journey toward a spectacularly colorful rainbow.

And then there's what happened today.

Along with a fellow baby jogging buddy, we loaded up our doubles with a couple of four year olds and two year olds, complete with a snack of strawberries and a back-up Brown Rice Crispie treat if things got hairy. All kiddies were rainbooted and rainjacketed. After all, it was sprinkling ever-so-lightly.

As we merrily launched our just over 6-miler adventure, the rain seemed to let up a bit.

And then it didn't.

As a matter of fact, those gray clouds seemed to quadruple in number, darken in color, and the the bottom of each cloud dropped, unleashing a steady downpour. Everytime I thought the rain would let up, it didn't. Instead, the rain progressed from downpour to full-on flood.

I kept waiting for peanut gallery complaints, but no one said a word. Or the rain was falling too hard to hear them. But it was too late to turn back--so we just kept stomping along through the puddles. At one point I stopped to treat Heath and Stella to the Brown Rice goodies. Their ear to ear grinning faces and hair were completely soaked. Soaked, but thrilled.

The rain finally softened. Just as we were turning into my friend's driveway. And then the sky cracked a bold boom of thunder. Perfect timing. 6 happy wet rats (and a sopping Puppy and Beanky) headed into the warm house, pleased with our rainy day adventure.

Fortunately I remembered extra clothes for everyone, so we peeled off our cold, wet clothes and got into some warm, dry duds. And Puppy and Beanky were treated to a spin in the dryer. And we were all treated to lunch. Something about a PB&J made by a friend. It always tastes better.

Blue Sunday

After a week of head-popping colds, crappy running, Stella getting the memo and becoming very much a two year old, Heath having a short week of school leaving him bored and irritable, the amount of patience and confidence in my aptitude for parenting and life in general could fit on half the tip of a sewing needle. When Friday crept upon us, I was determined to change all of that.

The name of the game for the weekend was to reclaim even the tiniest shred of feeling able, joyful, and well.

This attitude-shift of a weekend plan was kicked off by a Friday evening run through the dark and eerie forest of the Whitewater Center with Trail Pal. The chilled air was exactly what my stopped up sinuses needed, and for the first time in over a week, I could breathe again. Once again we were out in the middle of the woods, in the dark, minus the glow of two headlamps, alone. Well, not entirely alone. Leaf-rustling drew out attention to a tree-shimmying raccoon, a limb waltzing o'possum, and an unidentified (and rather large sounding) shuffling of footsteps. We came to a crosstrail of sorts, turn right for an additional three miles, or left to the parking lot. Spooked by big foot, hungry for dinner, and ready for a warm shower and bed, we opted to call it a run at 8 miles, and headed on home.

I had high hopes for waking the following morning with a renewed sense of ease and comfort, but at 8:30 Heath and Stella were already wrestling on our bed. An event that begins with laughing and ends with...? You guessed it, crying. I knew we needed to get out of the house, and stay out. I had heard about the opening of the new Discovery Place Kids in Huntersville. The venue sounded outstanding. Imaginative play times 100. A Fire Station, ambulance, doctor's office, grocery store, Veterinarian's office, race car to drive, construction zone to build, car mechanic's station, and on and on and on it goes. Opening day, though. Friday that sounded terribly unappealing. Saturday morning, it was the only place I could think of to go.

So we went. Opening day 1/2 price admissions. Hours of happy, engaged play for the kids. And after playing, we headed across the street to eat lunch at Lupie's.

I headed back out to the Whitewater Center this morning to complete a long run in preparation for the 25k in 3 weeks. 12 miles. And during that 12 miles, I started to feel a little better. By the time I got back home, I felt lighter. We ate lunch. Played outside. Took a nap. Played outside some more. Ate dinner. Baths. Bedtime stories. Bed.

We got MTV's Nirvana Unplugged from Netflix. Rocky Road Ice Cream.

If I could maybe have a good cry, then I might be reset to normal. Or something that resembles normal.


Oh captain, my captain.

Sneaking through the Airport Security Check-in.

A hole in the middle of the train table. Good idea.

More trains.

Oiling the tires.

Checking under the car.

Project Manager Heath.

Farmer Heath and his cotton fields.

Firefighter Heath.

Police Lady Stella.

The Memo

Dear Stella:

Congratulations on turning two! It's an exciting time of life and development. Talking in sentences. Running free as a bird. Everything is in reach; nothing is off limits. No one can stop you now!

Well, there are some people who might want to slow you down a bit. And that's exactly why we're contacting you. As a matter of fact, we generally like to touch base with you on your 2nd birthday, but it seems your special day slipped through the cracks. Your parents did not throw a bash to put all celebrations to shame with ponies and unicorns and bouncy castles and clowns and cotton candy and princess cakes and more ponies. (Note: When you're choosing between a state school and a private, liberal arts college, feel free to mention how you got the shaft that year.)

We've compiled a list of helpful tips and suggestions to keep the balance of power where it rightfully belongs--in your hands.

• If someone tries to pick you up, raise your shoulders to your ears, creating a slippery-essence to your body, as if you might ooze through the captor's hands.


• Do not allow confinement. This goes for car seats, strollers, booster seats, grocery carts. Arch your back, kick your feet, and let loose a high-pitched scream. Hopefully people in the vicinity will stop and stare.


• People will insist on holding hands, especially in parking lots and in areas where speeding cars are possible. The more insistent they become about holding hands, the more you should resist. Allow your knees to buckle, let your body go boneless (think: Scarecrow from The Wizard of Oz. Oh, you haven't seen that? They say it's not age-appropriate? Good grief) and let the weight of your body spin you frantically in circles. And scream. Always with the screeching, screaming.


• Regarding bathtime: you still love playing in the water, but you don't want to actually be cleaned, particularly your hair. Smearing shampoo on the head warrants a wail. Rinsing with water, bring out the I'm being tortured shouts.


• Diapering. Hate it. Squirm. Kick. Smear, if you dare.


• Going potty. We agree, this IS fun and big kid stuff. But when the novelty wears off, and they would really like you to move on from diapers, lose complete interest.


• Napping. You'll sleep when you go to that pricey college. The time to party is NOW.

We're happy to have you on board, Stella. Being two is a remarkable time, and from what we understand, you're doing an outstanding job at establishing your independence.

Sincerely,

Committee to Empower Two Year Olds

All Halloween, All the Time

The countdown is on around here. 13 days. 13 days until Halloween. 12 days until the neighborhood parade. And less than 24 hours until the next time we walk across the street to see our neighbor's house, a.k.a. The 'Pooky House. That's Stella-ese for Spooky House. It's complete with ghosties and ghouls and spiders and pumpkins and cemetery grave markers.

I was a little afraid, Heath confessed, when we came back in the house from our post-bath spooky house visit this evening. He hides it well.

After much deliberation, and a clear forewarning that there is no turning back from a costume declaration, Heath made his decision. He's Batman. My suggestion that I make the costume for him fell on disinterested ears. He'd spotted a Batman costume, complete with crime-fighting muscles, at Party City. There was no changing his mind. He did, however, indulge me in cutting out a cardboard battarang. To fight bad guys. Not your sister. No, your sister is not a bad guy.

Yes, Stella's dressed as a Pumpkin, but she still helps Batman save Gotham from evil doing.

At the Pumpkin Patch.

The sign reads, Do Not Climb on the Pumpkins. Stella claims she can't read.

All the lovely pumpkins and these two seem unable to get away from the Porta-Jon and pile of Pumpkins who have seen better days.

My favorite pumpkins picking out their favorite pumpkins.

Centering My Fitness

I found myself running on a treadmill in a Fitness Center today. Capital F, Capital C, Fitness Center. It looked like a Fitness Center. Rows of treadmills. Rows of stationary bikes. Rows of elliptical machines. It sounded like a Fitness Center. The whirr of the bikes. The clang of the weight machines. The bzzz of the treadmill. It smelled like a Fitness Center. Feet. Sweat. Disinfectant wipes.

It was a nice Fitness Center. Every piece of equipment had a television. Every television had cable. Magazines were available, as were plenty of towels to wipe off glistening brows.

I have had four separate conversations over the last week and a half, with four separate people, about Fitness Centers and running on treadmills. I believe the words hate and never fell from my lips.

When Heath has a swim lesson, I have forty-five child-free minutes to kill, and a Fitness Center is in the room beside the pool, hate and never do not apply.

No, No...Fank You.

No one...No One was buying the idea that naps are a good idea today. Even the little lady of the house who is usually game for bedding down for two to three hours each afternoon said, No, fank you.

So, I stuffed them in the baby jogger and journeyed out for a Lest I Lose My Mind run. About 3 miles into the deal, I lucked out and found myself pushing a load of sleeping cherubs. I merrily cruised along for another 5 miles. When the kiddies came to, they had no idea what had happened. I'd like to say they were refreshed and the evening was smooth sailing. They weren't. And it wasn't.

But I was. And tomorrow is another day.

Head for the Mountains...

It's on. The Overmountain Victory Trail Revolutionary Run 25K in North Wilkesboro. November 13th. It's 45 minutes from my parent's cabin, so once again I am left thinking, Well, you have to run that, don't you?

Yes. I have to.

25K. That's 15.625 miles. That's a whole lotta running for a whole lotta time.

I can hardly wait.

Cold Head Lampin'

My trail pal is the best. She called me early in the week to ask me out on a Friday evening date to the Whitewater Center. I knew what my week had in store for me, so the idea of knowing I had an end of week free for all through the woods was exactly what I needed on the books. After getting the thumbs up from Mark, and a mending-well outlook from Stella, I couldn't wait to hit the woodsie, rooty, crisp smelling path.

And dark path. Did I mention that? The plan was to pick her up at 6, so the sun was going to plummet to the earth and we were going to be mid-run, mid-trail, mid-forest, and tripping our way back in the dark and scary woods if we didn't have proper lighting. Trail pal is well-geared for all seasons, weather, and time of day, so she was ready with a headlamp. She was ready with headlamp suggestions. I was not. Ready.

Apparently I was, however, ready to take Heath and day-after-surgery Stella to REI on Friday to make a headlamp purchase. The amount of research I did beforehand was next to zilch. I knew what I needed was something stronger than what one might use to search for a set of old encyclopedias in the attic, but less than what one might spend the better part of a car payment or mortgage on. And REI, they are a retail superstar, ranking right up there with L.L. Bean. They take anything back, at anytime, for any reason. I had nothing to lose.

Except my mind. I had four purchases to make. Shoes for the kids. Clif Shot Bloks. Headlamp. Easy enough, right? Not with Thing One and Thing Two. Day of surgery, Stella was a champ. Day after surgery, she was a manic depressive junkie looking for a fix. And her fix in REI was to run like a wild banshee, spin the sunglasses display, hide in the clothes racks, grab and toss the headlamps, and refuse to try on the only pair of shoes in the store that came in her size. To make matters worse, she had her giant gauzed bandage on her jaw, giving her an air of escaped mental patient.

It took an hour to get the four items. Stella didn't get any shoes, but I also bought a Clif Kids Fruit Rope. No, it wasn't on the list. Stella grabbed that and shoved it in her mouth, eating half the rope (plastic included) before I could utter the word, No.

The reviews I read of my headlamp (read after purchase) were dismal. But I was desperate for the run and hoped for the best. Turns out, my $20 Petzl did the trick. Of course, my friend was leading the way with her much stronger Petzl, so I'm sure that helped guide us through the dark and spooky forest, full of creeping and crawling and scampering critters. We ran 11 miles. It felt incredible. The air was chilled and crisp. For the first time this fall, I could see my breath in the air, and felt the weight of a heavy week lighten.

Heath is thrilled with my headlamp. The last two nights, after the sun has set, he has set off into the forest of our backyard to hunt for monsters. And lost soccer balls.

Pretty sure the monster is that way.

Stella, come find the monster with me.

Stella screaming, Mon'ter, go 'way!

Digging for monster bones.

The Heath and Stella Witch Project.

A Little Teary

2 Hours Post-Op Stella

In my defense, there's been a lot going on around here, but I couldn't let one more day go by without at least acknowledging the fact that our dear sweet, unbelievably courageous, darling Stella had her lymph node surgery on Thursday morning. We reported to Charlotte EENT at 6am and we were home in bed watching Sesame Street by 10am. By noon, Stella was eating soup made by Aunt Debbie and Goma, begging for blue raspberry italian ice being consumed by Mark, and playing with her toys. And smiling. Pretty heartily.

A scary (and daunting to change) bandage covering a scary (and daunting to lay eyes on) draining tube is dangling from her face. Not once has she tried to pull that thing off. And today, day 3 of hopefully only 7, she is actually at the point of only mildly complaining about having the gauze and silk tape removed from her delicate jaw, saying, Okay, mommy, okay, mommy. I get the feeling she's reassuring me more than herself.

We head back on Monday morning to check-in and see how it is all progressing. Have I mentioned how amazing she is?

And have I mentioned how very fortunate Mark and I are to have amazing family and friends? Everyone's well wishes and meals and messages and getting me out for some mind-clearing running has meant everything. Without you, I would be totally and completely cracked.

Better Look Out for Pumpkinhead

One day HeHe surprised Stella with a little Pumpkin costume. She's really not sure what this so-called Halloween deal is that everyone is talking about, but she knows she likes playing dress-up.

What's Trick-or-Treat, and why am I carrying this pumpkin? She has no idea. But she likes it, because she can stick things in it. Like food she doesn't want to eat. Or pants she's finished wearing.

She does make a cute Pumpkin. So cute, as a matter of fact, the costume becomes the object of Heath's attention. He absolutely insists on having a turn.

Pumpkinheath. He takes his job very seriously.

Being a cute Pumpkin isn't as easy as it looks.

But he insists on wearing the Pumpkin costume during most of his waking hours, minus his time at school. He even wanted to sleep in the costume.

Don't anyone give him any ideas about being SuperPumpkin. Stella will never get her costume back, and I'll be stuck making a Baby Bat costume at midnight on Halloween.

So Many Girlfriends, So Little Time

Somehow, during the middle of this whole week of preoccupation and sickness, Heath managed to get a new girlfriend. Friday evening he told us he would be spending the night at her house two nights a week, and would then stay with us the remaining days.

Yesterday, on our way to Freedom Park, we passed a wedding processional outside one of the Myers Park churches. The bridesmaids huddled together, dressed in shiny Pumpkin-colored strapless, knee-length dresses, each lady holding a single Calla Lily. We ooed and awed over the perfect October wedding attire, accompanied by the perfect October weather. Heat is gone, chill hasn't set in.

Heath said, My girlfriend is at a wedding this weekend. I couldn't go. I had to work.

This evening, as we drove to Papa and HeHe's house to celebrate Papa's birthday, we saw dozens of pumpkins on front stoops and Autumnal house flags waving in the dusk breeze. It's almost Halloween, Mark cheered.

I'm gonna be Wolverine* and my girlfriend is going to be a Princess. She's going to be out of town for Halloween. I'll just have to take another girlfriend.

I was just getting used to the mention of the original girlfriend, so you can imagine my surprise when he brought up a second. I suppose he may be spending some of his remaining evenings with her. Unless, of course, he has to work.


*This is one of many costume statements. He has also proclaimed to be Wolverine, Thor, Batman, Batboy, Spider-Man, Pumpkin, Lady Bug, Bee, Monster Bee, Pirate Boy, and a blue Bakugan Dragon. I'm rooting for the Monster Bee.

Station #6

I don't feel like blogging, but I subscribe to the idea that those are the moments you should plow through and do it anyway. I also subscribe to the idea that I am frequently wrong.

After a week of too many visits to the doctor and sick Heath and only leaving the house to go to the doctor, we made a very special effort to be out this house much of the day. We managed a run, a trip to Target, a visit to the coffeeshop, and an impromptu walk to Fire Station #6 on Cherokee, 'round the corner from the Starbucks.

We lucked out and the pumper truck was arriving back from a jaunt out of its lovely rock and cobblestone two-story station. The Captain immediately complimented Heath and Stella on their rain boots and invited us inside. The kids got yet another up-close and personal look at the lives of fire fighters inside their domain. And inside their big ole truck.

As impossible as it was to top an afternoon traipse around a fire station and truck, we headed over to Freedom Park. The number of times Heath nearly fell into the duck pond is as innumerable as the number of times I had to tell Stella not to touch the duck poop. It was clear, though, everyone needed the time outdoors. And it was also clear that it was time to go home and eat dinner when the sun started to make its early descent, and Heath was in a heap of overwrought emotions and tears, face down on the sidewalk, and had to be carried back to the car.

Mark suggested Thai food. Twist my arm.

Hopefully we can continue to take lots of deep breaths and do a few things (like a nice long trail run in the morning!) to prepare ourselves for next week. We will know exactly what the lymph node infection is when we visit the doctor on Monday. Stella will have the first of two surgeries to remove them on Tuesday or Thursday.

Did you hear that? That was the sound of me trying to take a very deep breath.