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.