conversations with myselves

How does your garden grow?

2012-02-01T09:46:00.001-05:00

I promised a post on friendship, using Aristotle's philosophy as my guide. Friendship for me has been a process of learning my own boundaries. I am a house, with many rooms, and a large yard. The house is reserved for those that i allow into the deepest parts of my heart. To them I am transparent, they can come and go because I trust them to honor me. My yard started out unfenced, allowing anyone in. Unfortunately my garden got trampled by visitors that didn't know how to respect me, and the flowers in my heart were broken and withered so that I didn't have anything beautiful to give to those that DID respect me. I had nothing to bring inside. (This blog totally explains the internal struggle I face, In learning about my personality preferences I began to learn why I did the things I did.) So I began to wonder, what IS friendship? How can I be kind to others if I don't let them in? How can I give something beautiful to someone that needs it, and yet keep them out of my garden? In my quest I found many things but the most helpful was this, Aristotle's view on friendship. He basically states that there are 3 types of friendships, friendships of: Pleasure, Utility, and Virtue.

Friendships of Pleasure: Friends with whom you partake in vices, and/or fun activities. These friendships are shallow, though may seem deeper than they are because you have "fun times" together.

Friendships of Utility: Friends you use to benefit, and also they benefit from you. These friendships are based on need, and are obviously shallow. Once one of you ceases benefiting from the other the friendship is over.

Friendships of Virtue: These are deep lasting friendships. These are friends whom share your moral compass, your vision of the world, and your values. These are friends that support you and what you stand for.

Just looking at friendship in these categories opened my eyes. I realized that I wanted to keep friends, other than friends of virtue to a minimum while I constructed my personal definition of "Virtue". Friends of Virtue would respect my garden. So I decided to put a fence around my garden... not a privacy fence, a picket fence. I would share my flowers with friends of Utility and friends of Pleasure, I would reach over the fence to them... but only those that respected the garden would be invited in. I had to look back at how these categories shifted from college onward to understand how and where to build this fence, how to use the fence etc.

symbols don't represent a literal number of friends, but rather the idea of the percentage of time I spent with each category of friends.

18-22 (At ISU)
Pleasure friends (for going to parties mostly)**********************************************
Friends of Utility (study/running partners) ***********************************
Friends of Virtue *********

22-28 (Had 2 kids started working)
Friends of Pleasure (partys/BBQs/running Partners) ##########################
Friends of Utility (babysitting/running partners) ##################
Friends of Virtue (other parents) ######

28-32 (transition from Civilian to Army)
Friends of Pleasure (Army peeps/BBQs/Running Partners)#########################
Friends of Utility (babysitting/Running Partners) ######################
Friends of Virtue (like minded parents) #######

33-34 (after my search)
Friends of Pleasure (Running partners/BBQs) ***********
Friends of Utility (babysitting/house/car help) ***
Friends of Virtue (as defined, even if it's only family) ******************************

You see, it now seems like a waste of energy and resources to socialize with those that aren't friends of virtue. I could put those resources to better use helping others, and working to LIVE my values. I believe that as I find more friends of Virtue, I will find that my friends of Utility and Pleasure will also be my friends of Virtue, and my "lines" will be close to even. At that time I will have a garden full of flowers to pass out to those that are in great need of something beautiful. Until then I've put up a wall that has, "UNDER-CONSTRUCTION OPENING SOON" spray painted on it while I replenish and reconstruct my garden.

Night song

2012-01-31T10:41:00.001-05:00

He crouches at
the window on
fragile arms and legs so
easily broken,
a Grasshopper of
a boy.
The curtains whip
easily around him pregnant
with night air and spontaneous
melodies birthed by
a faceless back yard
musician. Round
silky notes run a way
from the plucked strings
of a phantom guitar and are
soaked up by his
frail body perched on
curled white toes and
long fingers that
press delicately into
his mattress, leaving
not the slightest dent.
Unnatural.
The music fills him up to flooding
and A smile rises from deep with
in, works up his spine with a jerk
and presses outward pushing up his soft
silvery cheeks. He comes alive under the stars
and darkness and canopy of leaves. 11 years
of living and he is has mastered
the Dance; knowing
which moments to take pause and which
to let pass by on the breeze.

Untitled

2012-01-28T10:09:00.004-05:00

Come to me
Stand on the porch of my heart the
light burning to draw
you in leaving me no
choice in welcoming you. Squeeze you
between my arms. Trying not
to let you touch me. Your clang-kity clangk
monologue makes
it hard to
like the you I see in you. I lose
myself to the buzzing
filament to survive it. The judge holding
court inside of
me throws down the gavel "contempt!" snapping me back to you. I spread
a generous smile, like a white flag between myselves, the one
that wants to hate you because
you deserve it with all
that ugliness inside of you, and
the one that wants
to love you because you need it, and I know
I'm ugly too. And so I let you whir chaotically on my porch
but I won't invite you in. And you feel comforted and accepted because you
are. I compulsively love you, and can't wait
for you to leave so I can stop. So I can go back inside out of your darkness,
Inside where the people capable of loving me, the few
I've invited in,
wait.

**as usual I hate this poem, as I hate all my poems when I first write them. And I hope that those I've let in know who they are: Lisa, Casey, Christine, Laura, my family... among others.

Coming out of the Closet

2012-01-25T06:55:00.001-05:00

While I have been a Christian my entire life, not because my parents made me, but because I have a gift. A gift of child-like faith. I haven't always admitted it. I wasn't gifted with the courage I needed to live that faith. I went along just fine living what I believed until I hit serious opposition, until it got hard, college. Then I retreated into myself. I pulled my beliefs safely into a closet out of sight of people that would assume that because I believed in Jesus I was diluted, a non-intellectual, a prude, a judgmental bible thumping fundamentalist. I was none of those things. I AM none of those things. Neither are most of the Christian's I know. Just read John Acuff's blog today.

There is one problem with putting what you believe in a closet. Your life becomes a lie. You begin to live according to someone else's rules so that you can divert attention away from what you've hidden in the closet. This happens very slowly, with small compromises so that you hardly notice the affects. Eventually, instead of your life being a testament to what you stand for, your life becomes a testament to what other people stand for. This was quite ironic in my case, as I have always stood for following your heart, stepping to the beat of your own drummer.

My husband and I, during this time still left ourselves open to do God's will. We were willing to move cross country, to let God lead us in family decisions. We trusted him with the unexpected news of Cooper's pregnancy and the hardships of my pregnancy with Will. We went to church most Sundays at first, but eventually stopped. However, most of our friends wouldn't have known this based on the way we lived our lives daily. We were living as Peter after the crucifixion. It is impossible to, as they say "live in the spirit" when you won't profess your faith. I actually have to use scripture to explain this further. "Light" is God/Christ, and we are led to the light by following the inspirations of the Holy spirit. "For everyone who does wicked things hates the light and does not come toward the light, so that his works might not be exposed but whoever LIVES the truth comes to the light, so that his works may be clearly seen as done in God." (John 3:20) I think wicked is a bit much, but I got the point.

After we moved to Virginia I bought myself a bible, after having several disturbing dreams (that is another post or even page entirely). It was my first bible since High School. Having been an English Major in college, and having taught Literature for 4 years, I had a new lens on this "literary" work. I am not one that reads in a linear fashion. I tend to read a bit on a page and flip through until I find something else interesting, this made my college years interesting. I was doing this in my new bible when I stumbled upon John 3:20 and realized that there was no duality in life. That I had to LIVE what I believed. I realized that "live" and "love" when used in the Bible are VERBS, as they should be in life. Parables and metaphors I once glazed over came to life and hit me right in the face. "whoever loves his life will lose it, and whoever hates his life in this world will preserve it for eternal life." "Life" in this passage was what Joseph Campbell calls the "right hand path" or the the life society tells you to live. The life society values, which is in direct conflict with the path valued by most spiritual teaching. This made sense to me finally! As did "if the world hates you, realize that it hated me first" (John 15:18) and "In the world you will have trouble, but take COURAGE. I have conquered the world" (John 16:33).

Being as intellectual as I am the depth of the words I was reading and their applicability to life, to my life was like a long drink for a seriously dehydrated mind. I could almost feel my sad, emaciated brain plump up. It was then that I realized the impossibility of being true to myself while refusing to live my faith ACTIVELY. Just as it is impossible to stay married if you lock your love for your spouse away in your heart, and never SHOW it in action to your spouse. They won't know you FEEL love for them if you don't act loving toward them. You must live your feelings/beliefs ACTIVELY. I would gain courage, and knowledge to face the criticism if I faced it.

In all reality the Bible dovetails perfectly with all the things I know of Eastern Religions, The writings of the Dali Lama, Carl Jung, Aristotle, Plato, and Joseph Campbell's lectures (ie: There is ONE world Mythology). We are all living within the context of that mythology, within the context of the bible. They all point in the same direction, even if they use different vernaculars, and lexicons they are all rationalizing the same thing. As offensive as it may seem, the truth I found is that Christianity calls a spade a spade. We are all either living in and working toward the light; denying ourselves those "earthly pleasures", those "pleasures of the flesh" that are immediately gratifying and ultimately self-destructive. In the light we work toward our best self, toward thinking and living positively, and bettering our world. Or we are living in the darkness gratifying ourselves, living only to satisfy our temporary earthly desires and ultimately hurting ourselves and the world around us with our selfishness, bitterness, and negativity. As humans, and this is scientifically backed, we default to self-gratification and negativity if we are left to our own devices. We need something greater than ourselves to pull ourselves out of the "darkness". If we aren't living in the light we are living in the darkness. This isn't to say that some people live in the light and refuse to acknowledge it is the light of God. They call it something else,something more PC. I got tired of talking around the truth. This why it was impossible for me to be a "closet Christian".

I realized couldn't live in the light at home, and in the darkness out in the world. The habits and values of the world are in such contrast with the values that drive me from within, my "Bliss" as Campbell would call it, the "Holy Spirit" as we Christian's call it. This is why my coming out of the "closet" may seem abrupt to some, when in fact it hasn't been. If I am to be honest with myself, I must follow that inner drive regardless of where I am, who I am with. If anything the bible, the Catechism, and even Joseph Campbell give me the strength call a spade a spade, to take my life back and say, "Yes, I am Christian and intellectual". Now, I let my life be proof.

His life NOT mine

2012-01-24T16:38:00.002-05:00

Me: Coopman, you really are a gift from God. (His middle name is Zane meaning: Gift from God)
Coop: You know Mom, I was thinking about that today! I mean, there is nothing wrong with me. I am perfect (he means physically). That has to be a miracle, right?
Me: Yeah, I'd say. With my faulty genetics, you won the lottery! It's more than that though. you know.
Coop: What do you mean? I just meant that I was easy on you because I'm never sick, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with me ever.
Me: That's true. I think you've had a handful of colds as an infant, and maybe the flu, what like 3 times?
Coop: yeah, 3 times.
Me: You were more than just abnormally healthy though Cooper. That was of course a HUGE blessing.
Coop: Yeah, I mean you could just take me out with a coat in the winter when I was baby and be like, 'here you go!' and I wouldn't get sick or anything!
Cheeky little cuss.
Me: yeah, I'm sure we did that to you... Oops. But I mean that we didn't have to baby proof our house for you, we didn't have to worry about anything with you. There were no unseen hazards for your dad and I because you seemed to know what they were and to avoid them on your own.
Coop: Well, Will definitely didn't do that for you.
He's totally right here, but we'll just ignore that statement.
Me: Well, it was like you were a grown up from the moment you were born. Almost like God knew I needed to be eased into this "parenting thing".
He loses interest now and starts talking to me about Pokemon.
This conversation is much deeper to the two of us than it seems. Because he knows what I'm about to say.

I thought about aborting him. There I said it out loud. Go ahead and judge me. I didn't want to be mother yet. Sure I was engaged to the man of my dreams, and I knew he'd want to keep the baby. I knew he'd do everything necessary to provide for us both. I had done everything I had been told to do to prevent this, it wasn't fair. That's why between hearing, "No Miss Cooper, you're not anemic... You're pregnant" and going back to my future husband's apartment I stopped at a park to think it over. There would be no choosing what I wanted once I told Casey, because it would kill him if I aborted our baby. No, if I didn't want to keep the baby he could never know. I wanted to have a choice in the matter, even if contemplating the "unspeakable" went against everything that was Catholic. The girl who marched in Pro-Life rallies wanted a choice.

I sat in my beater of a car at the park and bawled and bawled and bawled to the barren trees, to my steering wheel, to a God I wanted to be mad at. I couldn't be mad at God though, I DID THIS TO ME. I thought of all things that would be ruined. I was captain of a Division I track team. How would I tell the team. I had a scholarship, what if I lost it. I had been running REALLY well, and was on track to break records, and win things, all that would be lost. I didn't once think about the life in my womb. It was simply an inventory of all the things I COULDN'T do if I kept this baby. I had just bought a fitted coat. I'd out grow it in a few months. My body wouldn't be mine anymore. I cried and screamed and slammed on the steering wheel until my throat felt stiff as steal, and I was sure my hand was broken. Then, limp with exhaustion I numbly sat and counted the dots in the steering wheel cover until I was so cold I had to restart my car.

By: National Catholic Register

Then I thought of living a lie for the rest of my life with the one person that mattered the most to me, just so I could get my name in small print in Track Meet programs. No one looks at those names, no one cares. I took a deep breath. Looked down and said, "Fine. You Win." I'm not sure I was talking to the fetus, or to God at the time. In then end I was talking to both. When I got to the apartment and told Casey the news he wrapped his arms lifted me in the air and spun me around. His excitement incited a slowly building rage inside of me. A long angry pregnancy was followed by severe Postpartum depression. In fact, my husband was sole caretaker for our son for nearly the first 6 months of his life. While I gave him his middle name, I certainly didn't see him as a gift until he was about 9 months old. Even at that young age, when people would yell "Go Annie" he would cry. Perhaps worried for me? Perhaps he longed for me? He didn't cry when they yelled, "Go Angie" or "Go Casey" or "Go ______". Only my name. He loved me anyway.

It was definitely a blessing that he was eerily healthy, and eerily well behaved. He might not have survived other wise! We were two young twenty somethings that had athletic obligations to fill and degrees to finish. He DID go out in winter without a coat, and didn't get sick. This little boy had a quiet humor and uncanny ability to sense and appropriately react to the emotions of those around him. By the time he was 2 I was totally smitten and ever since have worked with fervor to be the mother he deserves, though strangely thoughts of a broken bond were something I never worried about. Probably because he has always been so tender and warm towards me, even though I didn't deserve it. So broken bonds just weren't on the radar, until I sat down to write this. Another blessing? He truly is the best thing that ever happened to me, even if I didn't see it at the time. Without him I would have been content in my selfishness, dilutedly thinking I was happy. He has, for me, exemplified grace, and gives me a higher purpose. He makes me want to be better than I am.

Because of Cooper I learned that just because we think we are happy doesn't mean we are. Conversely, just because we don't like the situations that befall us doesn't mean we can't be happy anyway. Happiness is inside of us, not outside of us. Happiness is everywhere, once we find it in ourselves we can find it anywhere if we look for it. Memories of those times when we are happy can help us through those time when we aren't. Happiness is in surrender and acceptance, two things I (a confessed control freak) will always struggle with. My struggle is less now than it was, not just because of the unexpectedness of the event Cooper being introduced into my life, but in who he is. Cooper's presence and person frequently remind me that my life is BEST when I don't try to control it, but instead turn it over to God. That when I try and fail to be the best person I can be I will be loved anyway. I marvel at him everyday. I love that kid. I can't imagine life without him. The world is better because he is in it. He truly is a "Gift from God", not just for me, but for you.

Birth Right

2012-01-20T09:14:00.002-05:00

Shameless stolen from "Marley's Mama"

We have been reading "The Hunger Games" out loud as a family. It has sort of taken over our lives. My husband called me on lunch yesterday, "Hunger Games tonight" he said. He walked in the door just after 4:30, "Ready to read the Hunger Games?" Oh sure, never mind dinner, homework, or that I've had the flu. The man has become absorbed. Alright, maybe he isn't the only one. Needless to say the boys were up until 9 pm while we finished reading the last 6 chapters of Book one. We read through the preparation and consumption of our dinner, thanks to my lack of appetite. We read as we drove the 20 minutes to my car, still at the middle school where I left yesterday because I was too ill to drive myself home. We read together as the boys prepared for bed. When we finished the book, my husband picked up the second book and began reading silently to himself and was promptly scolded by the boys and I, "NO CHEATING". I call this obsession, "Family Reading Night". I'm not sure how long this will last, but I know that we have two more books, and it will last at least that long. To the boys, that will be long enough to feel, "permanent". In their adult memories it will seem like a tradition that always was. This is how things are measured in, "kid time".

We have "Family Movie Night" too. It isn't a prescribed weekly event. It is homemade Pizza, popcorn, Blankets galore, and a movie we all want to watch. I can't really make that happen EVERY week. I make that happen when I have a movie we all like in our Instant Que on Netflix, and the energy to make the food. Again, they will remember this a tradition whether it happens every week, or every couple of weeks. It happens regularly enough to be a part of our family identity, or at least to be ingrained in them as part of their family's identity, "kid time". This whole "Family Identity" thing didn't happen by accident, or over night for that matter. It is something I began thinking about shortly after one of my students was shot in a drive by while I student teaching. Weird? It's true.

Staring at a spontaneously emptied desk for weeks will really mess with you. Passing conversations you never intended to remember echo in your mind, "Mrs. G I forgot my homework at my crib." as he bounced from left to right. "Really? You sleep in a crib? My son sleeps in a crib, but he's only 11 months old. Funny, you seem way too old and far too large to be sleeping in a crib. To each their own I guess." I smirk teasingly, and he repays me with childish, almost apologetic smile. Yep, that got me thinking about gangs. More specifically, about how gangs give kids what they wanted all along; a feeling of belonging. A clear identity. Acceptance. I definitely wanted my kids to get as much of that from ME as possible! I wasn't worried so much that they'd run off and join the Crypts or the Bloods so much as I knew that when they were teens they'd start searching. I wanted to give them a solid pad from which to launch themselves, and a compass, for the search. It is so hard to navigate the hazards of our teenage years. Who hasn't floundered a bit. Those that flounder least have a decent idea of who they are when they enter into that period of life. I wanted to give them that advantage. Family identity, and knowing they will also be accepted for who they are are key.

Who needs a water park!

My sons are stark contrasts to one another. One is tall and svelte, the other also tall, but brutish in stature. One is blonde, one Brunette. One is a dyslexic math whiz, the other a poet that still adds on his fingers. My Brunette sensitive to the needs of others and almost unaware of his own needs. My Blonde, well he can tell you exactly how he feels at any given second, but has absolutely no awareness of the feelings or boundaries of others. Yep, polar opposites. Family is where they are loved for who they are, and where they find common ground. I am thankful for the wise priest that told my husband I, "The greatest injustice is treat unequals equally." In discipline, and communication they are treated according to their needs. There is no box to fit into at our house, and yet those EVENTS are reoccurring. I suppose that is how we see family.

Yep, I started thinking about how I wanted to "define" our family. Were we the crunchy kind of family? Were we punk rock? Were we sporty? Where did we fit in? We sorta fit all of those descriptions and more. This was an evolution, correction. This IS an evolution. Honestly, the more our entire family grows in Christ the closer we get to a place were I worry less about manufacturing this, because it happens on it's own. No, we haven't always exposed our kids to things that I'm proud of, and we have made some mistakes. Heck, Cooper has almost grown up WITH us. Everyone makes mistakes, no parent is perfect. Besides, I don't think a label, like those above, is something I have ever been willing to live "up" too. How confining. No, what I think has mattered most is that we spend LOTS of time as a family, PERIOD. What also matters is that we NEVER, and will never, impose a specific identity on our kids (i.e. "if you don't love football you don't belong" type of identity). That's what their search is for. Our job is to give them a compass and a place to feel safe. That is done based on how we live, what and who we value. We clearly, unemotionally, communicated to them what we expect of them, what we deem good choices/habits/behaviors, and who are good examples to follow. We teach them how to chose friends that will benefit them. We communicate this by LIVING IT. Funny, the things I couldn't do for myself before them, I can do for myself now, because I'm doing it for them.

We have thrown aside the values of "the world"; status, possessions, and basically the lifestyle most of their peers are familiar with. I'll be as specific as one paragraph allows. Only one of us has worked full-time since our first child was born. My next statement is offensive, it comes from experience this "having it all" idea is a myth. When both parents work full time the kids suffer, except in very few circumstances where family support is incredibly great and even then I'd debate it. There is no replacement for Mom or Dad. I haven't yet met a kid that'd say, "I'd rather have name brand clothes than time with mom and dad". Or, "I'd rather go to Disney land once a year than have time with my family every day". Ask them yourself.

We live on a Cash only basis with the exception of our mortgage (this allowed us the freedom to pick a house in a neighborhood were our kids are safe and surrounded by like minded families). We don't take extravagant vacations. We don't go out to eat. We don't go to the movies, except on special occasions (and then to the budget theater or matinee). We don't have Cable TV. My kids get most of their clothes at Goodwill. We didn't sign them up for sports until they were 10 and 7, and then only a non-competitive soccer league. While we don't shelter them from alcohol (My husband and I like a beer or two every once in a while), We DO NOT allow people to drink to intoxication in front of them (this seems like a no-brainer, but it wasn't, which is a long story). WE DO have family dinners nearly every night. We do hike and camp near home FREQUENTLY. We do go to Busch Gardens on our ONE annual free "military appreciation" day (Thank you Busch). We do have fires and roast marshmallows in our backyard. We do help people in our neighborhood that need it (see a need, fill a need). We do have 1 tv (well that's a lie, we actually have 4 at the moment, we are storing 3 of them for friends, and can only watch one since we don't have cable). We do monitor what we watch and listen to when they are around (also something that has evolved and become more stringent as they've gotten older). We DO tuck them in every night and recap their day. We DO work, play, pray, eat, laugh, cry, suffer, rejoice, and live TOGETHER. Profound if you think about it. You don't have to agree with our tastes to understand our methods.

We gave them life, but their lives are not ours. We are their teachers, their mentors, the builders of their foundations. I love them so much. I want them to be successful BECAUSE of me, not in spite of me. We need to be available, physically, emotionally, and cognitively in order ensure that. It was very hard to be honest with myself about what it would take to make that desire a reality. It is an everyday struggle to die to my own desires in order to give birth to this ONE true desire to build a solid foundation for my sons. In essence I do give birth to them everyday, everyday until the day they take flight from me.

Perspective = Attitude

2012-01-19T09:57:00.003-05:00

"I have to go the Bahamas in June, for about a month. They are talking about Papua New Guinea for 6 weeks, but I don't think we'll go and besides I wouldn't be able to go anyway because of Joe's wedding." I puke in my mouth a little. I want to say, "ah hem. Excuse me?! I didn't walk away from things I loved so that you could go on "vacations". I don't. I roll my eyes instead. It's my go to thing lately. He says, "Don't worry the Army takes the fun out of everything." They sure do, except I don't know how you can take the fun out of being in the Bahamas.

When he's gone, I'm home single parenting. Like any other Army wife whose husband is absent. I have no free time to do what I'd like (Hey, Michelle Obama there's something you can do to help military families CHILD CARE that we can actually afford). I worry about him, diving is inherently dangerous. I knew that's what I was signing up for, I just thought it would be for a nobler reason than going to the Bahamas to "train". It irks me more than it should. "It's just a job" he says to me frequently. Yeah, sure it is. It's a job that requires you to be gone for weeks at a time doing NOTHING important. I told him last night my deepest darkest secret, "I'd rather you were gone for a year in combat than for a month here or there to places that are 'cool'. Then my sacrifices would seem small, and worth while." I'm pretty sure that's not actually true, but I sure feel that way sometimes.

I am capable. I am talented. I am smart. I am able. I am all these things and more. I feel trapped by his "job" so often because of the inconsistency it brings to our lives. I can never get a schedule going. As soon I do, he's gone again and I have to start from scratch. Running, Grad school, a career; all things I desperately want to do and haven't yet. I haven't because of the boys, because someone has to be around consistently for them. So while he's off livin' the dream (he'll tell you quite another story. I have a tendency to make his side of things sound way better for him than they are), I'm here being responsible. I try so hard not to make it about "me", and yet I always do.

Seriously, say I get accepted into the Grad Program I'm aiming for. They require summer classes. Well, when he is off on these TDY's (Army for Temporary Duty) who is going to watch my kids? They'd have a whole summer of no supervision. They are in that weird in between period. Too old for day care, not old enough to be alone. I'd feel like a jerk. If I ran 4 miles took classes and worked the boys would be totally screwed. They'd be screwed if I just took the classes. I used to run, teach and take classes. Casey took care of the boys. This flip flop of roles is tough. Yet, I saw a man that hadn't had his turn because I had been the one living out my own dream.

Cooper and I at my Final Track Meet
for Indiana State. Like I said
we had them young.

I make it about me because I once had life the way I wanted it. It just about killed his spirit. We had our kids young, very young. We made a commitment to place our children above all else in our lives. We're talking family dinners, family movie nights, FAMILY focused. For several years this meant he stayed home and I worked. I took advantage of the situation and ran, and started my masters. He took the boys skateboarding, and painted with them. He was a great stay at home dad (most of the time), even if he was a terrible house keeper (lol). When I saw how miserable he'd become, how desperately unfulfilled he was, I urged him to pursue something of his own. That's how we got here.

To be frank, he's a much better person than I am. Even now, as "head of household", he is more considerate of me than I was of him when roles were reversed. He does a wonderful job of honoring me on his trips, partially because he is incredibly cheap, but also because he understands its "just a job". He doesn't take advantage of the situation or of me. He recognizes how large I feel my sacrifice is, and he makes sacrifices of his own when he's away. He spends his free time wisely and humbly, and calls home frequently to talk to the boys and me. Really, can I ask for anything else?

Circa 2004

We made a commitment to our kids; to raise them deliberately, and to put them, and their experience, above all else. He did his time, and now I'm doing mine. It isn't always pleasant. It isn't always fulfilling, but it is TOTALLY worth it when my kids are complimented on their behavior, kind heartedness, and work ethic, etc. When I focus on the things I don't get to do I am hard to be around. I don't even like myself. When I focus instead on the ways that my best friend and husband acknowledges and respects my "willing" sacrifice I feel blessed, even if I'm not in the mood to feel "blessed". Perspective is everything.

sweetest

2012-01-17T12:58:00.001-05:00

My husband has been texting me on his lunch today with race propositions. I'm not sure what they are talking about at work, but so far he has two race propositions from two different soldiers. He is so cute. I am lucky that he is, and always has been so supportive. Saturday he suggested I make a three year plan. With the goal three years from now being to train again. Our kids would be almost 15 and almost 12, and my life would be less demanding (so we think now, right). I guess I need to define what I mean when I say "train". I haven't done that.

my 3 guys and the water

I love this article posted on facebook by my friend, and charge of Hudson, Pat Rizzo. It spares no niceties in disclosing the two main facts about distance running; first, it takes years of running A LOT (100+ miles per week) to be a world class elite, and second, there is no money in it for those of us (being me) national class runners. The article, for me, speaks to the life I left. Long workouts; 10 x 1 mile repeats or a 22 mile run with 16 miles just under marathon pace (at the time MP was 6:00-6:10), plus time at the Gym. I LOVE working out like that. Everyday I want to workout like that. It is really time consuming and draining. At least 2 hours a day of working out, and that's on the easier days. Before I stopped training I had a hard time finding a gym because most of them have a 2 hour time limit for child care (Priorities awry). Since training at that level, anything else seems silly. All or nothing attitude that goes a little something like this, I can't eat just one M & M. If I eat one I want to eat the entire 1 lb bag. I don't care if makes me puke, they are simply too good. So I'd rather just not eat that first M & M. Running is the same way for me too. Compulsive much?

On a TDY

So I currently run 4 miles 4 times a week, or perhaps a 9 miler if I feel so moved and have the time. I also make sure to give the stink eye to anyone that starts to talk about how hard they work out, to roll my eyes when his buddies talk about cross fit, and to totally glaze over when I have to listen to these Army Divers brag about how hard core their PT is. Because of course how I USED to work out far outshines what they do now. Since I can't train like an elite athlete I have thrown in the towel on working out, and then roll my eyes at people that bust tail. Sure that's totally rational. There's no jealousy happening here, move along now. Always working on that stinker inside of me. She's a little thunder thief. I ceased the involuntary one-ups-manship with them, that's a wonderful thing. Glazing over is better right?

One of the other wives got into Cross-Fit and one day came over and started telling me what I needed to do to get better results from my workouts. My reaction was totally inappropriate and cost us our friendship. I stopped her mid prescription and told her something to the effect of "I don't want your help. I was an athlete for years before you got into this fad." She is the sensitive (in a sweet way) type, and this really hurt her feelings. This attitude of superiority surfaced post Army. That whole, "I'll show you attitude" just sorta went crazy, and yet I didn't have any way to make good on it without stealing time from my sons. Perhaps my husband has a point. Perhaps running is the best way to knock that chip off my shoulder, now that I'm fully aware of the serious imbalance I have allowed it to cause in my life, begrudgingly thanks to the Army. My forced time away from it has allowed me to be really introspective.

Elite start Chicago Marathon 2008, Casey with
the boys, and Mama about to live the dream,
though things didn't go well that day.
I thought I'd have many many more.
My how the tables did turn, and oh how
I have not adjusted easily.

I think his plan is a good idea. First, because it would force me to use a great deal of self-discipline to run 40 miles a week consistently. It would definitely humble me. It would force me to run for enjoyment, because there would be no formal training plan. No, 2 hard days one long day, no prescribed weekly mileage. Just a simple, you can't EXCEED 40mpw for all of 2012. Second, I like it because with the formality taken out of it I can focus my energy on preparing my mind and spirit to enjoy my passion humbly and without ego, like I used to. He said, "You can't deny yourself the ability to act out a crucial part of who you are." I might have been doing that even before I walked away. There is absolutely nothing wrong with deconstructing yourself in order to get at the core of what it is you need in order to know how to "act out a crucial part of who you are." He thinks I should race at least once a year. Jury is out on that. He thinks racing would be a way to transfer the humility I'm learning daily onto the competitive stage. I see where he's coming from.

I have to give myself a little credit, I am not always so superior, nor do I see myself as a workout diva in all circles, certainly not among my running friends. Even when I was full out training I ran lower mileage than most of peers, by 20 miles per week at least. This superiority started when we entered the Army. It's not an easy transition, and negatively effects each of us differently. So no, I don't strut around town with my nose in the air. I am genuinely pretty warm, friendly, and compassionate a majority of the time. Given you don't accidentally stomp on the landmine of resentment (directed at no one/nothing in particular) I'm trying to defuse.

Surrendering Stinks Sometimes.

2012-01-15T23:07:00.001-05:00

It is funny. I was perfectly okay with this weekend. Better than I thought I'd be actually. The Olympic Trials were a touchstone in my surrendering the life of an elite distance runner to devote myself to motherhood. Before and during the race I was content to live vicariously through my friends. When it was over and I looked through the results I broke down, not because my former running/training partners did so well (placing: 2, 9, 13, 26, 33, and 74th) . Heck no, I am incredibly proud of them! I got upset for a completely different reason. Well, sort of.

I have to give a little background. Christmas of 2008 I secretly looked into the World Class Athlete Program offered by the Army. I knew I could get paid to train, and get great benefits for the family. If I went through Basic Training and AIT I would then be allowed to train freely at the location of my choosing. I thought I met the requirements, which at that time were to have placed in the top 3 at a national competition within the last 2 years. When I inquired I was told I in fact did not qualify because the national competition was not an Olympic Distance (It was a 25k). Not long after that Casey came to me with his dream of joining the Army, so I didn't pursue it further. I wasn't going to have both parents gone at basic training and AIT. That seemed really selfish. They have since changed the requirements to make them more black and white. I feel the Marathon standard is still totally within my limits if I were to train again. Now back to the results.

I saw, in the top 25, not one but two women running for the US Army W.C.A.P. Neither of them were better runners than myself. They were granted entrance into the program around the same time I inquired and neither of them were within 3 minutes of any of my PR's at the time. Because I like to torture myself I researched, and found that neither woman currently on the team made the standard before being admitted. However, they were career soldiers FIRST, then applied (not comforting to me though due to smugness I often experience on the part of female soldiers). At this point the faster one has PR's in the 10k and Half Marathon that are actually a just under a minute slower than mine, but a 15k PR that is faster than mine. We are comparable runners I suppose. The second still isn't even close to my PR's. So then, I wanted to know WHY NOT ME! I felt myself burn with anger and resentment. I stiffened involuntarily, feeling as though I'd been cheated out of what rightfully belonged to me.

I silently slumped about the house all morning. "Annie, is there coffee?" "I dunno. Do you still have legs? Go look." If Casey came downstairs I went upstairs. If he came up I went down. We normally talk and drink coffee all morning on Saturday and Sunday. I wanted to punch him and those two stupid girls right in the face. I was seriously ready to ramp up my training to show up at the Army 10 miler in a cheesy "Army Wife" T-shirt and kick their asses. Show them whose boss. Show them how undeserving they were. Exactly the attitude I have worked so hard to recover from.

Of course Casey wanted to know what was wrong. I told him. Of course his response was insensitive, "I gave it (a promising athletic career) all up too. I moved on." In all fairness "giving it up" isn't the same as "losing it". Power events (high jump) and distance events are very different in this way. "At any moment honey, I can pick it back up and be back where I was in a year or so. It isn't the same." Crying hysterically at this point, which makes him totally uncomfortable because I don't do this often. He shifts his weight every 2 seconds and keeps his arms locked to his sides in terror that I might try to cling on. In a Hank Hill to Luanne tone he asks, "Annie, seriously, how many dead ends are you gonna hit before you get God's point? Have you prayed?" Okay, so while this is totally correct, it may not have been the best timing ever. Left hook much?

I didn't hit my husband. I didn't even yell at him, even though I really wanted to. I knew he was right. It wasn't meant to be. Those women WEREN'T undeserving at all. I was being a jerk. I have said several times that Pride and Vanity are huge issues for me, Vengeance too I suppose. I am doing what I have been called to do. I don't always like it. In fact sometimes I down right want to scream at God that he made a mistake, throw myself down arms and legs in every direction, and demand to have my way. Luckily, within minutes some one or something enlightens me as to my assholish ways and then I find strength to admit that I am wrong.

Enjoyed this day and ran w/o an ego. The following year I had a huge ego.

Tonight at Mass, as I prayed, I envisioned myself running a race. I was near the front of the pack chasing down this woman. I was filled with the "I'm gonna show you whose boss" feeling. I looked to the spectators and saw Jesus. His shoulders slouched, head hanging and shaking in disappointment and sadness. Then I envisioned myself again running a race. This time I had no idea where I was in the pack. I was filled with joy. I noticed the way the light filtered through the leaves, they way their greens contrasted against a bright blue sky. I noticed the festive colors of the finish area and Jesus behind the finish line excitedly waving me in. His arms WIDE open waiting to wrap me up after I finished. I actually have had both race experiences in real life, minus Jesus being there in person of course. I realized it's the same Jesus, but different me's. It is my choice. I can use my talents or abuse them. In using them they help others and myself. "Do nothing out of selfishness or out of vainglory..." Phillipians 2:3 Until I can run with that verse in my heart I will not "train" or compete. I would just make it all about me, and everyone around me would suffer. Not to mention the demands of being a military wife with 2 school age children are preventative enough in their own right. I have made the right choice. I feel confirmed that I am following God's will for me and my family. Though I still have days when it is hard to be at peace with it.

Fitting....

2012-01-14T12:51:00.001-05:00

So, Dezi made the team. She got Second. Here is a picture, taken by Dot's Mother in Law, that coincidentally sums up yesterday's post... Funny huh. Soldier showing "respect" standing at "Parade Rest".

Still waiting to see how everyone else did...

Crossroads: Trials 2012

2012-01-13T20:58:00.003-05:00

I feel so strange tonight. January 14th, is a day I'd really like to sleep off. I have friends running down a dream, and friends giving up their dreams all in the same day. All under the guise of patriotism. I'm rejoicing and mourning.

Tomorrow several of my old running partners, rivals, and acquaintances will be competing in the Olympic Trials. Many of my female running friends have solid shots at making the Olympic team. While I am anxious for them, any shred of discontent I still had over my decision to let go of that life and dream is rising to the surface. I do feel a need to validate my decision, and to be recognized for who I "used to be". There's that pride and vanity. Mostly, I am incredibly excited for, and proud of, my friends. I KNOW how hard they've worked, and I believe they all deserve an Olympic spot. It will be hard because, though many of them are good enough, only 3 will make it. I am already sad for whomever doesn't make it, and rejoicing for the 3 that do. I know Desi will make it. I think Dot, Mel, and Camille all 3 will contend for the two remaining spots, I have no doubt they will be in the top 10. I can't wait to see the results. While I still fully believe, in every cell of my body, that I made the correct choice, as my children are my responsibility and they were getting old enough that their experience needed to take center stage, it's still hard to fully surrender my pride. There will always be that "look at me" part of myself. The part of me that KNOWS I could be on that same start line, and have a shot at the top 10-15. The mother in me tempers her with the reminder of the training it would take, and though I'd love it, I know it would make my children second in my life, and that in the end top 10 is still not top 3. It's not easy to be honest about that. As an Army spouse (especially), if I don't put my children first no one will. Though my husband calls or skypes nearly everyday that he is gone, he is still gone, and his comings and goings are erratic at best. It takes unbelievable support to pursue an Olympic Berth, as a mother, without selling your children short. I am happy for my friends that have that.

Next, I am sad because "Uncle Scott" leaves for deployment tomorrow, as does the husband of a friend and fellow Army Dive wife. They will be gone for year to the middle east. My heart aches for her and her children. Her little boy (2) will sprout fully out of his toddler years and be a pre-schooler before his dad returns. Her daughter (8) will hurt for her dad. She will talk to him on the skype, and on the phone, but she still wont feel his arms around her for over a year, and she will feel angry and sad, and not know how to share it. For the children often suffer in silence because they don't want to further burden their remaining parent. My friend will be left to pick up what pieces she can, to answer the hard questions, "will we get a new daddy if our daddy dies?" (Cooper has asked me this) while she too worries, and hurts for her partner.

I will miss Scott a great deal. I know the boys will too perhaps more so. It's uncomfortable for me to feel joyous for one sect of my friends, and yet mourn the other. Knowing, whether you (readers) like this or not, that my friends who get to enjoy training their lives away in order to run for the U.S.A. can do so because of the sacrifice made by my friends who put their lives and families on hold, by the sacrifice those kids are making (they didn't get a choice), to ensure the future of the U.S.A. I feel the gravity of this so acutely that I think it leaves me alone, and sick. I am anxious for tomorrow's marathon results, but it will not be a joyous day for me. A strange and fitting meeting of myselves...

2012-01-11T15:12:00.000-05:00

I haven't posted in a few days because the Norovirus is making rounds at our house. Saturday night it got my youngest. Monday night it got my oldest. Last night it got my husband. I haven't had time to write due to sanitation efforts! I have discovered Thomas Merton, and started a new book written by friend of mine. Both are stimulating my little brain! I will have lots to say when I get back! Promise!

What makes me "approve" of a public school

2012-01-09T17:13:00.003-05:00

Today I subbed in my favorite middle school in our district. It is the one school I WOULD send Cooper too. Why would I send him to this school and not the one we're zoned for? What is it about this school that I like? It isn't test scores. It isn't that it is a new facility. There is a middle school that was built and opened within the last year in the district, this isn't it. No, it isn't the facility, it is the faculty and administration.

Here's the dirty little secret that test scores don't accurately communicate, not everyone with a teacher's license is actually invested in their students, or education. How, then, can you know when a school is staffed with effective and invested staff? I have found only one way. You must be a part of the school.

There are clear markers that are obvious to a trained eye. The big one for me is student conduct. Teachers that care about kids set clear expectations and are consistent in enforcing them. To me a teacher that does this for academics does this also for behavior. There is a sense that students are following the rules, not out of fear but out of respect. It's about the small things. Even the best teachers can't enforce their expectations if their hands are tied. Time to be specific already!

I like that this school has the kids wear uniforms. School is about learning. Clothing can be very divisive, and distracting. Uniforms take the head ache out of enforcing dress code policies. Schools that wear uniforms generally yield higher academic performance. The uniform debate could be it's own post, so you'll just have to take my word for it (research it for yourself), that a school that enforces a uniform code will usually be better than one that doesn't. While uniforms are a sign that, "We take this school thing seriously", they definitely aren't everything.

Here is the heavy hitter; the administration supports it's staff, they are "teacher centered". During a long term position (at this same school) I had to break up a mild girl fight. The principal was quick to thank me, and swift in dealing with the girls. He was compassionate and fair with both of them. A week later I was enforcing a new school-wide rule that only clear liquids could be drank in classrooms, and only out of clear containers when a student acted defiantly towards me. After several warnings, I wrote a referral on the spot. The principal called his parents FOR me, and gave the student an in school suspension. Amazing! Administrative support! I'll support HIS rules (school wide rules) in the future. If I see misconduct in the hall I WILL speak out, because I know I WILL be supported.

To me that means everything. If the students know that the Administration is going to back up their teachers they will respect classroom rules. When classroom rules are respected teacher's can teach and students can learn. When teachers have this type of support they reinforce school rules. When school rules are reinforced there is a sense of cohesion among the teachers and between faculty and administration, and a safer school is born. Safe schools allow distraction free learning environments. Students pick up on this cohesion and not only give up on trying to undermine authority, but also learn from the example set by the adults and there is more amicability among student peer groups. Hallways are freer of fights and trash. Classroom time is focused and more productive. One word; RESPECT.

The school my son would have to go to (not a school of choice state) is riddled with chaos and dissension. Students swear and dump their trash in the halls and no one admonishes them. They openly belittle each other in front of staff that then does nothing. Recently, 4 girls beat another girl unconscious during lunch. Where were the adults, perhaps afraid of getting in trouble for intervening? Yes, that's a possibility. It's happened to me before (an administrator more worried about a law suit than the students). When I subbed there I had 6th graders actually say these things, "you can't make me", "who do you think you are", and "be patient" when I asked them to "please open your books". Those that know me personally know that I am gregarious and friendly. I was treating these kids with respect and using a bubbly tone. Maybe this isn't important, but this was a Ph.D's classroom I was subbing in. Typically a student behaves in this manner when they've learned their teacher's disciplinary measures don't have any weight. At this same school a student was running in the hall, I told him to stop. He looked back at me, and then didn't even slow down. The other teachers in the hall looked at me like I had a third eye. I don't want to teach there, so why would I let my kids go there to learn?

Give me a school that has clearly defined expectations, staff that is supported by it's administration, and a has a school wide commitment to student learning. Do I think uniforms can do this? No. I think uniforms are a part of this, but Administrative support is at the core of a good school. Unfortunately, most parents aren't going to know if a Principal is supporting his teachers or not. I've taught with supportive administrators, and administrators that undermined me every chance they got. It's a simple equation. Administrators that are teacher centered have teachers that are student centered and students succeed.

School I like here. Notice the year the administrator came back after 2 years at a different school in the district discipline took a sharp turn for the better, and test scores improved slightly. School I don't like here. Notice the steady increase in disciplinary problems, and that the test scores are slightly lower than the other school, with a slight decline in 2 of 4 categories in the last 2 years. It isn't everything, but it's a piece of the puzzle. If anything the school disciplinary report speaks more honestly to the quality of the school than the academic test scores.

Profile of learner, what this means for my kid.

2012-01-08T12:20:00.001-05:00

These are Cooper's results for his multiple intelligence test, excuse the formatting, I didn't know how to transfer it properly. If anyone knows how to do this they can tell me in the comments! While being "social" isn't important to him, nor is collaborative learning, he did say, "I do wonder, if no one else has to learn this why do I?" This attitude is why my traditional setting was such a source of friction for us the first time around. Given the results, I wonder if this attitude wasn't manufactured by traditional school structure (grades, etc.). That doesn't mean this is a good or bad attitude. I am just not subscribed to the belief that it's inherent within Cooper, and I wonder what relationship this attitude has with his learning. He loves to learning when he picks the material, but if anyone else picks the material this attitude of why should I kicks in. I think, at this point, that the type of homeschool parents my husband and I are fits nicely for Cooper's needs. We'd pick the objectives, and he'd pick the material. He wouldn't have the "why should I attitude" because of his ownership of his own learning. After all, we don't think "why should I" when we, as adults, decide we WANT to learn a new language, or how to knit, or how to garden. The fact is, that he doesn't need other PEOPLE around him in order to learn (there are folks that do), but in order to motivate him to learn things he has BEEN MANDATED to learn. No one MADE him read "Universe in a Nutshell", certainly none of the other kids in his class were doing that in their free time. He did it because he wanted to. So, in effect the "other kids" serve to make him feel as though he isn't the only one being forced to something he finds pointless, and annoying. Lovely. More information is still needed.

Your top three intelligences:

Intelligence	Score (5.0 is highest)	Description

	4.71	Spatial: You remember things visually, including exact sizes and shapes of objects. You like posters, charts, and graphics. You like any kind of visual clues. You enjoy drawing. Effective techniques of enhancing your learning using your spatial intelligence include creating and/or using pictures, maps, diagrams, and graphs as you learn things. Other suggestions: Write a language experience story and then illustrate it. Color code words so each syllable is a different color. Write a word on the blackboard with a wet finger. Visualize the word as it disappears. See if you can spell it afterwards. Take a survey. Put the information in a chart. Write words vertically. Cut out words from a magazine and use them in a letter. Visualize spelling words. Use colorful newspapers like USA Today. Use crossword puzzles.

	4.57	Body Movement: You like to move, dance, wiggle, walk, and swim. You are likely good at sports, and you have good fine motor skills. You may enjoy taking things apart and putting them back together. Incorporating body movement into your learning will help you process and retain information better. Here are some ideas. Trace letters and words on each other's back. Use magnetic letters, letter blocks, or letters on index cards to spell words. Take a walk while discussing a story or gathering ideas for a story. Make pipe cleaner letters. Form letters out of bread dough. After you shape your letters, bake them and eat them! Use your whole arm (extend without bending your elbow) to write letters and words in the air. Change the place where you write and use different kinds of tools to write, ie., typewriter, computer, blackboard, or large pieces of paper. Write on a mirror with lipstick or soap. Take a walk and read all the words you find during the walk. Handle a Koosh ball or a worry stone during a study session. Take a break and do a cross-lateral walk.

	4.14	Musical: You like the rhythm and sound of language. You like poems, songs, and jingles. You enjoy humming or singing along with music. You probably remember things well when they are associated with music or rhythm. Try to incorporate sounds into your lessons, such as using a familiar tune, song, or rap beat to teach spelling rules, or to remember words in a series for a test. Here are some other ways to use your musical intelligence: Create a poem with an emphasis on certain sounds for pronunciation. Clap out or walk out the sounds of syllables. Read together (choral reading) to work on fluency and intonation. Read a story with great emotion — sad, then happy, then angry. Talk about what changes — is it only tone? Work with words that sound like what they mean (onomatopoeia). For example: sizzle, cuckoo, smash. Read lyrics to music. Use music as background while reviewing and for helping to remember new material. Use rhymes to remember spelling rules, i.e., "I before E except after C."

The scores for your other five intelligences:


3.86	3.14	3.14	3	2.86

Just because these five are not in your top three doesn’t mean you’re not strong in them. If your average score for any intelligence is above three, you’re probably using that intelligence quite often to help you learn. Take a look at the Practice section to see how to engage all your intelligences.

Homeschool debate

2012-01-08T10:57:00.001-05:00

My husband and I have decided to have several conversations in which we EQUALLY weigh the pros and cons of homeschooling against the pros and cons of public school. We have several questions we want to discuss. Each child would require their own unique conversation, and we would take into account that while I am the licensed educator, we would both be active participating FACILITATORS if our children were to be homeschooled.

1.) What do we hope our children will get out of public school. (Why do we send them)
Once this question is answered we will weigh the value of this answer against this question
2.) What do we fear they won't get out of public school, or what do we fear will be negative about the public school experience in the context of their futures.
3.) What do we believe our children would get of homeschooling?
Once this question is answered we'd have to ask
4.) What experiences do we fear our children wouldn't get as homeschoolers, how would the homeschool experience fit into the context of their futures?

This is the nitty gritty part of the conversation. We'd have to weigh the answers of number 1 against number 2 and then weigh the answer of number 3 against number 4 too see the pay outs. In the end see which is the most logical. They both have pros and cons. Our kids WILL learn in each environment. It's a matter of seeing which environment will BEST allow them to learn the MOST, with the least amount of negative "side effects"; based on each child's individual needs and learning styles. We will work hard to keep each other honest and objective by playing devil's advocate. I'm glad that we've homeschooled them for their religious education, and that I homeschooled them for their regular education (both unschooled and traditional settings). It will make things easier.

I'll keep everyone updated. I think this a very valid discussion that more people should have. It's a part of parenting deliberately. At this point we know this much. If we do homeschool we aren't radical unschoolers. It's not that I completely disagree with this (more here), I just don't think I can undo my "teacher" mindset, and the state of Virginia requires that homeschool students pass their state test based on their state standards. Not to mention, adults are expected to meet objectives and dead lines. It is my responsibility to teach my children to do the same. We'd still be facilitators, but we'd present objectives that are to be met through inquiry based learning. Defining who you'd be as homeschool parents is definitely the first step. Read, search, and find your truth. The next most important thing to know is who your child is. What is their learning style (free test here take this with your child, you will need to interpret some of the questions for them, be sure to let THEM pick their answers. Do not manipulate their answers. It is based on their perceptions and not yours.), and what are their needs? Not every kid was made for homeschooling, and not every kid is cut out for traditional schooling either (can you say Einstein or Edison).

What? You talking to me?

2012-01-06T15:08:00.001-05:00

Panting. Straining. My muscles flex and release in a heavy, uneven cadence. "Aw man, I feel like crap. My legs are lead, and lungs are about to burst. I can't wait until this is over... hey someone is coming. Look lively. Pick it up. Make it look effortless. Suppress that breathing! sound chipper now, 'hello!' Ha! I showed him. Dang, now I'm really dead." This is me, enjoying a run. HA! Honestly, this could be a metaphor for me "enjoying" life sometimes too.

Today, while I was running I didn't do this, but I did remember a day last week when I did something similar. I was running through William and Mary College's Campus. I have a tendency to especially "enjoy" runs on campus, I like to think I'm "showing those college kids whose boss". Some "college kid" starts taunting me with, "Run! Run! Run!" and fake running arms. So I schooled him with a, "You couldn't keep up", only to look over my shoulder to see one of the members of the College's Men's track team blazing past me on the other side of the street. I am arrogant, prideful, vain, keep the list rolling... Mostly I like to make things about me. I'm fast. I'm smart. I'm tough. I deserve this. I don't deserve that. That's human nature isn't it. God frequently, like this time, shows me that he expects a little more humility from me, but I sure don't want to listen. The effect? I take things I should enjoy, like a run, and make them miserable for me, and those around me, while simultaneously looking like a jack ass. At least now I not only know this about myself, but I am working to knock it off.

I wasn't all that aware of God's attempts to show me this flaw until my husband left for boot camp. I took on EVERYTHING: remodeling a house, homeschooling my kids, running my own business, and (though barely) keeping our utilities on, the car from getting repo-ed, and the house from going into foreclosure (Army didn't pay us for 10 weeks). I mean, I AM superwoman, duh. I THOUGHT I was being totally selfless, but in all reality I was being prideful, and indignant. My neighbors offered help, and I NEEDED it, but I didn't accept it. Superwoman doesn't need help. In fact even offering help to Superwoman is taken as an insult.

One afternoon, after a day slaving away for my family, I was about to leave for my evening of tutoring several students. It was a cold, snowy, Michigan evening. I started the car, belted Cooper in. He was 9. Then walked Will to the neighbors. The only help I accepted was to allow them to drive him to wrestling. I walk back to the car and Cooper is standing outside of it. "Why aren't you in the car?"
"I forgot something, but the house was locked" I go to open the car door, but it's locked. The car is still running. The house locked. The car locked and running. I have no money. Great. (so I'll just use symbols instead of letters now).

"Excuse me! What the @#$% Cooper. G#$D@#MIT! I don't have any money. I'm going to be late to make money because you didn't listen to me! Why the F@#$ didn't you listen to me." At this point I hear myself talking. This isn't me. I rarely raise my voice at my kids, and now I'm swearing at my 9 year old who has a steady stream of tears rolling down his rosy cheeks. I don't just swear at him. I blame him. In excusable, he is a child! Wow. Stressed much Superwoman? After a very nice sheriff's deputy unlocks my car I find the clicker in my pocket. I could've unlocked it all along.

With great humility, and shame, I apologize to Cooper. I show him the car remote that I found in my pocket. I admit that what I did was absolutely wrong, and I ask him to forgive me. He says, "Thanks Mom, and of course I forgive you. You are just stressed out and missing dad. I know how you feel." He certainly did, because he, more than any of us, was pining away for his dad. Wow. I'm a jack ass. It was at this moment that I realized how much my pride, and my focus on myself (he locked ME out of the car, I was going to be late etc.), wounds everyone around me. It isn't about me. What I have a tendency to do on runs, ruin them by making them more about me than about the run, I also do in regular every day life. Except I'm ruining more than a run. Since that cold day with Cooper I have used my urges to make my runs about me (proving how tough I am) as an opportunity to conquer my pride. Sometimes I still fail.

Now when my husband is gone and I'm doing it all, all by myself, I'm not as afraid to ask for help. I am weak, and I need it. I CAN'T do it all myself. When I start to get cocky God always reminds me to be humble. My kids are quite thankful for the change. Now Dad's absences aren't accompanied with a Mom spread thin to screaming. I'm glad I learned that early on. Now I can enjoy them, because I'm not making it about me. I see this as a HUGE blessing, because I think it's normal human nature to make everything about "us". It takes divine intervention to realize A.) that we do it B.) how we do it C.) how it affects our relationships and finally, D.) what we need to do to fix it. So if confessing that I swore a red streak at my 9 year old because I'm a prideful idiot helps anyone else get A,B,C, or D it's worth it!

What's in a name anyway.

2012-01-05T06:40:00.003-05:00

Prove to me that you exist, you who are reading this. Pull out a birth certificate, some school transcripts and that will prove that a person with a name was born and went to school. Will your accomplishments prove that you exist? What exactly does that word mean, exist. We aren't our accomplishments. When we die future generations will know us as the documents that are left behind. They won't "know" us. Most of us spend our whole lives trying to know ourselves. No, future generations will see only my legal name, a name not even my husband calls me, but they won't know that. They might know about some of my accomplishments, but they wont know ME. The definitely will not have proof that the documents used to prove that I existed are authentic. They will trust them though. They will know me as wife and mother, native of the United States, born in March, died (to be determined). I am so much more than that. I was thinking about this on my run yesterday. I also, of course, applied this to Jesus.

There is the historical Jesus whose existence is proven mostly by witness accounts. More is known of him than will be known of me in 2000 years. Actually "knowing" him is different. There are two German words meaning "to know", "wissen" means to know a fact. "Kennen" means to know with familiarity. In essence German's recognize that we can have two levels of knowing anything, one much deeper than the other. Grace. Divine peace. I can attribute to him. Not because of any document, but because I am familiar with it. I have felt it. Unfortunately, religion's idea of morality can make knowing Christ very confusing. I know, because I was really confused for a long time.

I felt like if I couldn't live up to the morality I was taught at Church, I wasn't worthy of Christ or God. I kept my distance from both of them. Sort of like if your parents put parameters on you that you can't keep, when you fail, you don't want to face them. If I made cookies and told my sons, "If you eat those cookies it will mean you are a bad boy" they would rightly feel like they were bad WHEN they ate them. Since they love me and want my approval they would hide away for fear I'd discover what they'd done and think ill of them. This was my relationship with God and Christ throughout my college years.

Here's the thing. God knew we'd "eat the cookies" of the world. He knew we couldn't keep his moral code, but he loved us. He sent Christ to pay the penalty for us so that WHEN we "ate the cookies" we would be forgiven. Christ doesn't judge us. He even says so (John 8:15). Through Christ we are forgiven even before we sin, AND (here's this is what I think is the real miracle) as we own our relationship with Christ it gets easier to resist "eating the cookies". Here's how I know as in "kennen (because that's really the only way to actually know him) Christ exists; when I surrendered and say, "I am imperfect God. Through Christ help me be who you made me to be." I felt deep joy, like "the Christmas Spirit". This joy didn't come from something that happened in the outside world, but from within me. It won't go away, because outside circumstances didn't cause it. In a desire to be closer to him I want to rid myself of the desires of the world. It's a two fold friendship.

Now I think of Christ as my best friend, though he's much better to me than I am to him. He is the only one to honestly show me my flaws, and yet he shows me that he loves me anyway. My desire to be closer to him makes me a better person than I could ever be on my own. In my relationship with him, though I am still incredibly flawed, it is easier for me to work to be better. It's easier because I know, a.) that I'm loved even if fail (because I will at times), b.) I want to make him proud of me. Unfortunately, I didn't learn this at church.

I almost think that religion should come AFTER the enlightenment, and then we will be led to worship with him in the way that best suits our needs (that's right there is no single right way to worship Christ. I even believe that there are alternatives where people worship Christ but call him something else. Naive maybe, but to claim other wise would be to claim to have the answer to ultimate correctness and knowledge of God's workings and that just seems blasphemous to me. Besides Christ even says, "whoever speaks a word against the Son of Man (himself) will be forgiven; but whoever speaks against the holy Spirit will not be forgiven, either in this age or in the age to come" God "knows" us, is FAMILIAR with us. He knows what is in our hearts. We do not know what's in the heart of anyone else. Therefore we should leave it to God to decide if someone else's mode of worship - their "higher power" is acceptable to him. Perhaps, if God wants, they will come to call their Higher Power Christ due to seeing his love, grace, and acceptance in a Christian. Forcing the issue only alienates people. Instead, we should work to be a living truth [aka testament].) What Christ has shown me is that we should love one another WITHOUT judgement, because we are all EQUALLY flawed. Then he's helping me actually do it.

Where did all of this thinking come from? My son asked me, "How do I know who a kid is? How do I know if he would be a good friend?" I had to come up with an answer. Again, this blog is my brains dumping ground. My answer to him was, that we can't "know" anyone except by their choices, and even then they can change. So, first you have to be friends with Christ, then you will be better able to pick your friends, and better able to be a good friend, because you will have a great example of what a friend should be.

10 ways to Pay it Forward.

2012-01-04T07:27:00.002-05:00

Ten things we can to do to Pay it forward...

1.) If you don't have anything nice to say don't say anything at all. In all honestly, no one cares to hear you be negative.

2.) Smile and Say "Hello" to everyone you meet today.

3.) Take the time to listen to strangers stories. Some people desperately need to unburden themselves from their load, and you may be the only person they have to talk to, so be a good listener. Sometimes it can really test your patience, but it is an important thing for us to do. Taking the time to be invested in humanity is never a waste of time.

4.) When someone drops something, or many things, help them pick it up.

5.) Tell your mail carrier, newspaper boy, etc. "Thank you"

6.) Give genuine compliments... even to family members. I think it's sometimes easier to give strangers compliments than family. I think this one is CRUCIAL to do with our kids. We get so busy telling them what not to do, and what they need to do better that we forget to tell them what they do well, and what we appreciate about them.

7.) Make a gratitude list. While this is something you do for yourself, make a list of what you have to be grateful for and everyone you encounter will benefit from your improved mood. Not to mention that when we are focused on what WE HAVE, we aren't focused on what don't have nor do we envy what others DO HAVE.

8.) Be a friend, to everyone. I'm not saying to bring everyone home. I am talking about when you are outside of your house. So often we enter into the world defensively, seeing others as our enemy, and we aren't even aware of our attitude. Start seeing those around you as a friend, and you will be nicer to everyone. Perhaps everyone will be nicer to you.

9.) Be GREEN. yep, being good to the Earth is good for everyone.

10.) Be good to yourself. If you can't love yourself, you can't love anyone else.

It takes a lot of courage to get started on any of these, because you could easily be met with grumpiness. Just remember, "we must be the change we want to see in the world" Ghandi (of course!)

Paying it forward... It's the entire point!

2012-01-04T07:11:00.000-05:00

My socks match! Evidence that I am making good on my promise to myself to tend to the details of daily life! I also signed the boys up for Religious Education yesterday. My husband and I have preferred doing this education at home. We also have preferred going to church without becoming members. We have done that for years. Part of why we homeschooled our kids in Religious Education was because we had to join a Parish to enroll them, and we either were between moves, or too busy and poor to donate time, treasure or talent. We (knowingly) were not participating in what is probably the single most important part of not just our Religion, but any one's walk towards "goodness"; doing good for others.

When our kids were young (4 and 1) and were still in Indiana we did Pre-Cana (Pre-Marriage preparation), and Cooper went to Catholic school until 1st grade. In Colorado Casey was a Catechist (Sunday School teacher). When we left Indiana in 2007 we basically gave up trying to donate our time. We knew we weren't dependable, and we weren't. We've moved 5 times since 2007. We devoted ourselves, instead, to doing good for the boys. We'll be here for a while so it's time to get back to it! Doing good deeds for others is the entire point of existence, and certainly religion is supposed to help us see this and give us opportunities for it.

However, anyone can do good deeds. One of the things we tried to teach the boys, besides bible stories, the trinity, and the sacraments, was to recognize and SEIZE opportunities to help others in everyday life. They are both good about fearlessly approaching people in stores and parking lots if they seem to need some help. They are also, and this is something I'm quite proud of, very good at befriending kids at school that have been ridiculed and socially exiled.

The Religious Education director didn't know any of this when I called her yesterday. She knew only that my kid's hadn't ever been enrolled in Religious Education, and that we weren't members of any Parish. She rightfully assumed we were fallen away Catholics. She wanted to interview the boys before deciding whether or not to enroll them in their grade appropriate classes, or to send them to RCIA (for a batized Catholic this is like a remedial class to re-educate you). I felt that she was making a great choice!

When I showed up with the boys, tattooed and all (by the way, I see my tattoos as being no different than iconography and frescoes on church walls, though I am well aware not everyone shares my outlook) I think she was fairly certain they'd need to go to RCIA. She left me to fill out paper work and took the boys to interview them. When she was done she came to me and in a pleasantly surprised voice said, "They are adorable, and chatty. I think they can just go to their grade appropriate classes. You have done a great job with them". WOW! What a huge compliment. What great validation! Now, on to the next phase of parenting; teaching how to execute selfless service in a more "grown up way".

All the Small Things...

2012-01-03T10:42:00.001-05:00

I have a lot going on in my head today. I could probably write 3 or 4 posts. Perhaps I will. For now I'll keep it simple. My husband and I are are resolved to see to the little things this year. Little things like, making the bed, keeping up with the dishes, brushing our teeth, making healthier choices. How mundane. Yes, Annie this is where your life is. How necessary. If I can't master these little things how am I supposed to move on to bigger things? I find it very hard to tend to the mundane details of life. I love my interior journey, and helping my kids develop. I loath routine, it takes away from my thinking, but if I'm actually going to develop into a more "whole" person I have to get out of the comfort zone. How am I supposed to give the boys opportunities for selfless service if I can't remember to call charities, let alone show up. Neither of my kids have been through first communion because we do religious education at home and I can't remember to sign them up for Religious Education after Mass on Sunday. It's not on my Radar, the homily is.

Will and I. An old collage I made. A statement on my way of "being"

It takes way more effort and energy for me to establish a routine and see to tasks of everyday life than it seems to take other people. I have a planner. If I don't write an appointment down in that planner it doesn't happen. I don't think I could survive a week in the "real" world without it. I even have to write down things like, "go to the grocery store", "call your family", "put on deodorant", and "drink more water". I see other mothers effortlessly keeping appointments, looking very "together", while I struggle to keep up. In fact, I get my hair styled so that I don't have to comb it and it will still look great. If I had longer hair the world would surely know my secret. I have baskets and drawers in my house so that I can literally throw things in them, close them and my house will still look neat. Note to friends, beware before opening ANYTHING up in my house, I am not responsible for any injuries that may occur. I often wear mismatched socks. I don't care if they match so long as they serve their purpose. Luckily it's a fad right now. I really try hard to look "good" when going out in public with the "guys" in my life, but if the folks we encountered followed us home they'd find a slightly different story. Don't get me wrong I love to get dressed up and be shown off, and this is true of everyone to an extent. I just bet they'd be surprised at what they'd find in my dresser drawers. (One day I brought the boys into our bedroom, opened drawers on either side of the dresser. One side was neatly folded and organized; the other side looked like a few families of mice had been nesting in it for a decade or two. I said, "Which side is Dad's?" They both pointed to the organized side, and started laughing.)

I'm not going to try to change who I am, fundamentally as a person. I just want to show myself a little respect, and to be a little more "with it" for my family. I want to practice being present in the now, instead of far away in my mind. So this year, I am going to attempt to be a little more grounded in tending to daily tasks. I plan only on changing those things which will make me healthier, and more "responsible". Even if I have to make charts of charts in order to keep on it. Good luck to me.

Something Good to say

2012-01-02T10:37:00.002-05:00

I am obsessed with running along the James River, the river my ancestors (paternal lineage) traveled down in 1699. Family history is so awesome. I picture their wooden beast of a ship heaving itself up the James every time I run along it. Though they were founding members of the Knights of Malta, They were now Huguenot nobility escaping religious oppression. Not everyone lived through the trip across the punishing Atlantic. They were escaping to the "New World" to land that William the Orange had promised them for their Heroics in his crusade against the Irish (Catholics). The town they founded actually still exsists, there is a Huguenot museum there, (List of settlers: Daniel Foure is my ancestor listed in the final column). This branch of my family sure liked to kill people in the name of religious affiliation. I'm Catholic, my mom is Irish catholic. So much for all that fighting, and exile.

I have a giant chest tattoo in the center is the family shield for this branch, behind it is a Maltese Cross, and behind the Maltese Cross is a Eucharist. There is a point to all of this. Everyone has something to contribute to our development spiritually and intellectually. I don't want to miss out on what I can learn from Ayn Rand simply because she was an Atheist, "Ask yourself whether the dream of heaven and greatness should be waiting for us in our graves - or whether it should be ours here and now and on this earth." I know what her intended meaning was, but I take something very different away from this quote than she intended. Even though she might roll over in her grave, I can interpret this as telling me to live for heaven now. I will not keep from myself the words of an author because of their religious beliefs, because I want to explore myself. There is no discovery in exploration without a challenge. I certainly will not kill someone because they don't see eye to eye with me.

I am lucky enough know of the contradictions that riddle my family's history. I think this has given me permission to view all people as equally, inherently, flawed, and as able teachers. Einstein, Aristotle, Dickens, Rand, Ghandi, all flawed and all lend VALUABLE insights that I have learned from. They all had something good to say. While they may not share my religious beliefs or practices, they have something to teach about Virtue, even if some of them (ahem Dickens) weren't very virtuous. I'll take the lesson and leave the internal struggle of the teacher to the teacher to worry about. My tattoo is a "little" reminder of not only family history, but also of this lesson: a life well lived accomplishes more than the sword. Oh yeah, P.s. on a sidenote. Even though my Ancestor, Daniel Foure, was one of the Huguenots that helped to found Manakin Va in order to escape religious persecution, I cannot join the Huguenot society headed there because I am not a protestant. I don't care who you are, that's funny.

Ghandi

2011-12-30T16:31:00.011-05:00

Whoa, 3 entries in one day! Holy smokes! My husband and sons are working on a construction project and I actually have some real time to dump my thoughts! I have a thing for Ghandi. I have mentioned it before on this blog. One of my favorite quotes on Christianity comes from him, " I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ." I think I love this quote because I can totally identify with it. In a previous post I mentioned rejecting people that didn't accept my values. There could be some self-identified Christians in that group. It is important to note that in my vernacular, "reject" is NOT synonymous with "condemn". I simply mean that I won't share my private time with them, but I will still show them love as best I can.

I think one of my stumbling blocks with finally owning my faith was that I felt I wasn't perfect enough to be Christian on the one hand, and I knew too many Christians that were flat out jerks that told me I wasn't good enough, or living righteously enough on the other. Because of this I felt unworthy of Christ, like an ugly duckling and I my feelings were only being reinforced by people that should've been accepting and supporting me. Talk about confusing. I didn't and don't want to be associated with people that were and are so mean. I want to be careful to not morph, accidentally, into a self-righteous jerk. To prevent this I will be selective in who I let "into my head".

On the other hand I have known many people that don't yet know what they believe, or don't believe that Jesus is Christ, or don't believe in God for that matter. I will always keep these people in my life, so long as they continue to accept me. Why? Because they live like Christ even if they don't share my faith in him. I would rather have a friend that accepts me, and lives a life style in keeping with my own, that will encourage me even if they don't agree with me. They will rejuvenate me and enrich my life more than a self-identified Christian trying to pick, "a log out of their neighbors eye". Even if they don't want to admit it, these friends of mine are more Christ like than the droves of Christians that actually drove me from Christ.

I have also been lucky enough to have plenty of Christian Friends that have given me strength to own my faith. Friends that don't just have a bumper sticker relationship with Christianity, but they actually live the life a Christian is called to live. Without those types of friends I would not be able to write this blog at all. But, it's those friendships in which we disagree on fundamentals and yet can still get support, that Christ's love, as Ghandi would see it, is embodied. So in short, faith Christ isn't my determining factor in who to include in my life, and my children's lives, but life styl, and willingness to support my faith in Christ is. If one looks outwardly for the truth, and inward to judge we will most likely get along. No one is perfect, most definitely not me. I have chosen to live a life-style that actively rejects what the world embraces, and will surround myself with people who do the same. You don't have to be a Christian to do that, but I need strength from Christ to become better than who I am, and to weather the criticism of the world that I am actively rejecting. Why we are doing it may be the core difference in our values, and yet matters least in how we treat one another. Behaviors, not beliefs is what matters most to me.

Religion, Spirituality, is a journey EACH ONE OF US takes. We all seek answers to the same questions. Some of us actively seek out answers, reading and researching for answers. I, like Lee Strobel, took the journey and came to one conclusion. Other's take the journey and come to yet another conclusion. Some keep the journey locked within themselves never looking openly for answers, and never finding them. No matter what another human's journey is, it is their's and not mine. Who am I to tell them what they should do, where they should go. It is simply my job to love them, and most of the time I fail them. My job is to judge inward, not outward, so that I might love them better. Really none of us knows (intellectually) the truth about much of anything. Faith is something you can't know intellectually at all anyway. It is something you live. The rest of it is just a bramble of formalities many people get caught up in.

I will discuss Aristotle's Nicomachean Ethics in a different post. Reading his outlook on friendship and virtue really helped me navigate my way through this conundrum.

More for the debate

2011-12-30T10:30:00.000-05:00

An old entry, from my other blog. I don't use it anymore, but some of the entries are quite good so I haven't deleted it. It discusses boys and public education. This was written right after Cooper's terrible first grade year, so it may be a bit less objective than my current writings.

http://allthingsboy.blogspot.com/2008/09/new-year-same-old-crap.html

To Homeschool or Not to Homeschool

2011-12-30T07:57:00.007-05:00

I am a teacher. I am an educational advocate. While I know the system is broken, I still believe in it's ability to work. Even if it means kicking, and banging on it from time to time. I have homeschooled my sons once before. For one semester. They were in a really horrible school, even though it was a "blue ribbon" school with decent test scores. Test scores mean nothing by the way. My youngest son was in first grade, couldn't write his last name, and wasn't learning to read AT ALL. My oldest son, who suffered a huge academic loss due to poor teaching in first grade, was in the first 3rd grade class in this district to try a rotating schedule. All current research says that rotating schedules actually impede learning until children reach the age of about 10 or 11 (5th grade), because they aren't yet developmentally prepared to deal with multiple teachers and multiple classroom settings. I pulled them out because I felt it was a one time emergency type situation. I had already advocated on their behalf starting with the teachers, and eventually working my way up to the school board. I presented all of them with research (for my oldest son), and educational law (for my youngest son). Nothing changed. I was left with no other option but to use my skills solely for their benefit.

It worked out wonderfully academically speaking. My oldest son not only regained the lost learning, he went into 4th grade (in a different state) reading 2 grade levels ahead. My youngest son not only learned to read, he learned to write and did both on grade level when he entered 2nd grade. By the way, we ended our "school year" in April. I also found out my youngest son is dyslexic. However, (here's the "but") it made me a basket case. Granted my husband was gone that entire time (Army). I was totally alone with my kids, 24 hours a day for 6 months. I didn't get a single minute away from them. On top of that my oldest had already learned the worst lesson public education teaches (I know because I had to unteach it to my classes every year); if I wait long enough the teacher will give me the answers. When that didn't happen my son did what my classes usually do, he whined. Problem is he was my kid. He didn't stop after a few days because he knew I wasn't going to give. Heck no. He kept at it the entire 6 months hoping "mom" would cave in. He should know me better than that. I was very happy to see them re-enroll into public school. We definitely needed a break from each other.

I still function under the belief that if I supplement their weak spots, have a close working relationship with their teachers, use the law to advocate for them, teach them metacognition, and to self-advocate they can succeed in public school; and that the school will be better because it will have a KNOWLEDGEABLE parent making it be accountable. After a few long term substitute teacher jobs I am beginning to doubt that. I still think a school would benefit from having our family be a part of it, I'm just doubting that our family would see any return benefit. Even the "intensified" English classes that I taught lack CRUCIAL skills. While they could rattle off elements of a short story, vocabulary definitions, author biographical information, they couldn't tell me what the main idea was, or the theme. They couldn't tell me cause and effect or problem - solution. The few that could tell me the theme couldn't support their answer with details from the text, not a single 8th grade intensified student could do that. They can't think. They can't problem solve. They can't really communicate their ideas. They function only in the lower 2 levels of Bloom's Taxonomy. It isn't just here, I've seen it consistently in 5 states now. This observation is validated with actual statistics. More than half of college freshman have to take remediated English courses.

How are these kids supposed to manage college or working, let alone living. A teen that can't manage causal relationships is in a dangerous situation. Not to mention how are these students supposed to succeed in other subjects like science and social studies?

The U.S. Military provides families with something called "Soar at Home". It's basically an online school with courses in math and language arts based on state standards. I gave each of the boys an evaluation this winter break to check on their skills. My 5th grader got 80% correct in math, and 77% in language arts. He got 0% right in the sections for "supporting details", "cause and effect", and "problem-solution". I was nearly enraged. It isn't his fault, it isn't his teacher's fault. These things simply aren't being taught. They take too much time to grade, and are only a small portion of the "TEST". If a teacher has to chose between a student passing the test and a student learning to think, which will they chose? Since there are so many kids they teach to the mean, which means assuming kids won't have luxury of learning to think. My 2nd grader got a 60% in Language Arts (learning disability so not too bad. I didn't read it to him), and 45% in math. WHAT! Math is his strong suit.

So now I'm debating my sanity vs their education. I have the skill set, and the tool kit necessary to ensure they succeed academically. I can either spend from 4-5pm doing school homework and 5-7 pm catching them up on what they aren't learning at school, or I can homeschool them. Seems like a no brainer, but it seriously makes me a crazy person when I don't get any alone time. Not to mention I can't work at all. Jury is out. If I did homeschool, I am thinking it would only be during Middle School. I really think that Middle School is the make or break academic time for kids.

getting off the fence

2011-12-29T12:11:00.012-05:00

Determining the world I wanted my sons to see was the easy part. I wanted them to live simply. To listen more than they speak. To be humble. I wanted them to question their own motives and desires, as well as those of the people they encounter. I wanted them to see the world as a place in which they are alien citizen who have the responsibility to do good to others and the planet itself. I wanted them to follow Christs example, because one thing EVERYONE can agree on is that he was an awesome dude, that did great things. However, manufacturing that vision to their minds eye, is another story entirely.

I have failed many times over at teaching them this, at being an example to them. I have said before on this site that it was difficult for me to know the line between providing for my sons, and making them slaves to the expectations of a materialistic society. Every parent wants to provide their child with the things that will save them from being the social outsider at their school. While I have still failed to master this concept, of all of my responsibilities as "PARENT" I have succeed most in this area. Sad, huh. I have succeed in teaching them vision, but not in teaching them how to live within it. I have built the blue print, but not a users guide.

The husband and I have done a great job of discouraging participation in clothing and toy fads. While we have bought our share of Bakugan, Hex bugs, and BeyBlades, clothing is a different matter. The boys wear polo t-shirts, and jeans to school. They prefer to dress this way. They say it makes them feel good about themselves, and keeps them from attracting unwanted associations as to their character and preferences (at least so far. Junior High will be a different story next year). So while we've done a great job of not buying labels, shopping at thrift stores, and teaching our children to not want material possessions, we have failed to teach them that unwanted associations and judgments are a part of life. I'm sure next year will give us plenty of opportunities with Cooper who will be entering 6th grade.

I think the thing I struggle with the most is dealing with persecution for my associations and values. I keep my beliefs, and values pretty close to me, and do not carry them with me outside of my own home, unless I'm going to church. What does this teach them? I don't care what your beliefs are, if you only value them and practice them at home, that teaches your kids that they are conditional. That what you truly value is blending in.

As the boys are getting older it is becoming more and more critical that I have no fear in advertising my beliefs, regardless of the consequences. It becomes critical that I LIVE my beliefs as a verb, and not keep them only in my heart. What I have been doing is no different than people who put a yellow, "Support our troops" magnet on their car and leave it at that. They do not actually support our troops. A magnet doesn't do it. Sacrifice, volunteering time, talents, or funds to that cause would be supporting their troops. I have had a sticker relationship with my values for far too long now. How are the boys supposed to live in opposition to what the world values, if I won't?

I had my children young. Perhaps that's not an excuse. I still need my excuses I suppose. While they were young I was struggling with who to be in the world myself. I couldn't manufacture a vision for someone else by any means. I couldn't own my beliefs. I wanted my belief in Christ to be just our secret. It was good enough, right? Christ knew I loved him in my heart. Now I see that this is no different than never showing my love to my husband and just assuming he knows how I feel. If I never hugged him, never honored his wishes, never performed acts of kindness for him, never owned up to being married, and acted single when I was with single people. Pretty sure that would devastate my Mr. and eventually lead to a divorce.

Loving Christ means that the world will persecute me. It means that I will be rejected. I have a serious fear of being rejected. I have not always done the greatest job of filling up my daily life with people that won't reject (rejecting and disagreeing are two incredibly different things to me I will explain in a later post) my beliefs, and because of that I haven't had the support I needed to weather rejection... a catch 22. A catch 22 trap I built around myself because of the circles I allowed us to travel. It's a choice. A choice that requires me to reject the social invitations of others. I hate rejecting people more than I hate to be rejected. I have struggled with the bible telling us, "Bring not every man into your house for many are the snares of the crafty one... If you do good, know for whom you are doing it, and your kindness will have it's effect. Give to the good man, refuse the sinner." (Sirach 11:29-30, and 12:1-7) and Jesus telling us to forgive 70x7, to love our neighbor, and "what you do to the least of men you do unto me". I find the good in everyone I meet so this seeming contradiction has really been hard for me. As my Mr. says I, "view the world through rose colored glasses, and find a bit of (myself) in absolutely everyone." For me rejecting someone else is a bit like rejecting a part of myself.

Having kids means you will encounter a spectrum of people, perhaps more closely than not. When you don't have kids you can control the circles in which you travel a bit more. You don't have to go to soccer games, wrestling matches, school functions. Since, I find the good in pretty much everyone I meet when a person invites my family to do something I say "yes" without even weighing the possibilities. I think I have finally, and hopefully not too late, figured this out. This part of my fabrication for the boys has been the hardest. As they have started making friends, and because of our time in the military, I have learned that this isn't a contradiction. It means to be very choosy with those people you call close friends. The majority of our time is spent among all people. We are to treat them lovingly, compassionately and with forgiveness. When you are at work and a co-worker (or mom at the playground) takes a caddy jab at your performance (parenting), when you get cut off in traffic, when someone at the store blocks the aisle; you do not react in anger, but in compassion. We are to be "light in the darkness", a smile among grumps even if we have EVERY right to be grumpy too. A super human feat called grace.

Your social time is your time. It is limited and precious. Most importantly you get to chose who to spend it with. It is during this time that you pick only those that support your belief. If we are truly going to have the strength to live out our beliefs, to be counter-cultural, this time needs to be shared only with those that will encourage us, support us, and allow us to feel mainstream even if only for a short time. So that we have the energy and peace to again go out into the world and walk up the down escalator with a smile on our face.

I have failed my sons, until now, in how to live this. If I continue to make the same mistakes they will not understand that peer pressure happens, it never stops happening, and that it their responsibility to weather it without caving in. That standing up for what you believe in isn't the same as rejecting others. Scientific research proves that doing good for others rejuvenates our bodies at the cellular level to repair damage done by stress of day to day life. After all, true inner happiness comes not from doing good for ourselves, but in being good to others. Their only example of how to live actively will come from home. I am responsible for constructing this reality, and it's user guide, for them through my actions, through my life.

follow up to "Why I stopped training..."

2011-12-26T22:46:00.006-05:00

In hindsight I realize that my last post could be easily misread. The epiphany I had in 2010 was summed up best, by another mother having a similar awakening. She said, "I realized I am not my child's babysitter. I am her parent". Meaning, that she wasn't only responsible for ensuring her child's needs are met, and she is kept safe, but that as a PARENT we are RESPONSIBLE for the emotional, spiritual, and intellectual development of our children.

In 2010 I realized that my children will experience the world through me, through my ACTIONS. Doing justice to their little souls and minds would mean parenting DELIBERATELY. It takes a heck of a lot of energy and focus to be intentional in your parenting. First, you have to decide how you want them to SEE the world, then you have to figure out what it will take to show them that world. Finally, you have to actually deliver whatever it will take CONSISTENTLY. It means devoting time to activities for them so that they can attain autonomy and self actualization. It means teaching them humility (NO FUN). It means basically, that you weigh what you want for yourself against what they need in order to develop into the humans they deserve to be, and you do it constantly.

So in short, I decided I wanted to be more than my child's babysitter. I wanted to be more than a nice mom that kissed booboo's, made dinners, and made them take baths. I didn't want to "bring them up", I want to "raise them". I wanted to PARENT. This doesn't mean I can't ever run or workout. It doesn't mean I can't work a job. It means that in any decision I make I put their DEVELOPMENT first. I ask, "What will this teach them", and "Will they benefit" ALL THE TIME. The older they get, the more complicated things become. That is why I won't train to compete at a high level.

I think that being raised, myself, with the world view of the vocations made it easier for me to not only surrender my selfish ambitions, and "die unto myself"; it made it easier to throw myself head long into my "vocation" with a happy heart. See, I author their world view as all parents do for all children. I wanted to author it deliberately, AND give them the tools to navigate their way through the quagmire that WILL find them when the world view I author for them is challenged as they get older. When that happens, I need to have the strength, and devotion, to support them and be a "safe" place regardless of the path they ultimately chose for themselves. I must have the "emotional real estate" to change to meet their needs.

To continue to train would mean that while my kids would be well dressed, well groomed, and well mannered their substance and world view would be manufactured by TV, friends, and my haphazard actions. My weekends would be spent, not with them going to their activities and spending time doing things together that shape them, but at my races or with me absent (this fact became much more urgent when they both started school, as weekends were really our only time together). My mind wouldn't be preoccupied with thoughts and reflections on/about my own parenting, but about my training. I definitely wouldn't be forcing myself to take self-inventories in order to develop into a selfless person capable of unconditionally loving my kids, and others. What would that life teach them? Probably that things and honors are more important than relationships. It probably wouldn't teach them to inventory themselves.

Casey and I brought two tiny little souls into this world. He and I have an obligation to this world to ensure that those two little souls are accepting, loving, tolerant, and well educated. In a world that doesn't value those qualities it means I cannot just put on auto-pilot and expect to end up with kids that have the strength to live in defiance of the values of our society.

Why I stopped competing/training

2011-12-24T09:45:00.006-05:00

I need to give a bit of background and a qualifier or two. First, this is a rendering of my journey, not a universal truth that adheres to everyone. Second, I am Catholic. While even I thought this had little to do with my decision, in hindsight it is a heavy hitter in the process.

When I found out I was pregnant with Cooper I was 21, a senior in College, engaged to Casey, Captain and number 1 runner at Indiana State University. When I made the decision to keep our baby I put little thought into the Catholic Vocations. There are three of them, three paths or purposes to life; Religious Life (being a Nun, Priest, or Monk), Single Life (in which you are a missionary carrying out tasks too laborious and time consuming for a family person or Parish Priest), or Married Life. This will sound archaic, which is precisely why I put little thought into it, but if you chose Married Life as your "vocation" you are to devote yourself wholly to raising your children and to your marriage. The idea being that this is the path that will allow you to walk more closely with Christ through your sacrifices, hard work, and you will be a missionary of sorts to your children. I don't know about you, but the idea of two seperate people working to become one spirit in Christ is daunting. That's one purpose of Marriage within the Catholic Church. It's hard enough for two seperate people to agree a single paint color, let alone become one spirit! Being 21 and pregnant I pretty much only thought about the fact that a.) I wouldn't fit in my wedding dress, and b.) I won't let this end my running career.

Fast Forward 8 years. It's the 2008 Chicago Marathon. I am at the elite starting line along side many World Class Runners, only 3 of whom have children at all and yet I have 2. I put in many many miles to get here. I ran until I was too tired to do anything but spend the afternoon on the couch while my sons watched T.V.. I saw Casey and the boys on the sidelines in their "Go Mom" t-shirts, and I began to wonder, is this my path? Is this really where I belong?

I flashed back to a snowy Sunday morning. I was 5 miles into a long run when one of the gym's daycare workers came rushing across the expansive gym. I was more annoyed than worried when she stopped at my machine. "Mrs. Gasway? We need you to come right away." When I got to the daycare room I saw Cooper covered in blood. Will (5) had slammed Cooper's (8) face off the concrete floor. I cleaned Cooper up, and much to the horror of the workers got right back on the treadmill.

I was unable to finish that race (Chicago). I have pretty severe asthma, and I have fall allergies. The two were working against me. Afterwards, I went back to the Elite Suite to get my things, and my youngest son was literally climbing the walls. He was bored out of his mind. There was a stairwell in the media area. Directly underneath this stairwell was the food for the journalists. He kept sliding down the handrail, dirty shoes hanging over the food. I was MORTIFIED! I was too tired and defeated to really do much about it.

After Chicago, I took some time to myself to think about how I was purposing my life. I knew that my sons needed more of me than they were gettting. I also knew that I needed running to keep sane. I took it easy that winter and ran the 25k River BAnk Run in May. I had another asthma attack. This one was much worse. I finished the race, but had to deny ambulance transport. It was Mother's Day. My kids weren't with me, they were at home, 4 hours away. This was pretty much "it" for me.

I went home to a husband that scolded me, but was empathetic, and two fabulous kids that were happy to have me back regardless of my performance. I realized that my kids loved me unconditionally at the moment, but it was temporary. My finances were a mess, my children were longing for me, and my husband felt powerless in his life. I saw bits of this lifescape at this point, but not all of it, and I knew I was at the core of the positive change my family needed. I am the mother. I am the center. Whatever direction I spin in my family follows like a pinwheel.

A lot of change occured in my life at this point, including Casey's decision to join the Army. I took some time to myself and read a book a running friend of mine had sent to me "Called to be Holy". It was at this point that I began to make a conscience decision to chose time with my kids over time at the track. It was also during this period that I began to realize that my youngest son wasn't yet learning to read and he was half way through 1st grade. I began to spend a lot of time researching dyslexia, and learning how to tutor children with dyslexia so as to reconstruct their synapses. I was advocating on his behalf at school, and eventually pulled him out to homeschool him so that I could teach him to read.

This brings us to January 2010. Over the next 2 years I spend a majority of my time and energy raising my sons. Not in a June Cleaver sense. I began to understand the idea behind the "vocations". My job was to raise my sons to be whole, happy people that know and UNDERSTAND the LOVE of God, and how to love LIKE God. This meant, more than anything, I needed to be an example of how to serve God. This also meant that I needed to be tuned into their needs, which of course I couldn't do if I was only tuned in to my own needs.

Easter 2010 I did a TON of meditation. I realized that my MOTIVATION to compete was driven by my own vanity. I wanted recognition. I was putting my "vocation" on the shelf to feed my own vanity. To "run for God", would be the vocation of a single person. This line of reasoning was reinforced with the fact that most of my peers were single. The time and focus required only took me away from my family, and forced me to focus most of my energy on being in tune with my own needs, which I realized was counter productive. It was at this point that I decided I would run for my mental and physical health ONLY. I would no longer train to feed my vanity.

I know I am a flawed person. I can be an out-right asshole sometimes. Grace means that God loves me anyway. He loves me not as a warm fuzzy feeling in his chest, but loves me as a verb. He will meet my NEEDS (not desires) even though I don't deserve it. He will forgive me even though I am not worthy. He will ALWAYS listen, though not always answer. God is always in tune with me, even if I'm not always tuned in to God. This is the love I want to embody for my children. I realize that I cannot embody this type of love if all of my energy is focused on me doing my own thing. It takes a lot of energy, focus, and yes, selfishness to pursue huge success in any field. I needed to shift that focus from my running to my family. If I were to continue on the path I was on in 2008 I would have taught my children annoyance, impatience, and how to be self-serving.

I have come to understand that the Single and Religious lives wouldn't have pushed me closer to God. I am naturally a selfish person. I love time alone to reflect and meditate. Being on my own is my comfort zone. Cooper was no accident. Meeting Casey was no accident. God knew what I'd need to learn to love like him, and he gave it to me. It took me a while to surrender to my situation and understand it. Since I have devoted myself as a servant in my role as a Parent and Spouse my life has become my refuge. My finances are straight, my Marriage is as strong as ever, my children feel whole and happy. My children know humility, and love with grace. They are seeking their purpose, and I am their torch bearer. That is a better reward than any finish line.

I may again run in races, but I will not be competing in the same sense as I once did.

Houses don't know you're dead.

2011-09-20T11:06:00.001-04:00

HOUSES DON'T KNOW YOU'RE DEAD

Your trinkets stand dutifully
waiting for your
return.

The plates crusty like
moons in the sink bear truths
to me that you will not return and I
must deal with the dozens of ends
left flipping loose.

quiet and empty would be a relief from
the you I feel pressing against
every wall at once.

...unfinished, and note... this is a reflection I had while walking past a house whose owner recently passed away. None of my friends or family have died!

journeying

2011-08-22T05:15:00.004-04:00

Comfort kills. I heard that in some advertising campaign a while ago. I don't mean it literally, because I actually like being comfortable. I mean it in an broad figurative sense. Getting complacent with your life and yourself kills the potential human you could be. Casey and I, a long time ago, dreamed of adopting a "little" girl. I say "little" because we never really imagined ourselves adopting a baby. We knew we didn't want to dip below the age of 5. There are so many kids ready to be adopted right here in the US foster care system. They all have a back story, and NONE of them are responsible for how they ended up there. This morning we head to our social-workers office to discuss our potential matches.

I could go into a preachy, don't blame the children for the crime of the parents speech here, but instead I want to share the personal side of this decision. After all, it's the personal side that is interesting, no one cares what socio-political view point sparked the initial motivation. This process is beautiful and terrifying all at once. Since starting I have seen my family members in ways I never could have if we'd remained complacent, and my love for them has grown profoundly deep.

I have not met many men that would agree to bring a 10-14 year old girl into their family. Most men steer clear of girls that age, and rightfully so, they can be terrifying little balls of raging hormones. My man? He said let's go to the classes. I think he may have had a Daddy Warbucks fantasy at first, he does LOVE to be the hero. I was sure to burst his bubble at every opportunity. I have been working with At-Risk youth most of my adult life, and I knew he needed to go into this with eyes wide open.

As we went through classes I watched his perceptions of foster-care adoption change. His altruistic rosey picture became more real. He came to realize that even though our future daughter WANTS a family, she won't (most likely) want a "replacement" family. She will have memories, yes even fond ones, of her own biological family and we must respect those. He came to own the role of Father for a girl means something that is much different than it is for our boys. I think he relishes that fact.

Our approval was official last Saturday. While I jumped up and down and sang in celebration with our sons I failed to notice my understated spouse slip away. A few minutes later, when I realized he was gone, I went to look for him. I found him upstairs pouring over the adoption listings for girls in our age bracket. He didn't even notice me enter the room. His dark brows were pinched in concentration. This was his celebration. The rest of the weekend he perused listings, tried to find more information via Google, and narrowed the listing down to three different girls, two of whom were sisters (we want them both).

As I watched his intensity I realized that I whatever I thought the measure of his heart was, and I thought it was huge, I was wrong. It's bigger than I had fathomed. Its funny that we forget our spouses are people, individuals. After, gosh, 12 years of marriage, I had begun to see him as an extension of me. In this moment I came to appreciate him the way I had 12 years ago, only this time with clarity. He is beautiful. Can I say that about a man? A stinky, deep sea diver man? It is true.

He was viewing these three girls as though they were daughters already, I could see it in his intensity. He'd been this way before, with our sons. Whenever the boys need something, be it a toy repaired or medical attention, his entire posture changes. He comes nearly robotic, his brows pinch together and his eyes become fixed. There is no talking to him then, he is mission focused. To see him this direct this energy at POTENTIAL offspring humbled me, and filled me near to bursting.

The adoption has allowed me to see my spouse as a human being! A human being with a mansion of a heart, and an bottomless well of a soul. My wonderment of his beauty has been not re-born, but re-constructed. Because of this journey, and his refusal to be complacent I have seen more of who he is than ever before. I feel incredibly fortunate. His babies (11 and 8 now) are little reflections of the quality of his life. I'll save that entry for later.

reflections

2011-01-22T06:03:00.000-05:00

I can see clearly the path behind me, it's jagged turns and steep grades. The landscape it hacks through has been assimilated into myself, it is me, and I ran my way through it as I have every other stretch of rugged terrain that I have been required to navigate. Funny, the flat expanses of my life do not inspire me, they do not beg to be conquered. They are easy, and bland. I do not enjoy them. I do not adopt them as pieces of myself as maybe I should.

My husband is more than the cliche' of best friend. He truly is me, and I am him. When he is in pain, I am in pain. When I suffer, he suffers. Both our children seem to be acutely aware of the unique bond we have. When a swan was mourning over it's injured partner on the side of the road near our house, and refused to leave until days after it's partners death, in spite of being in immanent danger itself, my oldest son said, "Mom, Those swans are just like you and Dad!". Which is why when I was having success in the world of running, and Casey seemed, to the outside world, to be distant and reserved I was not hurt or offended. I could feel his private pain and suffering. I knew my success only made it more acute for him. He was mourning the end of his own athletic career, and was desperate for a new outlet.

When he suggested joining the Army, as if it were a joke (He was 33 and only one year from not being accepted any longer), I knew he was serious. I knew, because of who he was, that he would take it to the extreme, push himself to see what he could accomplish. We both love our challenges. The difference? I have a healthy fear of danger, Casey does not. I was worried, and rightfully so, the man is not just an adrenaline junkie and a work horse, but obsessed with succeeding at everything. He has never failed at anything. I also could feel how acutely he needed this, and I knew I must be supportive.

Over the next several months we talked to friends, did our research and when he decided not to in as an Officer, I urged him to go into Intelligence. It was safer. I should not have been surprised when he came home from Processing (where they finalize your enrollement) and said, "I'm going to be a Frogman! It's a Special Ops thing. I am going to be an Army Diver!" but I was. Now they had him, grrr. I pushed it out of my mind decided denial was the best route, and focused on preparing myself for his upcoming absence. There is no such thing as adequate preparation.

He left Dec. 28th. Dec. 27th my brother, a Harvard Law student, and I had a heated debate about the U.S. Military involvement in Iraq and Afghanistan after watching the movie Avatar (which I did not like). Needless to say there were a few illusions I needed to cling too to make through the next few days, and it was just not a good time to venture into liberal waters concering the US military. My poor husband, who is much more grounded than either my brother or myself calmed me down privately, "Annie, it doesn't matter. Patriotism is senseless, soldiers are the pawns of politicians. I am doing this for us, for me, and because I feel a sense of duty to earn my citizenship."

shelf dwelling

2010-04-11T20:28:00.014-04:00

Well, we are on to the next phase AIT. More hurry up and wait. With 3 weeks between Basic and his course Casey has been put to work picking dandelions and buffing floors. He has very strict personal time, and while he gets to use a phone (thank God) it's restricted, and I know he's calling me more than he should. He is always trying to be "near" to me, and for that I am grateful and feel incredibly lucky! I have been cruising along at altitude just fine. Then I and my dad moved the entire contents of my house, and life, into a storage unit. A fitting metaphor that got me thinking... UH OH WATCH OUT!!! The task was easy, physically and mentally. Emotionally I was okay, so I thought. It didn't seem like a big deal. Then I was ambushed by this intense anger at the fact that he was using his weekend to play cards, go to movies, and hang out while I worked my ass off. I wasn't really angry with him. He is held up in the middle of BFE Missouri and isn't allowed to come home to help. What is he supposed to do, force his battle buddy to sit with him and be miserable in their room? Uh, hell no!

I was angry at the US Army. How fucking irrational. He doesn't start class for three weeks, and yet he is still forced to put his family life on a shelf, for what? Dandelion picking and floor buffing? Let me run through the possible rationales and see what I come up with... hmmm... it's a WTF? Then it hits me. Four years of shelf dwelling is gonna suck, and could easily turn into a prison sentence if we let it. He doesn't want to put me, or the boys, on a shelf, and yet it is a job requirement, especially for Special Ops guys. Ugh. He totally doesn't see this coming, he's still on ground level. Then I thought, "What, am I supposed to sit up here with a damned smile on my face and wave pompoms?" That AIN'T happenin! I'll cheer him on when I have then energy, but while he's out playin Army I'm responsible for single handedly maintaing that life he's forced to shelf! We've spent 11 years building our life together before this and I won't have it upheaved, I won't have my children upended. I will create a nebulus by stretching myself as thin as possible around us all, you know, like Mrs. Incredible.

Except I'm not a super hero. I am a human being, and all that stretching wears me out. I can't shoulder all of this on my own ALL the time. I can't isolate him from this, he'd come home to one burnt out spouse that resented the hell out of him. That isn't fair to him, or me, or the boys, and doesn't do justice to all the work we've done over the last decade together! So I went to him, and explained it all and I got a sherking of accountability. Which hurt, sort of. I expected it. You see, in his heart we are his number one priority and the thought of putting us on a shelf kills him, makes him feel like a bad person/husband/father. He has to realize that his perceptions, and intentions aren't going to match his reality, his allotted actions towards us for a while, and that isn't his fault. We will have to, together build a bridge between the two and find a way to reshape this shitty disjointed reality to fit into the box we've been building for 11 years. It's not easy, but it's possible, and it'd necessary for the preservation of US, and for him to achieve his goals.

See, the Military does force their soldiers, air men, and sailors to shelf their family life, as do many coorporations, but in civilian life you get to go home at the end of the day and live your life YOUR way. In the military you don't always have that luxury. Sometimes you LIVE at your work place, with your boss, and your co-works, and you don't have the freedom to be true to your REAL priorities for months. Many (on both sides of this equation) compensate by detatching themselves from the actuality of the situation because it's FUCKING PAINFUL, and frustrating. Detatchment leads to compensation, avoidance, and other forms of sabatoge. I won't tolerate that in us, or in my family. We have to face this sucker head on NOW. Because I have to be able to be real up there on that shelf, otherwise I might create my own little world with out him and then not want to let him back in it, I might become a needy raging bitch that heckles him incessently and distracts him, or I might get drunk and fall off, hell I might jump off, or I might hide self pity behind a cheesy grin, or worst I might be the cause of his failure. No matter what, if we don't find a way to work as team I will not be able to support him, because I'll be too busy trying to get over myself. A marriage is a partnership, and we have to figure out how to tackle this new circumstance, and support each other, without compromising our individual missions.

There is no avoiding the self, and I will do my best to complete my mission and be supportive of him. While I can lean on family and friends, it is necessary to the success of my mission that he to look up there every ONCE in a while and check on me, and maybe knock that stupid fake ass grin off my face and give me a safe place to weep, or to be understanding when I'm up there kicking and screaming and my shoe flies off and hits him in the head. Oops sorry honey, side affect of the war on the homefront, because it is a part of this new life TOGETHER. Our missions no matter how seperate in objective, or distance, are eternally intertwined and interdependent. We need an emergency ladder between us that can't be kicked down. We are working on it. First though, comes the admission that this IS how it is. That is so hard to do, especially when what "it is" and what you want it to be are a far cry from each other. Being told you need to eliminate all outside distractions regardless of what you will lose in the process doesn't help either. I won't let that static interfere with the beauty of the music of OUR life. Luckily, I know after 11 years, that neither will He. It's do or die time baby... so let's do it!

2010-02-09T14:43:00.009-05:00

I'll get my cape, and
you get your rifle. Let's
give 'em a run for
their money, honey! you and
me leaping roof
top to roof
top. When we're
done saving the
world let's
get tall
tall ice cream cones. Bubble
gum for me, mint
chocolate chip for
you. We'll
walk, a
cape and a rifle, laughing into
our ice cream. Let's buy
balloons so we can
let them
go, watching
them curtsey and
bow at each
other, growing
smaller and
smaller above the
utility wires, until
we have to
squint to make
out 2 tiny
black dots that
have forgotten us. Then
let's
turn and skip away
from the rubble that's
gathered in
our wake; a cape,
and a rifle,
smiling.

2010-01-30T19:26:00.003-05:00

So, if I was at mile 5 before, I'm now at like mile 16... where you think "oh shit, this is starting to hurt, and I have 10 more miles! I'm not sure if I can make it." I'm trying to battle those thoughts. The last 5 weeks I have gotten up every morning -alone- to be greeted by a stack of bills I can't pay, and two little boys that need to be educated, loved, and made to feel safe and secure. I've done a damn good job, and those bills are getting paid on Monday!!!!!

For over a month I rallied myself up, sallied forth with my "widow list" I made piles of clean clothes in my bed room, drank out of the milk carton, rented the movies I wanted, read a book, started doing yoga, and blogged more. I've even begun to eat the perfectly balanced diet. I cut out sugars and gluten, and replaced them with fruit and rice. I've done everything I've always wanted to do. Then I started hanging up all of my clothes after I took them off, drinking milk out of a glass, and stopped blogging. To be honest it's gotten really old.

Now, I need a new list. I've done everything on the old one. Unfortunately, and quickly, my brain has compiled this list: I want to smell his BO, I want to leave the toilet paper roll just out of his reach, and hear him say, "damnit Annie". I want to be annoyed by finding a random toenail he forgot to pick up. I want to bitch about wiskers in the sink. I want some one else to discipline the kids, pick out the movie, do the dishes. I want a hug from him. I want to fight with him for leg space on the couch, blankets in bed. I want to hear his voice, it's been a solid two weeks. I feel guilty and thankless when this list invites itself into my head, but that doesn't make me want him less. I can't stand pictures of him today.

My comfort comes from bits of information I glean from his letters, in 5 weeks he's aquired a leadership role, Company Squad leader, and his squad is #1. He's a hoss. I smile when I think of the contortion of his face as he strains to win the challenges he faces... "Affix bayonettes, Company Charge!" I see him leading the way (he won) and I get a moment of relief. I imagine him, chest out, leading the A group on their runs, and I fill with pride. I am so incredibly happy for him. I think about what it says that he's written me at least 3 times a week, and feel incredibly INCREDIBLY signifigant. I try not to think about the distance I feel in what he isn't saying, but I do and it eats at me (I'm not sure how to translate this into a universal language). In every letter he DOES make a point to let me know how he feels about me. That is pretty awesome.

So much like the race, I've got to take it one step at a time... one moment at a time and try not to think too much. I've got to just let it happen. I most definitely need to screen my crowd of spectators. My stride will not easily bounce back from a Cornelius Horan or Jock Semple right now, and I've got to keep on trudgin forward.

finding a pace

2010-01-14T12:53:00.002-05:00

I'm at Mile 5 of my marathon. That place where you become your cadence. The rhythm of your turnover cannot be seperated from who you are at that moment, because you've found your stride and your body sings what your soul feels. It's not a feeling a non-runner knows. To actually "be" the body you live in is an awkward miracle. I am in that place with this whole ordeal. I am comfortable, and joyful inspite of whatever hardships lay ahead, and I know they do.

I would NOT trade my circumstance for anything. My husband, who has felt so out of place as the knight in shining armor questing for a "white picket fence life" has found a place where he feels at home. He can lead, instead of follow. He can work hard towards a goal, persperation with a purpose. He is the man he wants to be, he is the man I knew 12 years ago that nearly forgot himself to the quest of giving me what he thought I deserved. A man's drive to provide can never be over-estimated. What he felt I deserved and what I wanted were two VERY different things. To convince him that I deserved a best friend/partner that was supportive of my goals, joyful, and vivacious (as he once was), and not "stuff", was to walk a gauntlet.

Now I see, in his words, that he has come to see the things I truly desire. He's giving them to me, in letters, from far away. To be driven to live with purpose has been our curse, and our greatest gift.

Father's Shadow

2010-01-10T17:08:00.005-05:00

Our sons'
spongy spines, flanked by
tiny scapula and little sinewy
blossoms,
promise manhood.

They stand straighter,
shoulders grow wider, when speaking
of you. You are the
pride that inflates
their chests.

They see your face in
freshly plowed roadside
snow. Hear your name in
the Cadence of my
swift steps, as
I hunt down
my strength.

Your shadow suggests
a gait. Their backs will
grow tall; thick
spines reaching
great heights, because
Where ever they may
go, they will chose
to walk like you.

PHONE CALL

2010-01-10T07:20:00.001-05:00

I got my first phone call from him. I knew it would be a short one. I hope to NEVER get another. It was an excruciating experience, to hear his voice, so tangible, and not be able to touch him. He sounded not like himself. I didn't tell him any of the things I needed to, about the 1-800 number I got for the house, the call forwarding I set up so I don't miss his calls. I don't care if I miss his calls now. After we hung up it was like amputating him all over again, a reminder that he IS so inaccessible. I'd rather get a letter, something he held in his own hand, something he crafted that I can hold. At least I'd have SOMETHING to hold. The phone call left me feeling empty and ripped off, even though my expectations were accurately gauged. It set me back days. I can't help but wonder what effect it had on him.

The babies

2010-01-09T13:21:00.002-05:00

While the letters have helped me, I anticipate the day that I receive a phone call from him so much that every ring of the phone springs my spine to attention! The letter's have not had the same effect on all of us.

Cooper has broken down, sobbing over the last few days. He see's his dad's face in roadside snow. In the drips on the wind sheild. He is seeing his father's "ghost". Last night he wrote this in his journal.

This morning he could barely finish his work during our school time. I've tried to be an example of how to handle this severing in a healthy manner. "We will not feel sorry for ourselves for any length of time". We have to get up and get on, and deal with our feelings in ways we can control. He was mourning the fact that his dad wasn't here to build him a tunnel in the snow banks, like every other big snow winter.

I bundled Cooper and Willem up in their snow clothes and sent them out to play. Not five minutes later Cooper comes in crying. He is heart sick. Little brother follows close behind, "Coopah, I am biwding a tunnoh foh you. Tum out heoh and hep me wiff it." A few slow gasps and, "Okay, fine."

Those two boys spent 2 hours in the Michigan cold building themselves a tunnel. An homage to a far away father, and to their strength. They were so proud of themselves, pouring prideful "big fish" stories into their hot cocoa afterward. THAT is what their dad's wants of them, pro-activeness. It is what I want of them.

The letter's I have received have validated my belief that the sacrifice my family is making is WORTH IT! Some days feel as though my sorrow will leave in a puddle on the floor, and I regret that I ever agreed to this, that I ever urged him on. His letters make it all worth it, "It's hard telling how much our long arguments and late hour conversations are helping these GI's". We ARE still the team we have always been.

There are reminders of him everywhere. I know that if we are to remain the unit we were when he left the boys and I must continue to honor the value system that has been built by the both of us. This is hard to do if you are feeling sorry for yourself, if you are bemoaning your loss. Most days I feel like sitting on my sad ass doing nothing, but that is not the value system that my husband and I have based our marriage or parenting style on. If we are to remain the family we have always been I HAVE to take care of me first. Get up, get in that workout and show those boys that doing what you feel like doing is usually NOT the route that will lead to fulfillment or happiness. So, as I have for 10 years I will take care of my responsibilities, myself and my sons with an insane work ethic and a tender heart. Even I'd rather eat myself into a coma. I have obviously instilled it in at least one of them already. Thank you Willie, for keeping it real!

new tradition

2010-01-07T07:25:00.002-05:00

The Gasways have a new tradition, The Letter Dance. We received our first letter from him, I became involuntarily possessed with glee. Every nerve in my body tingling electric, until I was invincible! Screaming, "WOOHOO!!!! I GOT A LETTER" as I ran back to the house from the road snow kicked up in my wake. Neighbors peered out their windows with gentle smiles on their faces.

Inside, I held it to my chest jumped up and down, singing loudly, "igotaletter! igotaletter! igotaletter!!!". The dog, 120lbs of her, wagging uncontrollably, not sure why she was excited. The boys running circles around the couch hooting like little heathen warriors, everyone in a frenzy. I managed to eventually open and read it out loud. Then, for hours, afterward I was spontaneously compelled hollar, "IGOTALETTER!!!" The joy was too much to keep inside, and would burst out unexpectedly! The next day we received a second letter. Same thing, and a ritual was born.

I'm not sure this elation will every die off. To receive a letter is to be connected in a way no other form of communication can provide. It is a window into someone's heart and mind. "Of all the things I've been called I miss 'Dad' the most", he wrote to us in his first letter. In his second letter, "We call him Marble, a 19 year old a Nazarene that doesn't swear. I am envious of his purity. He is too nice for the Army." Poetry exists in letters.

He wrote his first letter, "from the crapper" after only two days away, and his second letter with stolen moments the very next day. To know this was to know his devotion to us. If there was a moment to steal, it would be used to write to us. He was longing for us as much as we longed for him. To know this was to have the fire in my chest put out, that I might, once more, begin to grow a garden there. This time more lush and spectacular than before, watered with his words, and with the courage of my sons. I wanted to immediately put out whatever fire consumed him.

On the third day I prepped the boys (and myself) to NOT receive a letter. I knew that he wouldn't be allowed to go on writing to us EVERYDAY, though I nurtured hope for it in every fiber of every muscle of my body! "Boys, he has gone to great lengths to talk to us, without hearing back from us. He really misses us, but he won't be able to write EVERYDAY. We know that if he can, he will. So if we don't get a letter, we can comfort ourselves in knowing that there was ABSOLUTELY no moment to be stolen. How lucky are we that we know that!" NO resentments, no feeling sorry for yourself, only gratitude and compassion.

The mail truck came, I forced myself to WALK out the the mail box. I had to calculate each step, each movement. I had to force myself to lift my arms at a controlled pace, it was worse than any Christmas Eve I've ever suffered through! I opened the front of the box. I reached in. I pulled out the mail. No letter. My heart fell. "MOM! you can't be sad. We have two letters. His Drill Instructor was probably yelling at him!", a little voice yelled at me from a crack in the front door. They were always watching me. My words actually tasted sweet as my son force them back to me. He was right. My heart eeked itself back into place.

I hoped that Casey was doing fine. He sounded upbeat in his letters. Day 10 and still no address. He only made it 2 days before reaching back to touch us, and has waited 10 to be touched BY us. I want to light HIM up with joy. I am forced to wait. He is forced to have faith that we are thinking of him as much as he is thinking of us. So many tethers binding us, but so many more connect us.

sleeping possessed

2010-01-05T09:17:00.009-05:00

I had a
dream you were
dead.
Bestial cries ravaged
my throat rendering
the flesh pink &
ready for
butcher.
The earthquake in
my chest forced my
ribs to crack & pull
apart leaving my
heart exposed, ripe,
begging to be
plucked up &
squished between the
fingers of some
giant, diapered curiosity like a
cherry tomato on
a desertous lawn.
"take it please"

I awake. Finally, after
long days, Relief sprinkles
gently, untieing every
muscle in my
tight body.
Breath comes
joyously now,
this nightmare harvesting my
ache for you.
You are still alive.

2010-01-04T23:23:00.004-05:00

I bought minutes for my phone today, so that I could forward calls from the home phone so that I won't miss any calls from Casey. Priorities. On the date of my last posting, an acquaintance from home lost her husband, a medic in the Army, due to an IED. He was 24. They'd been married for two years. He would send her flowers even while deployed, just so that she could have a living piece of his affection in his absence. Now, he can't even do that. She can call herself an Army Wife. Of course I want a world without war. However, that is a fictional world, a world of civility and rational action, not our world.

Mail Call

2010-01-03T12:27:00.009-05:00

I received a Shut-Off notice in the mail yesterday, not to mention that yesterday marked the official 30 days past due on our mortgage, and was reminded as to the precipitous conditions of Casey's departure. It took the threat of financial doom to liberate him from the belief that to join the Army was to compromise his intellect. He could've "saved us" by going back to Chicago with his company and continuing to work in Corporate sales, but instead WE decided to put finances on hold so that he could get back in shape, after all he had been sitting behind a desk for 3 years, to best serve his country. Once a National Champion Track Athlete, I worried as to how the Army would utilize his talents, I didn't want him to get hurt. The decision, though stress inducing was a great one because he was recruited into the Dive Program, "the most physically demanding school in the Army". Neither of us even knew the Army had Divers until he was assigned the MOS. He wanted to join the Army in high school and was reprimanded by family. His recruiting letter from West Point went into a shoe box, only to be discovered by him 15 years later.

He simply seized the opportunity to fulfill a calling he had felt for a long time. He wanted to do this 15 years ago, but came to be ashamed of his desire and locked it away until the moment that he could vindicate his decision (to his own family and friends) with the excuse of economic hardship. What does this say about us, that civic servitude/pride and intellectualism have been polarized?

To be honest I am a bit jealous of him. That he has been able to finally realize his desire despite the criticism and opposition. I feel a bit left behind to man this island and care for it's inhabitants. I do NOT want to be mistaken for a mousey housewife holding down the fort in the absence of it's real protector. I am the one that makes the servitude a possible.

Gone Baby Gone

2010-01-01T13:23:00.011-05:00

So Casey left for boot camp, and then AIT (job specific training). He most likely won't be home for 9.5 months. My longing for him rolls me over, intermittently and pulls me down like great waves. My chest pulls inward, and I think the edges of my ribcage will meet and I will likely be crushed. Then I find my breath again and I get on with it. I didn't imagine I'd feel so strongly since I know he's safe, and I know he IS coming home. There are thousands of wives that don't have that satisfaction. How do they do it? When I read of a soldier's widow(er), and children, I can still say, thank God it's not going to be me (for 9.5mo). If I didn't have that I'm not sure what would bring me up for air.

I don't feel justified in claiming I'm making a great sacrifice because my husband isn't overseas, and yet my experience is unrelatable to 98% of America, literally. I'm an Army Wife who isn't really an Army Wife. My sons still ache for their parent terribly. When they hurt for him I can say with near certainty, "well we'll go visit him in March." The What if's can be real bitches, and luckily I don't have any. This pain, torment, ache it is specific to those serving during wartime and their families. It is so vast, deep, and complex it's intricacies are rendered incomprehensible to anyone else. It's been a long time since the entire nation has shared this type of burden. It's preferable to ignore it when it's not you or yours; I did. I think it is human to do what is easy even if it's not right. It's also easy not to think about the righteousness of our choices/actions so long as they will unquestionably keep the flow of our lives uninterrupted. I'm finding that to rise above our nature, to do what is difficult, to stop and think about the righteousness of our choices before we act, that is what makes a person great. Thoreau said it best, "the mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. What is called resignation is confirmed desperation...Yet they honestly think there is no choice left. But alert and healthy natures remember that the sun rose clear. It is never too late to give up our prejudices. No way of thinking or doing, however ancient, can be trusted without proof. What everybody echoes or in silence passes by as true to-day may turn out to be falsehood to-morrow, mere smoke of opinion, which some had trusted for a cloud that would sprinkle fertilizing rain on their fields."
Most of us resign, become complacent living suicides gleaning our opinions from other peoples harvests, without proper personal inquisition or process. We eat what is left of the harvest of others because it is easy without consideration to it's quality or benefit.

I know that Casey has always refused to take anything as status quo, nor has he ever shyed away from doing what was difficult. It is why I fell in love with him. It is why I stood behind his decision to join the Army. I knew that he had thought about the consequences of his choice, for himself and us, and he had chosen to do what he believed was right, in spite of the difficulty involved. I try to remember that when I'm sinking beneath my chest; we chose this together. We CHOSE this, and most people wouldn't. It is a desert with the jungle and we exiled ourselves there deliberately because we know we can survive it, not because we thought it was easy.

Bless-ed

2009-09-05T11:14:00.012-04:00

Frost gathered in each corner of the window's 6 square frames. She was in the basement, baby in a carrier on her back, gathering water in a bucket from the main. He had taken out all the piping. It was black, corroded, and unfit for drinking water. They didn't have the money to replace it quite yet. He was working 10 hours a day, 6 days a week in the factory 30 minutes away for 200 dollars a week. They were saving what they could. Until then, it was just going to be this way. She quietly hummed as she carried the bucket upstairs and heated it on the stove. Once it was warm enough she took the water, and dumped it in the bath tub. 5 more trips and she'd have enough for baths. The baby was fairly content just to be against it's mother. Her toddler played quietly in his room.

The babies bathed in the clean water. Warm water. He and She took turns being last. When baths were done it took another bucket to boil water for their dinner. Oatmeal. The babies got milk. Yet, there was laughter. Lots of laughter. After dinner, she'd sing those babies to sleep "The water is wide. I cannot get or' And neither have I wings to fly. Build me a boat that can carry four, and all shall row my loves and I"

Eventually, she'd finally get the call she had hoped for and start working. Then, it would only be a matter of weeks and they'd have water again. For a time after that, running water was a marvel to them, a quirk most of their family wouldn't understand.

Winter 2003-2004

Ya know, Casey and I have been through hell and back. In 10 years, we've had two kids, finished college, moved 8 times in 4 states, and that's the good stuff. When our kids were 3 and 10 months they were living on raman noodles, plain oatmeal and milk. We've had to do that two more times since then, and even lived in a motel. There have been multiple times when, if chance hadn't provided hand-me-downs the boys little toes would've been curled up and blistered in the ends of their shoes, and they would've been wearing sweatshirts and sweaters as coats for winter. We've had times of prosperity too. Yet, I wouldn't trade "those" times for anything. Seriously, I told Casey just before we were married that I wanted my kids to grow up poor so they'd learn to appreciate the little things. I am glad they have gotten that opportunity. Everything seemed to workout in the end. Recently, when I asked the boys what one of our family traditions were they responded, "love. We always have lots of love in this house." However, Casey, the over achiever that he is, couldn't take another year of these ups and downs. He joined the Army.

At first I was TERRIFIED. Then I realized, "damn, this is a perfect fit for him". Mr. overachiever just got used up and spit up in the corporate world. Now his talents will be utilized, and his work ethic rewarded. Our hardships were, to him, a neon necklace with an arrow pointing at his head that said, "douche bag". It's not going to be easy, but that's sort of been a theme in this family. I think we'll be just fine.

People have asked me, "how are the boys going to handle it?" Sure they'll miss him, cry for him, and probably act out a bit. However, we've been apart from him before, and they've weathered far more arduous circumstances (by a child's yard stick) with tenacious optimism:

She stands outside the school. Crisp air cuts up her coat sleeve. No one talks to her, but they all stare. She shuffles her weight so one knee can bend itself in a gesture of cosmetic confidence. Secretly, she wishes she had mirror to check and see if a little snot snuck down onto her numb upper lip. She runs her mitten under her nose just to be safe. FINALLY! She sees a pair of smiling blue glasses with little blue hat, an unruly strand of blonde hair sneaks out the bottom. "I dot dis foh you, Mommy", a crumpled paper by way of a hug. Now, to collect the brown hatted observer for the walk home. She does so and gladly walks away from the crowd.

"So are you guys excited to get a house?"
"Wioh we get to have Cwistmas pwesents?"
"You get a house, and if we can move in before Christmas you will get to have a tree too."
"So, mom, is Santa going to visit or not?"
"I'm sure he'll bring you something"
"I's wanted one of dose big noeff guns"
"I think Santa was planning on bringing small things for your new room"
"We get to have our own rooms?! Well Okay!!"
"So we won't have to be all in one room anymore?! Can I have a dragon room?"

So the three of them chattered themselves back to the motel room they shared with Him. The paneling smelled of someone's cigarette smoke, a reminder that this was not theirs (thankfully). She made them a dinner of microwaved raman noodles and hot dogs, then homework, bath and bed, all four of them together.

Friday December 23rd at 1pm the 4 of them unlocked their new home. A container in which to treasure their laughter. Each of their exclamations was trailed by a little puff of smoke. She hurriedly, harassed the gas company and Stanley Steamer so that her babies would be warm and safe before bed. Otherwise, it would be a long cold weekend with painful reminders of the previous owners cats Once all was quite she set up a small 2 ft tree, wrapped the paint brushes, a few small toys. She paused to absorb the enormity of this small tree that dared to occupy such a large empty room all by itself. Fitting. Then She crawled up next to her family on the floor. This might end up being her favorite Christmas yet.

That Christmas she felt like an alchemist.

To my Monkey Hamunan

2009-07-23T16:34:00.006-04:00

Poor
little
monkey no
one loves. Sky
walking and
carrying the world on
fingertips. A
freckle in the
white. A
blemish punished by
perfection. Stupid
happy
monkey not
knowing he can't
walk on
air, can't
carry the
world without getting
squished,
an
oozey
red
pancake invisible under
ice, his smile
distorted
flat
and unrecognizable.
This straightens my
vertebrae one
by one, and makes
the edges of
my lips
curl
pushing up
my cheeks until
my eyes
disappear, and
my face
gets sore.
Stupid
happy
monkey.

Blue Print

2009-07-22T08:03:00.004-04:00

I never dreamed about my Wedding. I didn't care where it happened, or what kind of flowers were used. I didn't even care about the colors. My wedding was, to me, an annoying formality. A necessary evil required in order for me to move forward with what it was I DID fantasize about. My life.

I could describe in detail what my future life would look like. A small house with a big yard, a large garden of vegetables and wild flowers, smoke spiraling out of the chimney, children laughing in the yard. You can't very well accomplish that without a husband, so a wedding was a necessity. After I found the right guy, of course. Not just any ol' guy would do. I also thought all of this would occur after my stint as a revolutionary.

Modified over the years, but the basics were the same. The house, the kids, me having a purpose outside of motherhood/wifehood. Always it seemed effortless to provide this life, after all I wasn't asking for much. I've always been pretty low maintenance.

Here I am nearly half way through this life. In a house near the woods, with children laughing in the yard, my best friend to wake up with every morning and go to bed with every night. Now, in an effort to provide a future for the kids we are thinking of giving it all up. I cling to it with big, jumpy eyes.

I watch the news every morning. When I hear about fallen soldier on the news my eyes well up for their families just before I think to myself, "thank God I don't have to worry about that. If there's one thing I couldn't do it's throw my best friend to chance". Yet, here we are. I am NOT ready to crucify this dream just yet. I am not ready for the daily news to be a weight that squishes my chest until my breath runs away from me. What if I never catch it again?

Update.

2009-07-19T21:49:00.003-04:00

I just deleted a mean nasty post, even though I didn't want to. I've decided to handle it more maturely, like by hiring a lawyer. So to Kurt Coroneos and Pat Julian, I will be calling lawyers all day Monday, of course if we actually get paid I MIGHT reconsider, but I doubt it. My wages are now being affected, so there's some compensation due.

Running update, I am going to forgo the U.S. 7 mile Championships mainly due to the Plantar Facia pain in my right foot, due to crappy shoes. I needed to buy new ones a month ago. So for the time being I'll have to lay low. Not a happy camper. My training in general has finally come around. My speed is back, and I can work on that even if I am unable to run high mileage. I am not sure how this will effect my fall racing season, hopefully not at all. We'll see.

The boys got home this weekend. It's nice. I got a second call from the Athletic Director at LOHS. I'm hoping that I get an interview. I'm more than qualified, but less than certified.

Letter to my Nephew's "mother"

2009-04-09T09:22:00.013-04:00

First, thank you for giving him life, for chosing to let him grow inside of you. However, that in itself, does not make you his mother. Now, everyday, chose again to let him live. Find in yourself the mother's love you've yet to know. The love to put your child's needs ahead of your own desires.

He was ripped from you because you made him an addict before he took his first breath, nursed back to a soulful life by others, and now, now that he can feed, and dress, and wipe himself you want him back? He hasn't even slept at your house, not once, and you want to put him to bed? He barely knows the sound of your voice, because you haven't called, and now you want the privilage of soothing and scolding him?

You gave him life (thank you dearly), but you are not his mother. His mother got up every four hours for years to deliver medicine needed to heal the damage, you caused, to his lungs. His mother worked tirelessly with Occupational Therapists so that he would develop normally, inspite of what your drugs did to him. She loved him even though he, like all children, was a vacuum sucking in her energy, time, love, and giving nothing back. She loved him even though he wasn't hers. Now he is smart, now he can breathe, now he has the opportunity to be ANYTHING. If you want to be his mother leave him where he is. To take him back would be to suffocate him, to place him in a box, to hand him a warrant for his arrest. He's old enough now to know it. If you take him back you will prove that you were never really his mother. Just a woman that gave him a life you planned to use to your own benefit, exactly as your mother did to you. She wronged you.

You ARE beautiful, you ARE intelligent. She condemned you to be just another mom on wellfare, and your daughters will be the same. Your son has the chance to BE something. If you want to be his mother get out of his way, and work to overcome the injustice your mother did to you so that your daughters have a chance to live. You are your daughers only chance. Your son, he has had a village around him his entire life.

From this mother to you, leave him where he has the best chance at the best life and he will love you for it. Take him back, whatever your reason, and when he is grown he will know what you stole from him, and he will hate you for it. His life isn't a social security number, a paycheck, it doesn't belong to you. Just as my children's lives do not belong to me. Some day they will be men (if I succeed), other wives husbands. We are guardians of their futures, and nothing more. Some of us have the luxury to be best suited to be both guardian and teacher. Some of us are best suited as guardian to let some one else be the teacher. That has nothing to do with money, or class, or education. That has to do with LOVE. A mother knows which one she is, and puts her love of her child, her duty as the guardian of his future, ahead of her desire to be his teacher. What exactly do think he'll learn from you, what makes you best suited to teach him to be someone elses husband? The only men, only husbands you've ever encountered were actors on sitcoms. Your daughter's do not know their fathers. You do not know their fathers. Your son's father has been there with him his entire life. Tell me how you'd be better at teaching him to be a man/husband?

WOMAN

2009-04-02T08:31:00.011-04:00

I am wearing a bear skin. My shoulders sag beneath the weight of it. The space filled with tight lips, and stern intolerance. I wonder if my mother gave me this. An Heirloom of motherhood?

I see other mothers light, and knowing. As if they were made for this cloak. They carry it with straight up spines. Soft faces, and warm words. I am awkward among them. Quazimoto.

This is my mother's legacy.

I hated her. I hated her fishing. Making me stick hook through worm guts. I hated her roofing our house where everyone could see her dirty, and working like a man. Nawed dirty nails. I hated her, telling me not to care what anyone else thought. I hated her yelling at men in charge. Loud mouth didn't know her place. I hated her not wearing make up. I hated her being hard, not tolerating excuses. I hated her.

I am her.

I watched my mother, Quazi-femella. I know that it takes a stong back to carry such a cloak.

I am glad I am her.

My strong back, precious heirloom.

emergence

2009-01-16T14:14:00.016-05:00

It’s been a long while living like infant pines huddled in the snow. Words that won’t come to me, always my mind left to slumber alone. And I am in that twighlight place, that purgatory. I am not living and I am not dead. The revelry and misery of life ricochet off me and I am immune to feeling. I reflect fondly on the girl who pledged to live deliberately enough to make Thoreau blush. But, now she has become me.

I’m not sure who is right, me or her? I know the path that brought me here would be treacherous to most. I thrive on treacherous journeys. They, gratefully so, remind me I'm alive. Each adventure has its consequences. This last one was bumpy enough to leave me numb for a while, and concussed. I can’t honestly say when this adventure started? 1998? 2000? 2004? 2006? 2007? Each of those a dark ring in my flesh marking some significant event.

For the last three months I haven’t had an address. Living, albeit unofficially. My entire life in storage, waiting to be unpacked, rediscovered. It may take an anthropologist to put it all back together and let me know who the hell I am again. And ya know I may reject the findings, and scream “put it all back in boxes.”

The idea of the big house with the white picket fence has always left me claustrophobic, like the idea of being buried alive. Funny I have two kids and a dog. In typical idealistic fashion I thought 10 weeks of 4 people living in one hotel room would be nothing more than an adventure. The potpourri of shit, dust, and dirty sheets changed my mind after about 6 weeks. I was surprised when the laughter of my children became torturous. Some days I hoped that my husband would stay late, just so I wouldn’t have to cooperate with yet another human. One less person’s breath to breathe. Many days I hoped I’d awake to find I had evaporated somewhere between the fake seams of the paneling.

Now we have our house, and I still feel like I’m putting out a stranger’s belongings. Relics of someone else’s life. An Amnesia patient. There is one thing that is familiar. I still love things raw. Don’t insult me by feeding me some pre-packaged bullshit. Just hand me everything still palpitating, and let me figure it out myself.

Only when I am running on the hilly dirt roads by my house can I both escape and find myself. I am at home running through the trees, feet in direct contact with the earth (excepting my soles) like all other primal beasts. This is the only thing of late that is familiar to me. Give me the unexplored, the unpaved, the raw… Keep the pavement, the neatly cut trails, those safe paths for yourself. I am not comfortable there.

I’m not sure what has left me numb. I’m not sure I care just as long as I still have my moments of liberation. Maybe it’s more that I don’t quite belong in this life of mine. I am an awkward leading woman in the play I’ve written for myself. Whether I like it or not, my role requires a bit of the white picket fence life. Honestly, as much as I resist it, some part of me seeks it. While I’d be happy in a trailer in the woods, the mother in me, the little girl that went without, wants to provide for my sons. The yard stick; do they have what their friends have? Me, endlessly repulsed by the confinement, of a typical life is fished into the lukewarm water by this question. Aren’t we all?

We are all on a quest to define ourselves with our belongings. To reflect our inner selves outward with the car we drive, the clothes we wear, the house we live in. We wear them like trophies, or shameful reminders of our failures. It’s all just stuff. This journey to acquire things that define us, or show status keeps us from really knowing ourselves. It over powers us, makes us unrightly proud, or unjustly steals us of our dignity. Yet, it can all be stolen away in a second. Make believe happy. Manufactured bliss. The only things we own, are our memories, our productions, our thoughts. Only the intangibles belong to us, the rest is BULLSHIT that distracts us from what makes us happy. I am definitely not immune… and I think I know now what was making numb. I was almost reformed.

This crazy adventure has come to a close at the foot of our 10 year anniversary. I can't help but remember the day that I "KNEW" what I wanted for my life. Casey and I stopped at the bait shop, he picked up a 40oz bud for himself and a 22oz bud lite for me, some worms. We went to Hawthorne park (a swampy lake). I sat barefoot on the bridge next to him. We sat, talked and threw worms into the water. I thought to myself, I can handle this. This can be my life. It's the pursuit of "stuff" that complicates our lives. I didn't NEED much then and I don't NEED much now. There is a fine difference between the pursuit of happiness and the pursuit of possessions. They are not to be confused without dire consequences. Do not become possessed by the misconception that to have not is to be not. I think those dirt roads have led me back to myself finally!

Last night I asked Casey if he remembered that day. "How could I forget?"

2008-12-08T14:04:00.002-05:00

I think I might be boring. I was exciting, once. I think. Ove the last two years I have allowed the voices of my babies to crowd out the screaming girl inside of me. I think she’s lost her voice, and a little pissy about it. I have been roaming aimlessly, little red running hood looking for my head. It’s motherhood, not the kids. She’s a bitch, making me put them first, making me leave the person in me behind. I’ve tried so hard. I made it so long. And now I am nothing, but a skin suit that makes dinner, helps with homework, and carries out judgments of time-out. Some days their tiny sweet voices scrape against the inside of my skull like a spoon.

a brick and I'm drowning

2008-12-04T14:13:00.003-05:00

okay so I am sick of being chipper. I'm tired of staring at strangers and wondering, "I wonder if he'd be happy to hear me brag about myself? or am I asking too much?" Marriage sucks ass sometimes. It's hard to love someone you sacrifice so much for. When is it that the sacrifices are legitimately too much and you have the right to pull back approval of your spouse? NEVER. You should always communicate and draw boundaries. It's been a hard go for us lately. Lots of sacrifices. Sacrifices do not entitle anyone to bitterness. Yet I find myself in a victims role because of someone elses bitterness. HOw the hell did I get here, and how do I get out? I want joy. I want a joyous household. That's really what I want. Is that asking too much? I want a joyous household, I want to get my masters, and continue training, while being supportive of my kids (I'll sleep when I'm dead)... is that asking too much? I want all of that and someone to ride the crazy train with me who will laugh with me, cry with me, and rejoice with me. is that asking too much? If it is, I think I'd rather travel alone.

"The talk"

2008-09-24T09:45:00.002-04:00

(In the car on the way to track)
ME: Boys do you want to have babies when you grow up?
WILLEM: yes because kids wike to pet dogs, and I wike dogs.
COOPER: Not really. I used to but, not anymore.
ME: Why not?
COOPER: Well, right now it's pretty much disgusting to me.
ME: Why?
COOPER: Well, it's the sex. That idea grosses me out.
ME: *giggling*
COOPER: It gives me the eebby jeebies really. I used to want kids until I found how they happen.
ME: *still giggling* Someday you won't feel that way about it, but honestly that's how I felt about when I was your age. And yet I have not one but TWO kids.
COOPER: *smiles smoothly* Yeah, maybe.
(Willem remained oblivious throughout the entire conversation! I think he went to his happy place)

Preview Chitown '08

2008-09-23T14:20:00.007-04:00

The promised second entry. As I completed my morning run, it is Tuesday after all, my mind wandered to the Marathon, of course. I know that I'm not in the best shape I'll ever be in, but I'm in the best shape I've ever been in. The recent change from Top 100 to Elite has taken me back to another race. A high school race. The race that got me a scholarship to college.
Don't be mistaken, the change to Elite doesn't mean that I'm suddenly amazing. It means I've been given a place on the line next some women that already are amazing, an opportunity to prove myself. An opportunity of a life time. It's a cruxt moment, granted to me by a generous race director.

In 8th grade I won the largest Invitational meet of the year, the Rensselear Invitational. There were some 200 odd girls in that meet. It was wonderful. 9th grade I place 40 something. After that I was the only girl on the team so we didn't go, until my Senior year. About two weeks before the meet I told my coach I really, really wanted to run it even though it wasn't on the schedule. For the next two weeks he begged the AD to get us added, and the AD begged the Invite's coordinator to add us. The Thursday before the meet we got word that it was a go.

Saturday morning we arrived to find long row of neat boxes evenly divided by straight, fat, white lines looking very geometric and official. We walked this line to it's end to find our box; skinny, orange, uneven lines, an asymmetrical after-thought. The number was cockeyed. I liked that.
I led from the gun, won by over 30 seconds, and my future college coach just happened to be there recruiting. He kept asking, "who is that?" and no one could answer because we hadn't been to that invite in the two past years. Even if we had I would've sucked. It wasn't a PR, but it was what I had hoped it would be, a cruxt moment utilized perfectly.

I had a feeling about that race. I just knew that I had to be there. Going into it everything felt like it was just taking care of itself the way it was supposed to. I made that opportunity for myself. This time the opportunity has been presented to me. This time there are no boxes painted in rows. If there were, mine would be the lopsided misfit on the end, the after-thought (it feels better when it's the result of someone else's command). I have a feeling about this race. I have a really good feeling about it. So while I know someday I'll run faster, on race day I'll run the fastest I ever have. Somehow I know it.

Marathoning Mommy

2008-09-23T11:38:00.006-04:00

There will be two entries today... For a blog about my adventures as a Mommy who wants to be a fast marathoner I have never included any sort of documentation to show how I try to balance these two full-time jobs. A Glimpse at one day... then an over view of a week.

Tuesday/Thursday:

5:00am WAke up get dressed Drink a cup of Coffee in the quiet...
5:15 wake everyone else! load pajama boys in the car sleepy eyed and all
5:45-6:45: Drop Casey off at the train station
6:45: Boys must do chores, make beds, clean room etc. I make breakfast.
7:00am EAT BREAKFAST! and clean up dishes
7:20-8:00 It's a mad house getting lunches ready, hair brushed... nagging the boys to get dressed and brush their teeth. Hunting for library books etc.
8:10 head to bus stop with cooper...
8:25 back home with Willem, who is hopefully still clean.
8:25-8:50 some down time with Willem "Curious George"
8:50 Head to bus stop with Willem...
9:00 Good bye Willie! I head for a morning run... secretly racing the Bus out of the complex and waving at Mr. Sunshine as I do...
9:30 head back in from said run.
9:30-10:00 Computer time
10:00-11:00 Laundry other Miscellaneous Chores
11:00 Brunch
11:20 Shower (I know I'm gross) get dressed take vitamins.. "me" time
12:00 make lunch
12:20 get Willem off the bus
12:30 we eat lunch
12:50-1:30 reading time
1:30-3:00 Willem's rest time, sometimes I get a nap here, other times I do more chores
3:00-4:00 Willie and I play together or separate... depends on what he wants
4:00 Cooper gets off the buss
4:00-4:30 They eat a snack I pack water and such for my evening track workout
4:45- Out the door to lake forest
5:15 leave the car at the train station for Casey, Shelley picks us up and takes us the the track
5:25 arrive at track, the boys play like mad men (thursday's they have a playdate instead), and I run a workout 10x1000 or 6x1mile with a 2-3 mile warm up and cool down.
6:45 Casey arrives from work, and depending on the boys either takes them home or stays and watches the workout
7:15 head home
7:45 arrive and begin dinner
8:00pm eat dinner
8:30 boys to bed
9:00 me to bed

Monday's, Wednesday's and Friday's belong to the boys. I don't run at all on Mondays. I clean, and cook a real family meal, and play soccer, or tag with the boys in the afternoon. Sometimes we go for a hike, or to the beach. On Wednesday's I run once in the morning while Willem is gone. Then We go to Cooper's Gymnastics class in the afternoon, and Friday I run once in the morning and the boys and I play together in the afternoon. That's how we get balance around here! Weekends are when I "work" I'll be gone in the morning until 10 or 11 getting in a long run one day, and some "me" time the other, while Casey hangs out with boys. Definitely a lot in a day but what is temporary to me, is permanent to my sons. I don't want them looking back on their childhood and remembering long days filled with boredom. I want them to look back and remember days filled with vivacious laughter and merriment. Now, I did have one or two days this cycle where on a Wednesday or Friday I popped a movie in and lied on the ground and the boys watched a movie because I was too tired to move. That is a rarity they grant me without protest. So it may be hard to crest 100mpw with kind of schedule, but that's okay with me.

YES! For Keeps

2008-09-08T11:00:00.009-04:00

I don't know if
I do you justice.
Fuzzy, silky, peach skin &
dewy lips asking
me for answers to
questions as if
I were a
god, or Oz.

I want to pit
you out & fill
you up with
sugar-water keeping
you forever ripe & whole, but

We all get
bruised,
Wrinkly,
and our fuzz
rubbed
off
in
patches by the passing
of strangers and the intentions
of friends

You budded
on a sapling with plans
of majesty.
Majesty
stunted
by the too soon bearing
of fruit.
"They" say fruit from a sapling isn't
as sweet as that felled
from mature trees. "They"
haven't tasted you.

This tree will continue to grow
tall & straight, twiggy elbows straining
to reach majesty, &
proudly wearing the
markings of you like
constellations.
All the while cheering above
you for each bruise &
wrinkle.
Crying with you, at the burning, each
time you sacrifice a
little fuzz to
the passing

We will feed
each other &
be
forever juicy &
pointing upwards with
our dreams

I may not do you justice, starry little
peach, but
I will have to do.

agrarian arts

2008-07-21T13:06:00.007-04:00

While my belly grew out of control, stretching so tight it felt it would rip with Willem inside it, I was forced on bed rest. Powerless. I thought Willem would own my body forever. In the delivery room I felt my SI joint spread apart to make room as all 9 lbs of him decended through my small frame. The pain was intense. I wore my regular clothes home and was decieved in thinking this meant my body was the same. It wasn't. It was in pieces, and composed unrecognizably. It was as if I weren't in me anymore, but inside someone else peering out of darkness into two strange peep holes. This new body wouldn't cooperate. It kept breaking down and needing fixed. Injections, threats of surgery, and several layoffs due to hips that didn't want to run. Whose useless body was this they stuck me with? I got fed up with the weakness of this strange container. Finally, I decided this new body needed a mother. It needed someone to care for it, raise it, teach it right and wrong, and ultimately to discipline it with care. So I took time to teach it how I wanted it to behave, to become what I needed it to be. That in itself took me 3 years. Three years of making running a stranger, to get to know this body. My frame allowed me visitation with running, but not full custody. Not until 15 months ago.

15 months ago. That's when I dedicated myself to peeling back the paper on my potential as a runner. 15 months ago I was flaccid and out of shape, the marks of childbirth still lay claim my physique (despite the fact that Willem was 3 at that time). It's only been in the last 3 months that have noticed the land scape of my body change. Lines began to cut their way up my thighs. Rows plowed across my belly as what fat was there melted away. Now the remaining relics of my pregnancy are the stretchmarks that climb up my lower abdomen like ivy on some stately brick wall. Those I want to keep as a trophy of motherhood. Where once I was round I am now shadowed with crevasses. Don't get me wrong. I am no Deena, or Shalane. By comparison I am girlish and undeveloped. My lines are still soft and gentle. However, they exsist and are proof of a planting and a rebirth.

mirror, mirror

2008-07-18T07:48:00.004-04:00

I am delving for the first time into Sylvia Plath. I had read "Daddy" and have known of her to be a feminist must read. A dark, disturbed, unsettled soul that put itself out of misery. However, my creative writing professors kept her from me. The pushed me towards Sharon Olds instead. The Bell Jar alluded to why they might do that. I saw my semantics and lexicon in hers. I thought I also saw more. The reflection seemed odd staring back up at me from the page, as if it were something I may have written 55 years ago. Thanks to Bridget for sending me this link http://archive.salon.com/books/feature/2000/05/30/plath1/index2.html to confirm my suspicions that this woman is this woman in a different life, with a different husband, kids, life. I don't know now whether to be terrified or just exuberant. I do think the differences make all the difference, and that they have murdered my muse.

Depth

2008-07-16T19:07:00.004-04:00

Today the boys and I went to get their good friend Max and take him to the pool. On the way home we listened to this story. http://thestory.org/ of Jabari. Will and Max ignored it while Cooper listened intently. He found the story to be delightfully funny, and enlightening all at once. It amazed me that he found any depth in it at all. It was way over his head. It was like watching a baby discover themselves in a mirror. Jabari's insights were extremely deep, and Cooper's sense of them reflected that depth. Cooper's response to the epiphany Jabari has when he sees his relfection in a mirror while imprison was, "well of course! We are all in charge of ourselves. It's good that he figured that out. Now he can make good choices for himself. Prisoners just don't know that." I just sat silent. While I know he didn't understand everything he understood more more deeply than most. Not all jails have bars...

Come Together

2008-07-10T15:38:00.006-04:00

The boys watching me, Nell, and Katy recieve our awards at the 4 on the 4th race.

Man it's been forever since I've had a stolen moment to post. My journey has finally led me to an open road. Not so much hacking down trees with my machete! I finally ran an honest PR. My first Since Westchester, eight months ago. I haven't had any serious injuries, and have thwarted all suspicious injury threats. I've kept my threat level at yellow!

The 25k Championships were a neat experience, but this years 4 on the 4th is something I will probably never forget. I went into it expecting to win without a challenge, to break the course record, and win 200$. Less than a mile in some red head blazes by me and think to myself, "Who the hell is that? She'd better be in magazines and shit!" For the remainder of the race, I went over all the work I've put in over the last year, all the competitions I'd run. The people I've beaten. The people that have beaten me. I couldn't think of anyone who had ever, ever passed me like that, ever. She was so confident and smooth. I couldn't help but admire this mystery woman.

It was Katy McGregor. She beat me by over a minute. I was thankful though. She was in magazines and shit. It had confirmed that myself doubt was off base, and my aspirations were well grounded. I am on the right track.

The 40 mile drive one way to cross train in the winter of 06/07, pushing a +40lb willem 9 or more miles, Casey working jobs he hates getting up at 5:00 and riding the train an hour one way, miles on the treadmills at the gym (for the babysitting), screaming at the boys during intervals, not teaching (boohoo), watching the neighbor's kid so she'll take the boys on Thursday's so I can do a key workout with the group, weekends away to run races (missed mother's day this year). All of the little sacrifices all of us have made they are all beginning to pay off.

Now is the flat road. The homestead you set up for yourself with all your hard work. I have been told, "you are a racer." "If it were between you and another runner near the finish, I'd put money on you every time" "you race like you are possessed". Of course. I'm not just running for me, to validify my own sacrifices, I'm running to prove to my husband, and two sons, that their sacrifices are worth it too. I have more to lose, and nothing to lose all at the same time. It's the best place to be. As one reported asked me, "You are a mother, with two children, don't you consider yourself an anomaly?" At the time I couldn't respond, it seemed like a stupid question. It is what it is. Now, I think I'd say it makes me a threat. I have more to run for, and less to lose. On one hand, losing means less money, no emotional certificate of sacrificial worthiness. On the other hand, I know my guys will love me no matter where I finish. My life is bigger than just running, just one race. It's not all about me, so who really cares. This is a journey for the Gasways, and a lesson in hard work.

The boys see their dad board the train in the wee hours of the morning. They watch us save money. Soon they will see the pay off when we buy a house. It's the same lesson with my running, only they ride the train too.

My journey with JSR

2008-04-01T10:34:00.014-04:00

First of all what is JSR? Jenny Spangler Racing, the newest racing team on the block. Jenny, her work ethic, and philosphy are premise for what the team looks for in it's members. Remember her setting the Junior American record as a 19 year old, in 2:33:51 (still standing), then breaking the US Master's record in 2:32:38. Who does that? Who runs times that similar that far apart? The same person that goes into the 1996 trials ranked 61st and wins, quite easily. She ran a 2:29:54 on that day. Her work ethic is intimidating, her modesty is disarming, her approachablitiy is a godsend.

When you approach Jenny about her successes she smiles sheepishly and laughs. Then she says something like, "yeah". No elaborate retellings here. It just is what it is (to her); a past race. In 1996 I was a senior in high school. I had a Gwen Coogan poster on my wall, above my bed. After the trials I tore it down. I had a new hero. As I watched this girl, no one knew, beat all the women I had put on pedistals I thought, "that could be me. I could do that someday". Yet I had no clue how she did it. I had some serious misconseptions. I couldn't imagine Jenny Spangler doing laundry, or working a job. She was so fast, and fast people didn't do those things.

When I moved to Gurnee 11 years later I stumbled upon the Jenny Spangler Running Programs. I couldn't believe it! It was THE Jenny Spangler and she was coaching anyone who wanted to be coached! Two days after I moved to Gurnee I went to her track workout. I had been running 35 miles a week, and hadn't done speed work since I left Indiana State University in 2001. Through the program I met the Current members of JSR; Kevin Claffey, Steve Clark, Shelley Cook, Patrick Etherington, Amy Haney, Brad Moats, Rodger Tucker, Rob Wiley, and Dave Zeisler. After meeting them I felt like an ungrateul slacker.

Each person had a full time job, a family, and ran at least 50-60 miles a week. Oh and Jenny does do laundry, and all other June Cleaver tasks on top of her training and coaching. Over the next 4 months this group of people came to be my close friends, and mentors (though I'd never give them the satifaction of knowing it until now). I had spent the years since college working full time (as a teacher), having and raising my sons, and running max 45 miles a week. I just couldn't handle more without getting sick or injured. I felt I was destined to running pergatory for life. That place for those who love to run, but haven't dedicated themselves to finding their potential. After meeting up with this group I decided I couldn't teach full time. It was incredibly taxing physically (I'm not a typical teacher). So I got a job as an Office Manager. Since then I have progressed gradually.

The entire group as a whole is it's own entity. A group of blue collar racers, whose first priority is family. Each person brings a quality that is much needed. Rob is the get it done man. Amy is a fountain of encouragment. Dave is the brainiac. Brad reminds all of us what "workhorse" means. Steve keeps us honest. Kevin is Mr. Sunshine. Shelley keeps us all in line (thank goodness). Patrick's determiniation is contagious. Roger is the storyteller, and tough guy. I'd say I'm the comic relief. Jenny and Miki are obviously the core. One thing each of us has is a positive attitude, humility, one hell of a work ethic. None of us has ever won an NCAA title, or run an American Record, or even broken 15 minutes in the 5k (Rob will this year). Each of us is on a quest to discover our potential, while balancing something greater than our own quest: Life. Our families are amazingly supportive of us, and eachother as well. Our kids play together. We are a tribe.

We recently debuted at the Chicago Shamrock Shuffle. Everyone, except me, ran a PR. At the finish each teammate waited on the rest screaming out words of encouragement. Each teammate's finish was as exciting as if they were the champion, or breaking a record. Jenny has done American Road Racing a huge favor. She has made success accessible to those who want it, not those that have it. Everyone has a different amount of potential, but very few endeavour to discover what it is. Those that do often surprise themselves. We may be a band of unknowns now, but as each of us closes in on our ultimate goal we, as a group, will surprise not only ourselves.

If it weren't for this group of amazing runners I wouldn't have run a 10k pr in November (35:58) or won Gasparilla or the Shamrock Shuffle, and this is just my first year. I would be sitting on my couch thinking, "I COULD be good if..." They have shown me what it takes, and given me the swift kick in the ass I needed. I am definitely reminded of my infancy in comparison to the rest of the team. I think I'm hot stuff because I win a race and Shelley PR's by 3 minutes. Suddenly I'm acutely aware that my time sucked, and I have a lot of work to do. Not to mention when we train together there are times when running becomes difficult due to our laughter. I know that if you asked the other's their feeling would be the same, the group gives them strength and steals their excuses. So if you see a bunch of runners wearing tops with a "JS" on the front and a "61" on the back, you'll know what it's all about. You can explain, "that jersey is a tough one to earn. Those runners are people, a tribe, not just runners, not just a racing team".

Shamrock Shuffle and JSR

2008-04-01T09:38:00.006-04:00

Well, again a Major American Road Race, this time only local runners showed. I knew going into this one that I could win as long as no one "amazing" showed up. Since the World Cross Country Championships were on the same day that wasn't a problem. I had been having a pretty challenging time staying healthy for the two weeks prior. I was hoping to run a sub 28:00, or around 5:30 pace, and my runs two weeks out reinforced that my goal was quite reasonable. Then came the plagues... I was smart and backed off. This helped me to get over the worst of the symptoms before the race. Really, the only thing that haunted me during the race was fatigue. I was lucky, it could have been a repeat of Detroit. So here's the low down. Careful I'm going to be point blank, not for the sensitive.

I went to the bathroom just prior to the start, and realized I was bleeding through. I have quite a history of running like shit when it's "that" time. That's all I needed one more thing to try to fight off, mentally, and physically, during the race. At the start line I just felt like, well there's not a lot I can do other than let my body do what it's willing today. Basically, the race was just a battle between my mind and my body... isn't every race? My first two miles were 5:35 pace and felt fine. Everything felt smooth, and comfortable. The third mile was where my body just said, "no way". It was like I fell off a cliff.

The third mile my body just wouldn't go. It refused, no matter how I tried to trick it. When I saw the third mile was a 6:11 I was a little more than pissed. Ten days earlier during and easy 9 miler I had 3 miles at that pace, and they all felt EASY. What the hell is going on that I'm running my easy pace in a race and feeling so tired? There was no lactic acid burn, no feeling as though my lungs would explode. It was just like that dream where you are running in tar. I just hung on to Karen and kept CLaudia in sight. At this point I knew I wasn't going to run a PR, I wasn't going to be close to my goal time. My body was rebelling and it was going to be a battle just to get it to the finish.

I was happy to see that mile 4 was sub six, though still not as fast as I had hoped. At least my efforts to wrangle my body, and force it to do what I wanted were successful. Okay lets be honest... to do more of what I wanted. My body made it quite clear that the 5:35-5:40 pace it was trained to run simply wasn't happening. I was making it quite clear that the 6:10 pace it wanted to run was unacceptable. So the last two miles were 5:50 pace. A compromise I guess.

At mile 4 I gave my body a big "Fuck you" and went for the win. Claudia was right there, Karen was getting tired. I figured, "hey, if I'm not going to run what I wanted, I'm going to win it." The cool part is that Steve was right there to witness my rebellion. I put in a surge up the hill on the way to the finish, and as I crossed the line I thought I was going to puke (for me, a normal side effect of my period). I was so worried I was going to puke on My JSR teammates. The final mile, a 5:49.

While the win was sweet, it is a big enormous race, I was extremely disappointed that I never felt the burn that comes with race effort. As I reflected on the race I decided, while it bugs me as a runner that I was unable to get an accurate read on where I am, it's pretty cool to me that i ran 29:00 and felt like shit. That's some progress. Honestly, it's the JSR team, and Jenny that I have to thank for that progress. I believe, if left to my own devises I'd be sitting on my coach saying, "I think I'm better than those girls. I could've... I should, I would...only if".

The whole premise of the team is that we all have excuses, viable ones, that should keep us from being successful, from reaching our potential. None of us accept those excuses. Everyone has a family, a job, a life outside the sport. Everyone works their ass off. See the Who is JSR entry to find out more....

IT'S NOT ADD

2008-02-20T09:19:00.006-05:00

Cooper came home from school yesterday, immediately told me he was on red. That's code for "I got into trouble". In his class, as in many elementary classrooms, there is a behavior system in place. Green=good, yellow=made a few bad choices, red=really bad, or many bad choices. In his room his teacher sends home a report for each kid daily. I love the idea. It's on a monthly calendar and the kids have to color in the circle for that date with the color they were on at the end of the day. Accountability... great. Cooper had been on yellow and red for things like, "put foot on hand rail while doing down stairs" or "took longer route to put up coat in hallway, to play with another child" I'm thinking, why are we sweating the little stuff. This is a first grade classroom doesn't this happen a lot with everyone? I let it go. I trust the teacher's judgement, and initial every day. Yesterday Cooper was on red for a real reason, "talking while the teacher was talking".

Later in the day, out of no where, he says, "Mom I have a lot more writing on my chart than everyone else." "yeah Cooper"... Long pause. "does that mean I"m bad?" I wanted to say, "no it means your making bad choices." but I just said, "No". HOnestly I think he's been making normal 7 year old choices and getting a rap sheet for it. Now he's got nothing left to lose so why not make choices that really are bad. Not to mention he now has poor judgment in deciding what truly are bad choices. I'm a little pissy about it honestly. He has such a negative self image at this point, and why? Because his teacher wants to document instances he feels demonstrate ADD tendancies, when It's been proven the kid doesn't have ADD by a medical professional? What a load of bullshit. He's 7. He deserves the best possible environment in which to learn. Not to be bulldozed because his teacher wants to prove me wrong.

I AM NOT MEDICATING MY SON SO HIS TEACHER CAN HAVE A CLASSROOM OF 7 YEAR OLD ZOMBIES! 30% of 1st grade boys are put on medication and 90% of those recommendations come from teachers. TEACHERS ARE NOT DOCTOR'S. TEACHERS DO NOT HAVE THE PROFESSIONAL BACKGROUND TO QUALIFY THEM TO DIAGNOSE THEIR STUDENTS. I AM A TEACHER FOR GOD SAKES. Teach students based on their learning style, and in a way appropriate for their developmental needs. A 7 year old has at MOST a 7 minute attention span, the need to be up and about, and the need to socialize. DO NOT SIT THEM AT DESKS AND ASK THEM TO DO WORKSHEETS QUIETLY, and then PUnish them for talking and diagnose them with ADD because they can't "pay attention". THAT IS DEVELOPMENTALLY INAPPROPRIATE! THAT IS EDUCATIONAL MALPRACTICE!

**Reading this 5 years later I can still say, "right on to me". Cooper is 11 and still super mellow. This teacher ended up getting "re-assigned" to "school counselor" after much advocating on my part. It helped immensely that I got many parents, who were feeling the same way, to speak up. During his time with this teacher Cooper lost nearly 8 months of learning, his dibels decreased, his AR score decreased, it truly was educational malpractice (I had to keep all these scores in order to prove it, so hang on to everything you get from school). He went from being considered gifted, to being BELOW grade level (based on test scores). It took me until this school year to catch him back up. He now reads 3 grade levels above his own, and tested "advanced proficient" on 2 of three categories on the state test. This entry should be an warning and an inspiration to other parents. Do your own homework. We should know our children the best, and know how to advocate for them.**

beautiful Boy

2008-02-19T10:27:00.005-05:00

It's nice to take in a low mileage week. It gives me time to focus on other stuff. Had cooper's P/T conference. His teacher insists, despite a Doctor's evaluation, that Cooper has ADD! The kid has the activity level of a premo athlete! Go figure. He's not distractable, he's bored, and doesn't want to sit still. He's seven, His parents were both D1 athletes, and he's very smart. challenge him, let him move about. It seems to me to be educational malpractice to ask 7 year olds to sit in their seats for 6 hours a day. It's not developmentally appropriate! I have watched his self esteem deflate over this school year. It's been extremely difficult to watch. I don't really know what to do. I'm probably going to ask for a different teacher. One that's willing to be flexible for their students. This teacher has had one discipline problem after another with his entire class. I think it can be assumed that he is not meeting the needs of his students, and from cooper's deflation, I think I can also assume he's blaming the kids. It's all too common now for teacher to toss aside their own accountability for an misdiagnosis of ADD. I've seen it myself as a teacher. This is going to take some finess... Something I don't have. Good luck to me... More luck to Cooper.

Gasparilla 15k

2008-02-15T12:46:00.007-05:00

Finally. I broke the tape and it was actually tape, not yarn. The race itself was one that tested my ability to focus and overcome. I didn't feel awesome smooth like I did at Westchester. This one was all guts for the last three miles. As Casey said, "you look awfully bad for a 56:00". He's right, but I'll take it. My biggest win on the roads to date.

"Freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose." Instead of this being a head inflating experience it was a cathartic one. This win forced me to face my abilities, their possible limits, and the head games I play with myself. No more excuses, no more holding back. I am now ready to lay it out there. Naked. I'm not afraid to find out I might be wrong about what I think I can do, or what others think I can do. I don't care. The only way I'll ever know is if I pick up my damned skirt and go for it. If this win had gone down with Annie on a throne I'd have just mulled on waiting for the other foot to drop. Since this win was challenged by the local press (and the comments were brutal) it forced me to take a long hard objective look at my running, and life over the last 4 years and draw a conclusion. The conclusion being this. First and foremost, people are cruel and weird (anything to make a story out of nothing). Secondly, I don't train hard enough. I don't race often enough. I hold out just enough to be able to say, "if I actually trained I could...." because I'm afraid to know the truth. My times for what has been put in to them are awesome and shameful simultaneously. I may be a national class runner forever. I don't care. It's about the training. I am surrenduring myself to it fully to see what's in there, no more wasting time and talent because of elementary hang ups and inhibitions. It's business now. I've been striped naked there's nothin' left to lose.

After thought, Do I race as Annie Cooper-Gasway or Just Annie GAsway.

Snapshot of an Uprising

2008-01-07T13:47:00.002-05:00

I wanted to be a revolutionary. It started when I stumbled upon the art books in the basement of the library. Body’s strewn about like carnival waste. Colorful misery. It delighted me. Each trip to the library I snuck into the adult section and devoured pages of corpses. My dad was busy reading books on Eastern Religions. My mom was in the Children’s section with my sister and brother. This was my time, my sweet nectar. I got away with it for about a month. Eventually, my dad stumbled upon my skeletal silhouette curled in a vinyl chair beneath a massive volume of Renaissance Art. I felt like I had been caught with my sister’s hair in my hands. I was so ashamed. That’s when I fell in love with Ghandi.

Instead of signing me up for therapy (after all I was only 10) my dad took me to the video section and showed me three movies, Ghandi, Gorrilla’s in the Mist, and Romero. He knew why I was captivated by the bloody pages. He knew they depicted the First Crusades. He knew my affinity for justice. After all, my over developed superego was his fault. He had taken me along to deliver communion to Hospice patients and shut-ins. I remember; a sliver of speckled sunlight crafted long shadows from the wrinkles of mouths that wanted to smile. Mouths that hadn't spoken in weeks. Forgotten by all but my dad, me and the priest that lived among them. Death isn't contagious. People seem to think it is, but it isn't. I was going give a voice to the voiceless! After practically wearing out the video cassettes of each film I made up my mind. I was going to be a revolutionary when I grew up! Then I hit puberty. Distractions derailed my aspirations.

Boys were of little interest to me because I was of little interest to them. My figure resembled Olive Oyl’s. Few other kids were willing to spar with me on issues concerning life, it’s meaning, and our place in the world. It was easier for them to avoid contact with me altogether. My fulfillment came when my dad asked me a question from the Tao and forced me to defend my answer. Now that was fun. However, I found this wasn't an effective defense mechanism. "Mean Girls" didn't respond the way I wanted them too when I asked, "Can God make a rock heavier than he can lift? If so can he lift it?" Yep. That one didn't work out too well. I obviously had to have a coping mechanism. Actually, I needed two. Yep, it was that bad. My coping mechanism was writing. My distraction was my obsession with running. When I ran I was at peace. I was so busy running to my happy place that I forgot about the whole revolutionary thing. Survival mode. It was hard enough to fight acne, let alone a cause of any kind. Thankfully I was off to college before I knew it.

My anguish paid it's debt. I was actually good at my two comforts. It was ironic I had any athletic ability at all. Of all athletic pursuits running was the one that made the most sense. After all, Buddist monks use running as a way to transcend the physical world. Something I had to master to make it through 12 torturous years of public education. I went to college on both a Creative Performing Arts scholarship and an Athletic scholarship. The Dean of the Creative Writing program said, “I wouldn’t have figured you for an athlete. Most jocks don’t think much.” I was justifiablly offended, but from my experiences I couldn't disagree. Although college was a better fit for me, I clung to a pendulum swinging between the world of the pen and the world of Track. I'd find that Alcohol helped ease those awkward situations quite a bit. For the first time ever, I didn’t know me. Instead of merging myselves, I divided them. Wearing each like a costume.

October 1998 I rode up late to the Conference Cross Country meet because I had been selected by Students of Fine Art to read at the fall Art Opening. Yet no one at the opening knew why I had to duck out early, and my Teammates had no idea why I was late. A rushed trip back to the dorm to change ensured that! I have to admitt it felt a little wonder womanish. I had an alter ego. The poem I read is below. My teammates wouldn't have understood what I was talking about. If they knew I had written this, I'd never lived it down. They imagined poetry readings as being people in black turtlenecks snaping and banging on bongos. And Ohmigod it says, "tits" and "cocks"! *GASP*
1
On sophocated
nights when plump
mosquitos flirted with the
florescent bulbs of porch lights, burning like
the chests of forgotten wives sizzling
in darkness beyond those front
doors we
walked.
Our uneven steps filling
the silence with frenzied
percussion. Our sore
tits pushing against our
shirts. Forced
womanhood
swelling under our tender
skin. we talked under the
humming of crickets about
how our lives would
unravel perfectly like
bubbletape & our
giggles jingled in
the trees.

2
The last time I saw you we
sat on your
parents splintered
porch swing & served
breathless confessions of
bruises and hard cocks to
the chorus of night things singing indigo
tunes in your
blooming yard. Your hand licked my
breast.
I ran.
protected by the beat of
my swift steps, to my door where
the porch light burned for
me. Trespasser.

3
But, now confessions swell
in my eyes. There is
no porch swing
no chorus begging
to hear more.
I sit motionless watching
stars bloom. Letting
the burning in my chest consume
me.

With my Teammates and I never talked about my ideas, my thoughts, or my insights. I saved those for my journals, for creative writing class, literary analysis. With my Writing friends, I never shared that I was an athlete. Yet when I was alone, running, myselves melded and language crashed through me.

By now I had completely lost all memory of my love affair with Ghandi, Jane Goodall, and Monsignor Romero. They are dusty inside me next to the Pythagorean Theorem. I had school records to break, books to read, a major to declare. English Education. There’s a radical profession. A High School English teacher. Something inside of me had to scream, “I want to be a Revolutionary” When I made that commitment. I did it. It made sense. There’s a decent retirement, and vacation package. I like English, I like kids. If I ever had kids I’d have their schedule. So safe, so not me. I should’ve asked myself, “What would Ghandi do?” But, I had plans.

Then He happened. Casey Gasway. Boys had begun to like me. Most of them liked the idea of me more than they like me. They just didn’t know it. I avoided them mostly. I wasn’t in the entertainment business, they found me to be quite entertaining in a funny girl sorta way. It wasn’t fun having fun for both people on the date. I was defensive to say the least. I had had one boy friend in my 19 years and that was plenty for me. He was like the others, in love with the idea of me. He left me feeling like a peacock in a room of turkeys. A spectacular ideal of a person, and not a person. I had resigned to the fact that I’d rather be alone than misunderstood. Casey though, was like me.

An artist and an athlete. Deep, complicated, and sensitive. I was complete in love with him. He made me a better person, accepted all of myselves and helped me meld them together. He still leaves me wordless, a feat in itself. I cannot put into words how he made (or makes) me feel. It is good. The only guy I’d ever want to grow old with.

I was on track to break records, earn respect, Professors were asking me to try to get published. I had plans. Marriage was now one of them. Then my clothes shrank, I got slower despite increased efforts, I was always tired.

Cavernous spots populated the ceiling of the team doctors office like tiny little villages. I was sure I was anemic. It fit every symptom. I was occupying my mind wondering what the little people in the tiny villages were doing. Was there a milk man, a mail man? Would they look like weeble people? The doctor came in with a face so pale, and strained I thought for sure I had cancer. “You’re not anemic” Wheew! “You’re pregnant.” His shoulder’s slumped as he said it, as if he was ashamed for me. Good thing too because I was numb. I didn’t know it then but I was grieving. Slowly I would turn to ash, as this fetus stole away my life. I wanted to start over. He was lying. “How’s the father going to take this” The father? What am I a whore now, me who has had two boyfriends in my life? “uh, uh... He’ll be thrilled” I had to force each word out. Casey wanted nothing more of life than to be a father. Why can’t he be the pregnant one then?

I spent the drive back to my dorm squinting through my tears. I didn’t want to tell Casey because I didn’t want to see him celebrate. This fucker just ruined all of my plans. When I told him he picked me up and spun me around with glee. For a moment I was happy too. Mom said, “Well, Shit what about your running?” Dad said, “You’ll be a great mom.” Coach said, “Can you run this weekend? You can keep your scholarship. If you want to continue competing after the baby let me know. After this season just take it easy and decide what you want to do.” I hated this baby. The next week I’d find out I was 11 weeks already. At 12 weeks I would run my last meet of the year, and get second (to Ann Alyanak). Casey got to keep competing. He got to finish his Senior season unblemished. I remembered. I wanted to be a revolutionary. It’s just that I thought I’d be revolting against something other than my own body.

Everyday I ran, logging as many miles as my tired, burning legs could handle. It was my way of keeping a patch of me green. A sacrament the fetus couldn’t steal away from me. Casey’s little life burning in my belly turning everything to ash, but that one green patch.

5/00
You may rule this
Body with a fetal fist
Ordering changes
Without
Authorization
But this one
minute is mine.
Like that small
Space, hidden
from slum
lords, tenants decorate
to their taste sneaking
sideways glances.
This is my space
Decorated with
Desperate muscles
Fighting atrophy
With blanks and
Dull blades
But still fighting
Fighting you gives this mind
A surreal sense
Of independence
From the body you
Seized without
Warning.

I moved out of my dorm and into a house Casey’s parents bought for us to live in until we were done with school. When he was born he was beautiful. He was perfect, and I still hated him. Casey raised Cooper for 6 months before I realized I wasn’t there. 6 months I loathed them both with my silence and my absences. Two beautiful boys who loved me. I was a ghost to them. At night I’d hear them both crying and roll over to go back to sleep. I wonder now if Casey wanted to vomit when the paper released the article on my "miraculous come-back"? The photo of me smiling with a baby Cooper on my shoulders. Radiant mother. Beautiful boy. No one knew. Casey kept good secrets. I spent my days sleeping and working out. I was alone. Everyone avoided confronting my illness. Depression isn't contagious. People think it is, but it isn't. Casey slept nights in Cooper’s room on the futon his uncle had given us. They were in love. It made me sick.

Then it was over, like a rain that falls and rises up again leaving things wet for days. Cooper at 9 months. Outdoor Conference.

I realized that Casey’s devotion to me was outstanding. He was an amazing father. He was 23, what 23 year old guy is a good father? Not to mention the amount of space he gave me, and without judging me. I fell madly in love with my beautiful son. I overcame my demonself, one I hadn't known exsisted. I finished my degree. I got my school records, conference championships etcetera. I didn’t let me, or Cooper, or anyone stop me. I had won my revolution. There was no celebration to mark the victory, no indication the war was over. I must've still been numb because I kept on fighting as if in my sleep. This singular event made each decision that followed. Yet, I denied its significance until now.

In a sense my voice was murdered by my first pregnancy. I was a livelier version of the wrinkled mouths I so wanted to fight for. It is why I was a working mom and Casey was a stay at home dad. It is why I’ve never gone to grad school. It is why I am so consumed with reaching my potential as a runner. It narrowed my vision of my life, and the life I'd want for my family. I was meandering about myself looking for my voice. I was looking for it in my past selves, Selves that were incomplete to begin with. Stationary, with the illusion of motion. Firing at invisible targets.

But isn’t there more? Possibly not. Maybe there is less. Maybe it’s simpler than that. Maybe I just need to stop fighting a stale battle, and start recoginzing myself. Now, perhaps, I can feel free to pursue whatever the hell I want to pursue. I still hear that little girl. She still wants to give a voice to the voiceless. I don't know what I'm going to do with her. I'm pretty indulgent.

They are beautiful aren't they.

All of us who are fighting to overcome our circumstances are revolutionaries, fighting our own tiny revolutions. If we fail to move on once our rebellious act plays out we risk becoming a causality in our own uprising. Oh yeah, and Cooper is a revolutionary in his own right. He argued evolution with his kindergarten teacher at his Catholic School. “Birds came from Dinosaurs!” That's my boy!

VIRGIN MOTHER

2007-12-03T12:28:00.000-05:00

DIET,
Secrets of
THIN WOMEN,
secrets he won't
tell you that will
KEEP HIM,
lose 10lbs in a week, make-up
secrets from the stars,
What your mother never told you,
how to keep him HAPPY,
foreplay 101,
Make your body
SWIM-SUIT WORTHY
for summer,

Working mother, sex
goddess, bake the perfect
pie (but don't eat it)!
Silence is a virtue.

Reverent Devotion

from a run

2007-12-03T12:15:00.000-05:00

A cathedral built of bending
Sycamores
Whining in the wind. So many
sorrows, so much
laughter splintering silence
as they straighten their spines
to make
room
for
more

Life is bigger
bigger than the
space we
designate for
our God
Bigger
than the
space our God
Designated to hold us.
Everybody seems to
think they'd be
a better
boss.

Fat Arteries fracture
the shadows
illuminating
our cuts into the
earths flesh.

we giants slumber in
blackness.
forgotten.
Lights can't wake us.
we don't
exsist
too busy cutting arteries to be
distracted by
exsistance.
Too Busy taking what
we were given and
pimpin' it out so
we can be
comfortable
Comfortably numb
blinded
unable to see
darkness for the light
unable to hear the screaming
in the forest,
of our children,
we are so able to builld yet
so unable to build big
enough.

I MIGHT HATE THIS POEM

Westchester 10k 35:58

2007-11-13T12:01:00.001-05:00

Lime green shorts, construction pylon orange tank top, and "knee-high" rainbow striped toe socks worn as gloves. This was my "racing" outfit Sunday. I looked more like a clown than a runner. I knew I had to run fast or else I'd be chucked aside as one of "those" runners, the ones who dress weird because otherwise they'd never get noticed on the racecourse. My motive was much less deliberate. I HATE doing laundry. On that particular day I was in the middle of an eight-day laundry stand off with my husband, and dang-it I was going to win. In fact when I left the house that morning it looked like a clothes bomb had gone off. A sorry casualty in this battle was my appearance on race day, but that was a consequence I could live with if it meant I didn't have to do laundry. On this day I was in pursuit of two victories!

Needless to say, as I lined up on the starting line the other women didn't seem to take me too seriously. Can you blame them? I felt like a punk rocker at a Junior League meeting. The men's throats seemed bulge from the stress of holding in their scoffing laughter at seeing me at the front for the start. Even I wasn't sure where I should be. It took much prompting from Miki to get me to move up to the very front. Even then I looked back at him for reassurance. Only when the starter raised his arm was I able to find the courage to face the course.

The gun went off so suddenly I reacted with startled jump before I took the first step. Once my legs were moving, I became aware of nothing but them. That first mile I kept my mind focused solely on the sound of my feet hitting the pavement. Finding which part of my foot met the road, gaining an understanding of angles in my stride, and the stress of my muscles as they hardened and softened through each step. Like a machinist on an assembly line I was becoming one with my machine. Learning each piece, it's placement, and how to best manipulate it for the sake of efficiency. It was no surprise when that first mile split was a 5:40. That had been exactly what I had wanted my machine to accomplish. I felt completely in tune with my machine. My ears knew the rhythm that equaled 5:40, and my legs were doing everything I asked.

The race had led us onto a wooded path just before the mile marker. A group of men engulfed me. I felt like a stone in the high tide. Naturally, I let them sweep me up, losing touch with the sound of my feet in the chaos of the crowd. The second mile was faster than the first. This had not been deliberate. The loss of control frightened me, and caught me off guard. What would this do to me later? Was I running on cash, or credit? While I questioned my speedy second mile, I detached from the awareness with my legs. My pace slowed significantly, an attempt to regain control and guarantee a solid race. We passed the banners for the 5k finish and turned to begin our second loop.

My split at the three-mile marker angered me. 17:26 was not fast enough. My legs were not spent at all. How dare I sabotage myself like that? Now I felt antsy, and my legs grew restless. In response I deliberately picked up pace. The fourth mile was run with confidence, and control. I took back my position with what was left of that pack of men, much to their surprise. The 5:50 for that mile still wasn't testing my legs to my liking, nor did it satisfactorily make up for my loss of focus and confidence during the third mile.

My legs didn't rebel at all when I quickened my stride. Pushing my forefoot off the pavement forcefully, as I reeled in runners in my quest to salvage this race. The whole time wondering who this person was that was giving out commands with the authority of a general. All I could think to myself was, "I have 2 more miles in which to save this race. This is my chance to prove myself to me, and I'm not going to blow it. There's more, the effort can always be harder". My forearms began to sweat beneath my toe sock gloves from the effort. The desire of my spirit to catch the runners in front of me screamed out louder than the complaints from my sweaty arms to remove the gloves. I made it through the 5 mile marker in 29 minutes even. A 5:45 mile.

The sixth mile was all business. I had test-driven these legs for miles 4 and 5 not really sure what I was going to find, and engine seemed to purr in response to each acceleration. During the sixth mile I dropped it down a notch to see how the machine might react. Much to my surprise there was no protest. I began to curse myself a little for my earlier trepidation. I wanted to punish myself with each step by increasing the force and speed of my foot strike. The final mile was my crazed penance.

Since this was a circuit race most of the runners knew each other. I am new in town and no one knew me. As I pass these guys so late in the race they look at me first "is that a girl", and then a second time "who is that girl". I'm guessing there aren't many women that put the hammer down at these smaller circuit races, and they think they should know me. Right now I'm barely conscious of them. My concentration is set on reading my legs response to my demand for increased intensity. However, it does occur to me that it's weird they are paying any notice to me at all.

As I pass under the familiar banners marking the way to the finish line, for both the 5k and the 10k races, my legs begin to burn subtly. The finish is a slight incline, but I proceed to increase my effort anyway. I can see the banner for the finish and want to get there as quickly as possible.

I look at my watch 34:20...DANG IT! I'm not going to break 35! Stupid, stupid girl for that third mile. I pass the 6 mile marker in 34:45. The hammer falls harder and I do my best to get on my toes, albeit unsuccessfully. I cross the finish line in 35:58, and raise my arms out of sheer happiness! I see rainbows in the corners of my eyes. Oh yeah the socks! I chuckle. Satisfied with the control I had over my race result, and amused at my attire. One battle won, and one to go!

While waiting for the awards ceremony I get many confused looks from faces that all seem to know each other. My friends won awards also, an awesome bonus. I try to call home in the awards tent. No answer. Hummm what could that husband of mine, and those two boys, be doing? Don't they know I had a race today? My husband hadn't come because he is convinced he's bad luck. My impatience grew to anger on the ride home as I tried him a second time, and again, no answer. He was probably being lazy, wrestling with the boys, and further destroying the house.

As I walked in our house I opened my mouth to spew out the elaborate, scathing, verbal lashing I had composed on the way home. I stopped. The house was spotless; the laundry monster had been conquered! Battle two won as well! My boys were in their room cleaning, and my husband slouched on the couch, he had bags under his eyes. Casey, my knight in a cut-off Offspring concert Tee. I kissed him on the forehead and said, "Thanks! To what do I owe this honor?" His response, "It's not an honor, and yes you owe me!" Ah, what a glorious Sunday!

results: http://www.doitsports.com/newresults3/client/148527_180296_2007.htm

sunday bloody sunday

2007-11-12T15:40:00.000-05:00

It wasn't bloody literally, but there was carnage; Amy's lost timing chip, Matt's car keys, all of our old 10k PR's. The Westchester Veterun 10k was a combination of wreckless nerves, and cool temperatures culminating in the best 10k's of our lives. I didn't recieve a timing chip myself until minutes before the race started, but Amy (who registered early...smart girl) forgot to pick her's up. The chips weren't in the race day bag, as is the proceedure we runner's have grown accustomed to. She had to run back to the tent 10 minutes before the start to retrieve her golden ticket, only to have it fall off before the first mile marker!

The race was off with a gun shot. No on your marks. Just a startling gun shot that had me literally jumping into this race. The course was nearly flawless. Our route lined with half shed trees. Yellow leaves sheathed on our path. I couldn't help but feel like Dorothy on the yellow brick road. Honestly though, nothing was more wonderful than the sweet resin our performances left for me to taste even today. What an awesome confirmation for us and for Jenny. EVERY SINGLE Spangler camp kid that ran this race PRed in this race. The fact leaves no arguing... the woman KNOWS what she's doing!

The RD did let Amy's watch time stand, thank god she kept a watch on herself, after a few runners near her vouched for her placing. She ended up 3rd woman, and ran a 37:52! Thank goodness that "counts" officially! Rob was second man overal 32:47. Matt ran a 34:35 and won his age group (despite wearing old trainers because his flats were locked in his car). Brad ran a 37:22, and Kevin ran a 37:45. What a strong showing!

On a personal level I narrowed my self-doubt and sleep time to the narrow window of one mile. IT keeps getting smaller and smaller! 35:58 for me a PR. Third 10k, third PR. I was in it and that felt wonderful. A detailed race report to follow... once I churn it over a little..

**** Side note, I totally pigged out on 7 layer bars and brownies the night before! Good thing: I didn't crap myself (mostly luck). Bad thing: how much more efficient would I have been had I eatten something healthy?

2007-11-05T12:42:00.000-05:00

Alrighty. My immune system is fubared again. Which leads me to the following commitment: I will not eat crap food as meals anymore. I have been battling my sweet tooth for years now, and losing. AFter so many illnesses I have to do everything in my power to boost my immune system. This means no more Bit-O-Honey's for dinner. I'll miss all of my friends; Bit-o-HOney, Laffy Taffy, flavored Tootsie Rolls, 100 grand, Candy corn (Oh God I'll miss Candy Corn!). This is a sacrifice I have to make. I didn't let a 40 mile drive stop me. I'm not going to let this damned sweet tooth get in my way either. I have cringed with each bite of a fruit or vegetable all morning. I'm tough. I can do it! My body is working like a machine and I'm putting sugar in the gas tank. Time to rework my fueling strategies!

In preparation for this change I have eatten every sweet thing in our house, and gone to the store to stock up on dry beans, rice, and veggies. It's like that scene at the beginning of Train Spotting where he prepares for his withdraws during his detox. I have to admit I felt really good about myself as I stood in the produce section. I had this feeling of superiority ozzing from every pore on my elevated nose! I'm moving up in the nutritional world! Pretty soon I'll actually like eating again!

*If this sounds like a pep-talk it is.

2007-11-04T14:12:00.001-05:00

Today is a day of contradictions and reflections. I can't help but feel a bit melancholy over Ryan Shay's death, despite the fact I had no relationship with him. Those who are in love with running share an unspoken bond to each other. We all seem to share the same umbilical cord, being fed by the same desires, making the same sacrifices, and sharing in the same heartaches. In this respect the pain of those who are close to Ryan Shay ripples outward, like water above a falling stone, and wriggles through each of us, leaving us to wonder what just happened.

Unlike Chicago, this tragedy cannot be slapped aside with the assumption that he was under trained, or inexperienced. This time it is, what it is. Tragic. This is Elite runner number two, this year alone, who literally sacrificed everything in pursuit of a dream.

That was one of the greatest fields ever assembled for the Men's trials. It was a beautiful, dominant performance for Ryan Hall. An amazing output by newcomer Dathan Ritzenhein, and a gutsy performance by Brian Sell. History, if it could write itself, would've ended the day in glorious exhilaration and talks of Americans working towards a comeback in the marathon. History is written by the second, so instead the day's accomplishments will be forever cloaked by the death of an athlete, who was also, dominant, amazing, and gutsy. The rest of us will go on. For Ryan, Dathan, and Brian, sadness will always be present in the memory of this pinnacle accomplishment. The loss of their friend is forever coupled with one of the happiest moments of their lives.

Live Deliberately

2007-10-10T11:50:00.000-04:00

After this weekend's Chicago Marathon Debacle and Jenny's accident more than a month ago I have been getting increasingly philosophical. Runners by trait are obsessive. We rarely fail to accomplish our goals, be it weekly mileage, intervals, or a race. We tend to be controlling as well. You have to be a little "Gordon Ramsey" in order to accomplish your goals so unflappably. This weekends marathon presented an element beyond any ones control; intense heat. Most of us are Die-hard, "I ain't stoppin fo nobody and no reason" types. However among the (nearly half) competitors to either not start or not finish were some of my dear friends. They are healing their emotional wounds now, but man were they pissy just afterwards. Everyone's log on athleticore says the same thing; I felt like a "quitter", "Wimp", "pansy". This was said by both finishers and non finishers alike! Man are we runner's hard on ourselves. What it boils down to in my mind is this:

The Marathon is a race run in admiration, almost to the extent of worshiping the following qualities; perseverance, determination, mental toughness, guts, and grit. Hell, the whole race is based on the story of the Roman soldier who ran as fast has he could for 26.2 miles to deliver a message of victory. How romantic, and don't we all want to be that hard ass messenger. We all have so many unpleasant things in our lives that we can't control, that make us feel weak. This race is our way to prove ourselves to ourselves (and our families) as true warriors. So, to not finish one after starting proves the opposite. It makes us feel vulnerable and weak.

"Real" runners have begun trying to see just how fast they can cover the distance. This brings a whole other element to the race. If you push the pace from the beginning the more vulnerable you become to outside factors that you cannot control. See, if you go out to PR in scorching heat, you aren't going to last long. Believe it or not our bodies have limits, remember the original runner did freakin die, and they are made more acute by any unpleasantry mother nature cooks up. Not finishing doesn't make you a failure, it means that perhaps you have become a real runner, some one no longer enticed purely by the romantic ideals of the marathon. You are now trying to push your personal limits, not prove your ability to meet a manufactured ideal of greatness. It could still mean you are a complete pussy. I don't want to give any posers the idea that they are legitimate. If a real runner still can finish in the "spirit" of the marathon that's awesome. It is the ultimate. On a personal level, the marathon for me is still about overcoming adversities. Who knows, after I've completed several that may change.

As for Jenny Crain, she is now endlessly on the course. Her marathon is on-going. Her race is much more difficult than Sunday's Chicago Marathon, and much much longer. Each time I visit her site I well up. It must be so frustrating to not be able to float on the pavement. Let's not forget how small our lives are. We are vulnerable, all of us. It's truly what we do each moment that defines our lives for us. Screw everyone elses opinion. Each of us is a speck in the Universe. In the end we are the only ones who have to live with our choices. Make each second eternal. Make each race memorable (one way or another); each run a deliverance from our selves. Refuse to be ordinary. Whatever you do, DON'T SIT STILL!

weirdness

2007-09-05T16:37:00.000-04:00

After feeling like I've been running underwater for a week, it was a nice change this morning to feel unharnessed. I haven't felt like my old running self in a long time. This morning was a close as I've come. I almost took my hair down, and outstretched my arms, Laura Ingles style, but I refrained. Today I longed to run a fall marathon. I want to so badly, I don't have a goal time... just the desire to finish. IT's a rite of passage. I'm not a real runner if I don't, right? It's all I want. I love everything about the fall marathon. Pink, green, red, black and orange to start. Live music. bananas and beer at the finish. crunchy leaves wisping around the trampled water cups in the street. They guy with the long beard and the pony tail (come on every marathon has one of those guys, and he's usually wearing a loud mismatched outfit). I love all of it, down to the foil blanket and massage tent at the end! *sigh*

race reflections

2007-09-03T11:31:00.001-04:00

In the month since I last posted I have run a couple of races. Some went well. Some were a disaster. Saturday I ran a personal worst in the 5k by 30 seconds. Sure, I was upset. Okay, lets be honest. I really wasn't "upset", like crying my eyes out upset, I was frustrated. To be even more frank, I was only frustrated because the girl that beat me was caddy about it. Even that frustration would've been short lived had Casey not been there. Of course I wanted to win, and to run a PR, but when it didn't happen my initial response was "oh well, I'll have a better day next time. This is just a piddly 5k race, better here than somewhere important!" Since everyone else seemed so upset I felt guilty for not caring more.

Then came the storm of accusations from an over invested husband, and the smirks from the winner. Of course at this point, so close to my so called "failure", I started to think I was a weirdo for not caring more. Shouldn't I be fierce always? Wouldn't a "good" runner get pissed, and maybe throw their shoes. Maybe I should find some shoes to throw. It felt wierd that Casey was so much more disappointed in me than I was. I started to think I didn't care about being good anymore. Maybe I was burned out and didn't know it. Then I watched the boys run the kids race.

Cooper finished near the front with the 9 and 10 year olds and didn't even notice his accomplishment. All he cared about was getting the free sucker, and gatorade. Sir Willem finished near the back (but was one of the youngest kids in the race). When he crossed the line he said, "Mommy I winnded. I get phree dollars!" Their place in the pack didn't mean nearly as much to them, as their PERSONAL performance. They were so cute with their numbers and ferocious race faces! Their fiercness ended when the race did.

That's when I realized I am the same way. I am not burned out. I am a fierce competitor, but when the race ends my life begins again. It occured to me that many of us forget what it's about. I'm not a weirdo for not throwing my shoes like a baby. I just love to run. For me winning is a bonus. If I have a bad day, it's just another day. Don't kid yourself. I am intense. I am hard on myself. I do an inventory and make changes, but I also wipe it off. I'd prefere to just forget about it and move on to the next one.

As for Saturday? My place and time may have sucked, but I am still proud of my performance. It would've been easy to quit for a lot of reasons: no one would ever see that slow time next to my name, I felt like crap, and it would've save the heartache second place seems to cause. I didn't quit. I didn't make excuses. I finished it, and it was totally worth it. The course was beautiful, the race was well run, and I still made 100$. The Sun's mellow morning light was reflecting off the Rock River. The trees formed an illuminated canopy I lost myself in, in order to forget the pain. My legs may have been jello. They may have been moving in slow motion, but I'd love to run this race again. I would say this performance was better than my BiX performance because I put a lot more effort into this one. If I only ran these races because I thought I'd always win, I would get burned out. I run these races because I love to run, and that's why I'll be around for a long time!

FOREVER

2007-08-01T13:36:00.000-04:00

It's been forever since I've written. I am working full time again. This time though, it's not too demanding. I ran Bix 7. It went pretty well, there's always room for improvement, 42:19. I am just rediculously happy to have a community in which to train. It makes a huge difference. I recently revisit this Whitman poem:

I Saw in Louisiana a Live-Oak Growing

I saw in Louisiana a live-oak growing,
All alone stood it and the moss hung down from the branches,
Without any companion it stood there uttering joyous leaves of dark green,
And its look, rude, unbending, lusty, made me think of myself,
But I wondered how it could utter joyous leaves standing alone there
without its friend near, for I knew I could not,
And I broke off a twig with a certain number of leaves upon it,
and twined around it a little moss,
And brought it away, and I have placed it in sight in my room,
It is not needed to remind me as of my own dear friends,
(For I believe lately I think of little else than of them,)
Yet it remains to me a curious token, it makes me think of manly love;
For all that, and though the live-oak glistens there in Louisiana
solitary in a wide flat space,
Uttering joyous leaves all its life without a friend or lover near,
I know very well I could not.

-- Walt Whitman
Pretty well somes it up.

Who needs cheerleaders

2007-06-07T10:57:00.000-04:00

Okay. I'm venting. I ran my first 10k. My fitness is about where I expected it to be for being back at it for 2 months (36:44). I tried to talk to casey about my goals and my quest to build my confidence in my ability to achieve them! Jenny's tuesday night group has been a miracle for me! It has given me a support network and accountability, both of which I need desperately. I thought winning saturday, and the respectable time would be a great segway to a conversation with Casey in which I set an expectation of his support. Man was I wrong. I tried to tell him that my road time would be competitive in many venues; what an excellent resource tuesday night was, how I wish he'd be more verbally supportive of me. I got, "it's a down time for running right now." What a dick head thing to say. That comment totally discounted my effort, and sabotaged my efforts to build confidence! It's not like him either; to be so calloused. I of course wasn't going to stand for that kind of talk so I defended myself. I didn't get anywhere. I think it boils down to the fact that he wants to move next year, and I want to stay for my running. Not to mention that he still resents his lack of opportunity to achieve his goals in college! So my pursuits are salt in a wound, but seriously GET OVER IT! I want the spouse that goes to the races with a poster board that says, "GO MOMMY GO!" and get's the kids involved. i don't think I'll ever get that. However, I would settle for the spouse that says, "hey way to go. how'd you feel." When I call after a race. Anything would be better then, "alrighty, nice job. talk to you later." An empty response to something I put so much of myself into! But who needs cheerleaders anyway. Right?

an oldie but it fits here

2007-05-10T10:08:00.000-04:00

This is from December of 2006 (When I was still teaching!). What I say seems to fit the theme of this blog so I wanted to post it here!

"Today I recieved a batch of little yellow notes from the psychology class. They explained why the students had picked me to be the reciepient of their admiration. Of course they made me feel good. However, they provided me with a great deal of insight, into myself and the broader world, that I didn't expect.

First of all, they all said the same things. I came to understand that in my students eyes Mrs. Gasway = positivity, energy, enthusiasm, randomness, fun, passion, authenticity, and individuality. These are qualities I aspire to possess so I'm glad that others have percieved me as such. That was a much needed affirmation. It did make me think if Annie, mommy, wife, and all my other selves possess at least a few of these qualities. I don't know. I don't get little yellow notes from my husband, children, or aquantances. I began to wonder what qualities my critics notes would highlight, and what color would they be? Then I thought about all the other teachers notes and how they were impacted by them. Finally, the students, did they take this assignment seriously, or was it just a gotta-get-it-done sorta thing. It doesn't matter, I just always wonder that. I'm a teacher!

What would life be like if we were assessed regularly on the perceptions others had of us. What if we could get in writing some sort of run down of the qualities others see in us. Would we be any more motivated to be better human beings?

To me the notes were an affirmation that I am the person I aspire to be, and I do embody the qualities I strive to represent. It's nice to know I'm actually hitting the target, and not just thinking I am. So many of us think we know who we are until we find out the collective perception of us is much different from our perception of ourself. Really we are only what other's think we are until we prove otherwise, and still we are only what others think we are.

It's easy to say "I don't care what other's think". You should care enough that you can use public perception of who you are to gage if you're hitting your mark. However, you shouldn't let what other's think persuade you to be someone you dont WANT to be.

Besides, most of the time when people say, "I don't care what other people think of me." What they should be saying is, "I don't care if other people like me." Because, unless you're selling something, you shouldn't care if people like you or not. Little yellow notes aren't really momento's of approval. They're insight into the collective perception of you.

babble

2007-05-07T12:09:00.000-04:00

< this is an old friend of mine!

Well, nothing of significance has occured lately. The Indy Mini was won in a low 1;16. That's wriggling under my skin. A little extra motivation. I know I'm not fit enough to run that right now. Focus on the task at hand (Just keep saying it annie). My steeplechase record was only a few hundredths of a second from being broken. I guess it's about time. It's been 6 years, and it wasn't all that great to begin with! It'll still piss me off when it happens though, I am competitive. Yesterday I drove to my parents to visit, run, and drop off Sir Willem (who couldn't have been happier to be rid of me).

The run was amazing. The leaves glowing above me. The wind seemed to poke holes in my skin and rush through me. My favorite hills greeted me with a warm welcome, and I responded with even strides. Everything seemed to flow together. We found half of a deer skeleton, mainly the spine. That was an interesting statement to me of the temporary state of living. Carpe Diem right? You never know when you'll be a carcass. We're all just bones underneath, and many of us forget to live while we are alive. It's what we do with our bones while there is still marrow flowing through them that matters. On a less serious note, the llamas were out on the route. They always make me laugh. I was hoping they'd be feeling frisky enough to chase me so that all their neck fur would bounce up and down. It's the most ridiculous thing I've ever seen, bouncing llama fur. They have such long necks too. I have been known to take a laughing break for the llamas on occasion. Cooper still talks about it!

Speaking of Cooper... On the dark ride home Cooper kept me company. He has an old soul. It makes him intriguing, and his presence addictive. He opened up about his new school, speaking only in metaphor (gee wonder where he gets that from!) He said the kids sometimes make him feel like they're all "Puppies at the bowl and he gets popped out to stand alone until they scatter. When they leave and I go to the bowl there's nothing left". He said, "they just don't know I'm a good leader mom" Hummmmm. What do you say to a six year old who tells you this? I told him something about how good leaders don't worry about being followed, because they know that someday it'll happen. They have belief in themselves, you're only 6 blah blah blah... He has such an old soul that many times he leaves me feeling like a child.

unhinged

2007-05-04T17:59:00.000-04:00

quotes,
"Mommy no grown ups are at the playground. No one would see you playing with us so you could act like a kid. You know you have a kid inside you don't you."
"mine eyes are melting"
"It's wake up time. Make me some lunch"
"Cooper are you hearing voices again?"
"What's your super power?"
"Don't go in there! The One tooth monkey will get you!"
"mommy you look like a boy when you are running"
"I'm shaking my bottom at you!"
"Look at me I'm yours old granny!" (pants up to his nipples)
"jellycreamers!"
"holy chicago" "holy mayonnaise"
Of course there's spontaneous accapella renditions of "409" and "Day Oh"
"brother love"
"kuckoburra code"
"Sorry boys, I can't hear you. The music in mommyland is awfully loud!"

Once upon a supermarket fit
"Little boy you look upset. Do you want me to help you find your mommy?" You are my mommy. "I'm sorry but I've never seen you before today." YOUS ARES MY MOMMY! "Nope I'm sorry. My little boy never yells at me." (tiny laughter) Mommy it's me bwennan Wiw wam gwasway" You look a lot like my son. Oh how I miss him. He was eatten by a one tooth monkey you know!" Siwwy no I wasn't I'm wight heow. (In the dramatic fashion of a silent movie damsel) "Oh it couldn't be! Willem is that really you! Oh how I've missed you so!" (Big hug)

Houseplant Upon Casey's urging

2007-05-04T17:33:00.000-04:00

This may look like an ordinary houseplant to everyone else in the world, but to the Gasway family it carries a special meaning. I don't know what type of foliage it is. For all I care it's pink and green foliage. To us this plant isn't something we bought to put into our house, it's something we bought to signify "home".

Seems like most people settle down in a place and THEN have kids. Well I've always done things bass ackwards. I had kids and still haven't settled down in place. My kids have lived in three states and four different houses. However, their home has remained the same; Mom, Dad, our routines, and (drum roll please) the plant.

I don't see the change as a bad thing. There is no negativity in it for us. If anything it is routine for us to change. After we moved back from Colorado in 2004 I realized that, although my kids didn't need to us to maintain a physical placement that was constant, they did need a symbol to let them know that, "this place is my 'home'". So I went to Kroger and bought the cheapest, smallest, houseplant I could find, and I vowed to the boys to keep it alive! I explained to them the idea that where this plant lived is where our home was. They seemed relieved to have the plant around.

My kids reinforced for me the idea that home, and house are very separate ideas that can be easily confused with each other. They didn't care where they slept, they cared that we were all together. They needed to know whether where they slept was where our family had movie night, and was free to scream out in anger and cheer. The plant came to embody the idea of home. I think this means that now I could live in my car and if the plant was there they'd feel secure. (a little pavlov's dog eh!)

The plant is their cue. Always on the kitchen window pane, it speaks of security and togetherness for all of us. It acts a the discriminative stimulus for all of us. Where there is THE plant there is the Gasway family unhinged, unabashedly airing all our idiosynchrosis, quirks and other phenomena (see picture of Willem above). Because that's really what "home" is all about right? Airing your weirdness with no fear of rejection or retribution. Where we go so goes the plant, poor thing. I think it should be named to make it an official member of our household. What'd ya say? Maybe we should just give it a title instead? Something royal and important sounding of course. Any ideas?

announcement

2007-03-02T14:12:00.000-05:00

Alrighty... so that my intensity seems well placed I must first tell you some goals that I've kept hidden away.... One, to qualify for the Olympic trials in the marathon (A standard), two to run a sub 1:15 half-marathon this year. Last year I ran a 1:18 half with very very minimal speed workouts and 45 miles a week training peak. So these goals seemed realistic... SEEMED... (I am venting again...)

Over the last few months these goals went from being great motivators to a complete driving force from my internal motor. I am a woman possessed. Just before Detroit I found out that KC was getting a job and I would be able to quit teaching and up my mileage to a reasonable 80-100 per week. I was ready to break 2:45 at Detroit, a modest time for myself I thought, then Bronchitis set in. Being asthmatic it pretty much screwed me. DNF was next to my name at the end instead of 2:43 something or other. I was a little upset but not really, after all shit happens and I was about to begin real training.

December I quit my job, Bronchitis again this time for three weeks. I finally get over it, resume modest training and wham... a mysterious calf thingy in February, as well as no hubby to babysit and $ for daycare. Here I am March 2nd Calf healing and then today...

In February I decided I couldn't just sit idly around losing fitness. Although I had but 300$ to my name I drove 40 miles to the Y and joined ($124). They had a pool, ellipticals, free babysitting. I was good to go. For the last three weeks I have driven the 40 miles (one way) to work out for 1 to 2 hours 5 days a week (tae bo tape on weekend) through snow storms and ice storms (it is northern Indiana after all). I've gone no matter what, completely undaunted by any obstacle. Then today happened.

I started working part-time for my mom to pay for my gas. Today I left with Willem and drove the 40 minutes. The Roads were treacherous. I passed three slide-offs and one nasty accident. (like I said a woman possessed) When we arrived the daycare doors were locked. I looked at my watch, I should've had an hour at least. I go to the front desk and wait for a while for someone to acknowledge me and ask my question. I was wrong. It closed an hour before I thought it did. I argued, "no I was misinformed by you, so what are you going to do about it. I paid for this service under the pretense that there was daycare available until 1pm." All i got was a "too bad". "but I drove 40 miles", "sucks to be you" I finally left, I was making no progress. I was devastated.

Over the last three months I have been thrown countless road blocks. I've hurdled every single one. I am soooooo intensely devoted to my goal that I will not allow anything to stop me, and here was this woman. Unhelpful, uncommitted to her clients, stopping me and I couldn't do a damn thing about it. It was too much for me. I wanted to slug her for being complacent and smug. I wanted to scream at her that I was actually trying to accomplish something other than to maintain a desirable physique. My body was a tool and needed sharpened and she was telling me "no", and all I could do was take Willem back to my car. Drive the 40 miles home past the three slide off's, and nasty accident (which had now multiplied into 7 slide offs and two nasty accidents) and do tae bo.

I cried all the way home. Heavy chest heaving cries. I wasn't sad, or defeated. I was overcome with intense, angry, frustration. Which was okay with Willem, he understood. Three year olds go through this all the time. I still refuse to allow her to keep me from getting some sort of a work out in, but it amazes me how many people allow themselves to be crippled, and cripple others because of their own bitterness and complacency. I also didn't know exactly how deeply devoted I was to my goals until today. I guess I thought everyone would drive 80 miles a day to get in a work out.

freedom

2007-02-15T20:07:00.000-05:00

As I sit here listening to the boys cry themselves to sleep, They want to stay awake and I said "no", I am reminded of why I love running so much! So much that I tore my calf because I refused to take time off.

I love running because it makes me feel alive, it makes me feel free. Cliched, I know, but I still remember expending all that pent up energy on the play ground by playing tag. When I was running, then, I never wanted to stop. I just wanted to feel the wind, feel the blood pooling in my legs, feel my body heat up electric. I wanted to go forever and see what treasures I could find. No one could tell me what to do. I didn't know I was actually good at it until 5th grade. When our P.E. teacher timed the class for the presidential fitness doohickie I beat every single 5th grader at my school. Girls and boys. I thought it was fluke until I won the 5th grade all city cross country meet. I didn't win either of them on purpose. I just loved the freedom I felt when my feet hit the ground in a wild mantra. The faster I went the freer I felt. In winning I discovered power. Not over others, but the power harnessed within my legs. The power is contained within the mantra. As I unleash that power onto the pavement in the even rhythm of my feet, I unharness my spirit. To not run is suffocating and chlosterphobic.

Not everyday can be a day when I feel an "even rhythm". There are days when I feel like crap, legs all clumsy. Still, when I run, it's the days when I'm over taken by that wild mantra that I love the most. That's what keeps me at it!

valentinianish reflection

2007-02-14T15:31:00.000-05:00

I've been thinking about my lame ass valentine's card, Valentine's Day, and Marriage. I've come to a few conclusions so brace yourself. First of all St. Valentine forwent (is that a word? it is now) love for martyrdom in the name love. So expecting something from someone on Valentines Day counters the true sentiment of the holiday. Second, all Valentine gave the woman he loved was a note (rejecting her offers) on a piece of sheep skin. At least I wasn't rejected. Third, the marriage thing... here comes the ramblings. Can you feel it?

My relationship with the note writter has spanned almost 9 years. That is one hell of a committment. I haven't kept up any other relationship for that long, and neither has he. We've been through some really REALLY ROUGH patches. Like the time we (and both the boys) were living on raman noodles and oatmeal.

During that time we had to spend any "extra" money to re-plumb the entire house... we went without water for 2 weeks. He was working 12 hours a day 6 days a week in a factory, coming home and plumbing. While i was home I was managing a 4 year old and a 2 year old on 0 dollars, no water, and little food. But they never knew it. We had fun anyway. The boys thought it was a game to catch the water in a bucket straight out of the main in the basement. Even through all our hardships our relationship has never really been tested. Our committment to each other, our marriage, our children some how out weighs any hardship, let alone some trinket of love.

I think I'll count my blessings that I still smell his clothes when I fold them. My breath escapes me when we kiss. He still reaches for my hand in secret. That Cooper rolls his eyes when we embrace and says, "oh great, Make out" and walks away smiling. That He stands up for me, cheers for me, praises me, believes me always, and knows me as well as I know myself. I do the same for him. WE both make HUGE sacrifices and don't keep a tally. We are best friends still. That is a miracle. That is a gift.

Happy flippin Valentines Day

2007-02-13T10:15:00.000-05:00

I KNOW HE FEELS GUILTY BUT COME ON.... EVERYONE IN THE FAMILY GOT SOMETHING BUT ME. BECAUSE I'M THE ONE WHO GOT MY ASS TO THE STORE TO GET THEM STUFF. NO RESPECT I TELL YA. AND WE'RE NOT BROKE ASSES... YOU CAN AFFORD A DAMN CARD AT LEAST!

Random happenings

2007-02-06T01:15:00.000-05:00

It's past one am. I'm only awake because I have to get Casey in a few hours. I have nothing new to report. NO amazing stories. Except a few things the boys did that amazed me today.

School was cancelled today due to the ridiculously cold temps. I rejoiced at the extra time with the boys. They chose to spend most of the time playing, without me. *sigh* *shrug* They set up a tent in Coopers room. Mr. Naturalist himself of course came up with the idea. The tent looked perfectly natural in his room considering the walls are all murals to look like a beautiful sunny day. They kept the flap facing his TV open! Imagine that. They watched their Caillou DVD, I gave them lunch there. (note to the weary. They do not get any channels up there! They can only watch DVDs. Easier to monitor!)

It brought back so many memories of my own adventures. I think I was lucky my parents didn't hover so much. They let me go to Annie land and stay there all day if I wanted. So, as much as I wanted to be in on the camping trip I stayed out, but I did sit on the steps and listen for a while. I didn't even realize I was smiling until my face was sore. Who knows how long I sat there! It was wonderful.

When Cooper was done with that he got out the colored paper and crayons and made what looked like an interesting pie chart with numbers on it. I was informed later that it was a target "like the ones they have in bars." HUmmmm kay? Permission was granted for use of the scissors. He then proceeded to make a gun out of Lego's, and one lonely rubber band. After taping the target to his wall he occupied himself for a solid hour with the contraption!

Next on the list, 4 loaves of homemade bread! Of course they couldn't be ordinary! We died them interesting colors! Like red (red bread is scary looking), green, and blue.

Will was an all day happy accomplice, and contributor of ideas.

They both amaze me!

you can do it!

2007-02-01T17:09:00.000-05:00

to here>
Just to look down.
I was curious!
I can take a little R and R, right!
HELL YA!!!!!

<I climbed this (and then some... okay... a lot more than this)

a little mourning

2007-02-01T16:30:00.000-05:00

As I drove to my parents today I passed some of my favorite running loops. I was frightened. Frightened because those loops are beginning to feel like lost acquaintances whose essence I occasionally miss; or a random craving for hummus, and not the close friends I have routinely depended on for all things, physical, emotional, and spiritual. I am grappling for anything to hold on. I've focused on eatting more fresh foods, on strength training, anything that makes me feel as though I am still doing what the competition is not willing to do. If I only had access to an indoor pool, then I'd be more at ease. That definition I have had of myself as an elite runner is fading as I begin to wonder if I'll ever get it back. Those thoughts are weaknesses I purge daily. The purging is becoming more and more difficult, but necessary if I am going to get back to kicking ass. I'm up for the challenge. Seems I have a lot of challenges facing me these days... I'm tough, I'm buff, I'm not in it alone, most of all I'm a stubborn ass! (if that sounds like a little self pep talk it was!)

Kindergarten Krazies

2007-01-30T20:58:00.000-05:00

It's noon. The phone rings as I exit the store. The wind is unforgivingly frigid. It's amazing I even made it there in one piece to begin with. Snow was drifting and falling across the roads, which were only identifiable because of the dirt trails cut by other idiotic drivers like myself. It's the school. They've cancelled school for the rest of the day could I come get Cooper. (Duh! It's not like the weather took a surprise turn for the worse!) So I slowly fishtail my way to the school.

It's crazy hair day today. I spent several minutes that morning with gel and hair spray manufacturing the messiest hair style possible, and setting it like concrete. Cooper was pumped! He was sure his hair would be the craziest.

I walk into the room and see the various interpretations parents had of crazy hair looking at me from a calmly cross legged, clump on the floor. The teacher walks over to greet me bracing a book in her armpit. At this moment I realized how much you can learn about a parents views/values on a day like this. There was everything from a Mohawk to three pony tails (that parent went all out crazy!). It was at this moment I became the catalyst to chaos.

"Wow. There sure is some crazy hair in this room!"

There was an immediate explosion of 15 little explanations of the creative process undertaken that morning by their parents. I learned about mediums, methods, and negotiations without even having to ask! Pretty soon they were trying to out talk each other. The noise level rose and rose. Cooper looked around in shock, or terror I'm not sure which. It wasn't long before the calm clump was mobile. They were after me. Dawn of the Dead! Then my attention shifted to the teacher for an apology. My lack of attention was all it took. They were spinning circles, skipping, pulling on each other's clothes. It had degraded into pure chaos.

At this moment I thought, "Well if Mrs. Dolan shares my insight about the hair style being a reflection of the parents views/values, she shouldn't be at all surprised by my inate ability to amass chaos!"

Corney ramblings

2007-01-30T20:17:00.000-05:00

Well no major meltdowns today. I felt as normal as one who is amputated from "normality" can. I didn't get to run which made me feel like shit. My calf still hurts but I know it will get better soon and I'll be back to ass kicking as normal.

The boys were cute today, for a while. They cancelled school at noon so I had them both all day. We watched movies together, did an art project involving planes and rockets, baked cookies, built a space station and a large Thomas rail line. They ate pigs-in-a-blanket and tomato soup for dinner. WE finished it off with two bedtime stories. Sounds like June Cleaver doesn't it? Don't be fooled. Mrs cleaver wished on the first star to be Ani Difranco, or Anais Nin, or Evita, or any Childless independent woman she could think of.

The boys couldn't have known that inside I was screaming to get the hell out of the house by myself. My ability to maintain a calm and patient outter shell while my interior wriggled restlessly to be independent was unnerving. Will kissed me spontaneously on the arm as I reached to open the oven to pull the cookies out. The string attached to that kiss pulled me back to earth.

The string attached to that kiss didn't remedy the fact that I've lost my independence. It meant something. I'm not sure what, but if I don't screw up to badly it'll be something good. I know that because when they were both asking me questions simultaneously, and instead of getting an answer, I asked for 5 minutes alone they both obliged without a complaint. Yes, I had Cooper when I was young. Yes, I wasn't ready. Yes, sometimes I still feel like I'm not ready. The boys show me how to truly love someone else if I'm willing to learn. As I follow their example I become ready.

No parent is perfect (except me! hahahahah), but parents who listen and learn are at least trying. I'm convinced there's a kiddie point system and that they give bonus points for trying even if you screw up. Attention, concern, interest, compassion, space when I need it, are all things that my kids give me. These are things they need me to return in favor. On days when I need these from myself they let me be selfish without holding it against me. I hope I can remember that when they are teenagers! For now Don't be fooled by the apron... it doesn't signify quite obedient servitude, I'm not wearing a thing underneath and I'm terrible at taking orders!

It's coming down

2007-01-29T21:39:00.000-05:00

Not to bring the rest of the world down with me, but I'm beginning to think i was giving myself too much credit concerning my emotional strength. The role reversal Casey and I have undergone is a lot in its self.... From stay at home dad to working dad, from working mom to stay at home mom. To pile on top of that the 500 mile commute he makes to Nashville every Tuesday night, and back again every Saturday night, arriving at his destination in the wee hours of the morning; we only talk about once a day and that conversation is always in the presence of others. We have always been best friends.

Now I find myself with no one to talk too. Hence the blog. I love my kids, but I'm sick of being unaffected. I'm pissed. I'm scared. I feel very alone in all of this because who is there to tell this to except this stupid blog. Really don't want to put it on him. He knows. I know he knows. He feels the weight too, pressing him down. It is suffocating but not like drowning, or a pillow on the face. It's slower, heavier. Giles Corey might understand. It's like rocks on your chest, or having your torso wrapped in cellophane. There really isn't a way to scream, and I don't feel like it anyway. I just want to settle in and wait for it to pass. My one sanctuary keeps getting invaded by injuries or illness or weather. The waiting seems endless, and narrow. The waiting is what stirs me to anger some days.