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marathon mania

18 Apr

In honor of those running the Boston Marathon today – I thought I would share my one-and-only marathon experience.  Maybe it will inspire some – maybe it will make some laugh – but it will probably gross you out.

It all started in 2004 – after attending a workshop on self-discipline and standing up for what you believe in – I decided I believed in running a marathon.  I’m one of those kind of folks who decide something – make the plans – and just do it.  It was a simple decision.  I chose the OKC Memorial Marathon in the spring of 2005. I researched training plans and decided on Hal Higdon’s Beginner Marathon Plan.  I mentioned it to a cousin during a family get-together and she agreed to join me.  She had run the Chicago Marathon the previous year and spent only 3 weeks training for it!  

We followed the sixteen week program and did all of the appropriate workouts.  We ran around my town – finding a twelve-mile loop that we eventually found ourselves using as our 24 mile run a couple of weeks prior to the marathon.  We would hide Gatorade bottles in shrubs at churches along our route (imagine two sweaty women digging in bushes on their hands and knees – special) and talked non-stop about how the week went – her new husband – my kids – and life in general. 

In the final weeks leading up the Oklahoma City Memorial Marathon my body began transforming from functional to fit.  I felt lean and I liked how my clothes were fitting.  The only problem I was having was that my period had yet to start.  According to my calculations the marathon was supposed to fall right in the middle of my month.  Mother Nature had other plans.  There were jokes that maybe I was pregnant.  These had to be HUGE jokes because I was certain I was not having anymore children (okay – certain that my husband wasn’t – and if I was, there were questions to be answered).  Regardless, I pressed on thinking I was out of harms way.

As we drove the two hours south to OKC our two families laughed about what it must feel like to run 26.2 miles – made fun of each other – and generally just gabbed.  About an hour into the drive I felt that familiar cramping in my stomach that said, “Hello?  It’s your Aunt Flo!”  Seriously?  Surprisingly enough I had not prepared for this.  Who knows why – I’m a rebel I guess.  We pulled off at the nearest convenience store and verified that YES my period had come along for the ride.  Just swell.  I would be attempting to run 26.2 miles on the second day of my period.  (if you’re a woman you understand the weight of this)

We attended the expo (lame) to pick up our packets – found our hotel (nowhere near the start) and called friends for a dinner suggestion.  Ate some amazing Italian food and went back to our rooms. 

The morning was a typical morning.  Shower – try to eat something – try to figure out a ride to the start (beginners) – and kiss our families goodbye at 5:30am. 

I don’t remember much of the beginning of the race.  It starts on one side of the OKC Memorial and ends on the other side. I visited the porta-potties frequently due to the upset stomach that accompanies my monthly visitor.  I had packed an extra tampon - and had already needed it.  I looked for a friend whose mom had died in the OKC bombing 10 years earlier.  I found her husband, but not her.  We waited for 171 seconds of silence in honor of the lives lost. The gun shot and we were off.  Within two miles I found my friend Keri – we chatted for just a second and the cousin and I kept on.  We ran all over the city.  I used the porta-potty again at mile 3.  We knew we would see the guys at mile 12 with my cheer crew (kids) and I was prepared to get another tampon.  We kept running.  My life was miserable.  I needed just about every porta-potty on the course that day.  We saw the guys at mile 16 again and we have great video footage of me yelling at my husband, “I NEED ANOTHER TAMPON!!!” Lucky for me the next porta-potty was across the street in some unsuspecting person’s yard.  It was for a construction crew.  This gave us miles of laughter (okay - maybe a half mile) thinking of burly construction workers noticing their new present and wondering which guy was having their period.  In the last 10 miles of the marathon we were cheered on by two guys on bikes that held up posters for someone they were cheering on.  One poster read, ‘HURRY UP HONEY! I’M GETTING HUNGRY”.  These two guys were funny. 

At mile 20 I was sure I was going to lay down and take a nap.  At mile 22 a 90-year-old was throwing up blood on the side of the road.  At mile 22.2 we found a medic to help him.  At mile 23 the same 90-year-old passed us.  At mile 23.1 I wanted to shoot that 90-year-old.  At mile 24 I was ready to quit.  At mile 25 I hated everyone I saw – including those doing the relay (people with fresh legs SUCK!).  At mile 26 I could see the finish line .2 ahead of me and I still wanted to quit.  At mile 26.2 we finished just under 5 hours.  I hated it.  I swore I would never run a marathon again. We met the two guys who had been riding and cheering - and met the wife of one of them who said that she had been following us for 10 miles and never would have finished had we not been laughing and talking about her husband and his friend.  We found our husbands who were so proud and were ready to have lunch.  I tried to step over a curb and couldn’t.  I fell on the ground and started laughing instead. 

Somehow we ended up back in our hotel – got showered and found the BEST burgers and beers in the land!  Our two-hour drive home was uneventful except when I stood outside a convenience store because I couldn’t take the one-step onto the sidewalk. 

Surprisingly I was able to go to work the next day with little soreness (unless there were stairs). 

Sometimes I think I would like to run another marathon.  But I think back to that day and say “NO WAY!”

Congrats to all who qualified for Boston.  For all who are currently training.  And for all who wonder if they can.  I’m here to tell you – anyone can do it!

ps – I don’t know what my computer is doing with color today.

better than you treat me

8 Mar

When I was a child I remember a country song about ‘treating other people on the street better than you treat me” or something of that sort and would think, “that is just wrong!“ 

All of my life I’ve been in tune with the change that comes over people when someone outside of their family wants to communicate with them. 
When the phone rings while we’re yelling and we sweetly answer “Hello?”
When we talk to our friend’s children with more respect and encouragement than our own children.
When someone else’s husband hears our funny stories instead of our own husband.
When we complain about our own parents but never talk to them about it.

I believe there are plenty of reasons for this.
The person on the other end of the phone isn’t bugging us.
Our friend’s children aren’t disobeying us.
Our friend’s husband is a better listener at the time.
Our parents carry enough guilt from all the ways they messed up. (hahaha)

Regardless, I think we are setting our children up to resent us.

I have mentioned before that our children will value what we value.  So if we are valuing our relationship with someone else more than those we claim to ‘love more than anything’ what are we showing our children?  Sure, the people outside of our homes are not living what we are living, but our children are.  I can remember thinking, “Really?  You are going to be nice to HER but ignore ME?!?!” I was an emotional teenager – I assume my daughter will have the same affliction.  My mom was a great mom, but she didn’t hide the fact that she wanted us out of her face and to ‘shut the hell up!’.  I wish she would have.  I wish I would have been more important than the person on the phone.  I wish, if she needed a break, that she made time for herself.  But that’s not how it worked.

I have a few friends who are anxiously awaiting the moment when my children act crazy.  I’m a little sad by that, but I’m also thrilled by the challenge.  I hope I can hear what my children are saying.  I hope I remember what they need.  I hope I ignore the phone when it rings in order to respond to my child at that time.  So far so good – but I promise, if I need a break, I’m calling YOU!

Grandma’s furniture

7 Mar

A few years ago my grandparents both passed suddenly.  First Grandpa, and then 12 days later Grandma.  It was a tough time in my life.  I loved them more than any other person in my life.  They were the two people who saw my beauty, supported me, and gave me the love I deserved.  I chose a husband based on Grandpa’s love for me.  I laugh with my kids the way my grandparents laughed with us.  They set the tone for what life would be like for me and I am thankful. 

After they died the grandchildren went through the house chosing what we each wanted.  I’m not a sentimental person.  My memory rarely does a situation justice.  The furniture was tacky.  But I chose a few things.  I have a china hutch full of things I remember from my childhood – a chair that is fancy and painful to look at – a desk that is full of junk right now – a dining room table with 6 chairs (actually perfect for the basement) – and another chair that is hideous.  I really can’t stand them.  Initially I was ’keeping Grandma alive’.  Now I’m simply decorating with furniture from 1972. 

I started looking at the furniture the other day and thinking, “it served its purpose in time, but it doesn’t work for me” and realized.  That is how parenting works.  Sure, there were times when hitting your children was how you commanded respect.  That children were better off seen than heard.  That ’picking a switch’ meant you were going to get a whipping.  Those times served their purpose, but they don’t work for me. 

I’m not hear to argue spank v. not-to-spank, or to give a speech on the value of respect.  But I want to trigger a thought.  Was there a parenting technique your parents used that, though it stopped your behavior (out of fear, disrespect, or humiliation), you wish they never would have done?  I’m sure there is.  Now, I wonder Do you find yourself using that same technique? 

I’m guessing there is.  It’s common.  I often find my voice turning sarcastic when disciplining my children on smaller issues “Really? You think I’m your maid?” When a simple, ‘please put your plate in the dishwasher’ would suffice.   I remember my mom using that ‘technique’ and feeling humiliated.  Feeling like an awful child because I ‘could never do anything right’.  What part of that is helpful?  It was motivating, however when I forget to do something now – put iPod away and dog eats it – I feel awful and stupid. 

It’s okay to let go of what your parents said. 
It  just wasn’t working.

It’s okay to apologize and admit you are wrong.
It just wasn’t working.

It’s okay to get rid of Grandma’s furniture.
It  just wasn’t working.

Mommy lies

7 Feb
I’ve been writing this post in my head for a while.  For many reasons it has taken time to get around to it – illness, snow-days, and the fact that I continue to hear different statements of the fact from all of the Mommies I know:

I’m not good enough. . .

Whether it’s a mom who stays at home to raise her young children and says, “I wish I could do something bigger.”  or “I’m all alone.”
Or the mom who homeschools her children texting to say, “Maybe someday I can help like you do.” 
Once it was the mom who works full-time with three young children at home that told me, “it’s just so hard.”
The mom who has worked to build her husband’s business while she put her dreams on hold saying, “I’m ready now.  But so scared.”
The mom of a teenager who is aching to hold on while her child grows up wondering, “Have I done enough?”
I have beat myself up at times with, “I should _______ (take more pictures/be on time/do my daughter’s hair/jump on the trampoline/etc.)”
Last week, in two separate conversations, friends said, “Really?  I always thought you were perfect?!”  To which I laughingly replied, “Then you obviously don’t know me very well!”
Somewhere in history women were made to believe they could do it all: Raise a family, cook a healthy meal, volunteer at school, put together scrapbooks, love their husband, drive to activities (and attend them), exercise, keep the house clean, shower daily, and be happy doing all of it.
I don’t know about you, but I have let go of trying to be the perfect mom & started being to be the perfect mom to my children.  Those three extra words, “. . .to my children” saved my life and theirs. 
When my daughter was young I worked full-time (+).  It was hard!  She was a difficult child for many reasons – including my own response to her.  In a desperate need to get away but still be ‘the perfect mom’ I started scrapbooking!  If you know me, scrapbooking requires many skills I do not possess - focus, creativity, and being with a bunch of women.  Don’t get me wrong – I have focus when I’m interested.  I am creative in many other ways.  And, I love me some girl talk, but not all at once & in a big room.  I would leave my monthly evening out with a nauseating headache, vowing to never return.   I did this for a year.  Seriously!  I look back and think, “I could have used that time so much better.”  But I believed that it was what I was ‘supposed’ to do to be a ‘good mom’. We ended up with some great scrapbooks that our kids love to look at, but. . . It wasn’t me. 
As my children got older I started volunteering my time (while still working full-time) in every activity they were involved in – school, gymnastics, football, church, swimming, etc.  It made me crazy!  I was confused.  I loved every one of their activities and loved serving them, however I was empty & dry.  How could it be?  It wasn’t me.
Last year I went on a weekend girls-trip with some of my favorite women.  We talked about Jesus, husbands, children, sex, dreams, ideas, theology – life in general – everything we loved and were passionate about.  We got home and the emails/ started flying “That was JUST what I needed!” and “I am SOOO glad I went.”  - I sat at home thinking “I am so glad to be back.” and “I won’t EVER do that again!”  Not that I didn’t love my time with them.  I love each of them very much.  That fact is – It wasn’t me. 
In a shift to more reliance on God and less on the outside world I started looking at my unique design.  Respecting every aspect of my life, my gifts and my talents.  I stopped comparing myself to other moms (most of the time) and started comparing myself to me.  Instead of saying “why can’t I be better?”  I started asking, “how can I help using my skills?”  It changed life dramatically.  I still volunteer for school by being in charge of one activity per year instead of being involved in all activities.  I stopped teaching Sunday School and started working with parents who are just like me – wondering how to raise a Christian child in a wild world.  I stopped going to any function that includes the words; craft, repurpose, women, or flea market and started running more races.  I stopped trying to be what everyone else was and started to be me. 
Don’t get me wrong – it wasn’t easy in the beginning.  When you spend years comparing yourself to others that means you have spent years ignoring who you were created to be.  I started by making a list of things I love – XM radio/music, glass art, talking, reading, traveling, etc. (the list is super long and categorized now).  I also made a list of things I’m not interested in - aka “Thank goodness other people love this!” - because it was important to me to see my friends’ gifts and talents without having to compare or compete with them.
You know what I’ve learned? 

I’m the perfect me! 

Don’t let what you ‘think’ of others guide what you ‘know’ to be true.  You are perfect and you are doing exactly what you were created to do. 

 

Be mindful. . .

12 Jan

When our daughter was 2 years old she gave her daddy and I a run-for-our-money.  She seemed to not notice when we attempted to discipline – rarely responding positively - sometimes not responding at all.  She was angry, she was frustrated, she was my baby.  We were frustrated.  Often times my husband would say (half-joking) “Is there anyone who can help us with her??” – Knowing that I was the person that parents called when their young child had emotional struggles.  Ha. Ha. He is so funny.

I’m happy to say – she is a different child.  There are a few things that changed in her life:

1. We learned that she couldn’t hear us.  She had two surgeries and that helped with her lack of response. 

2. I accepted that I was depressed.  That I couldn’t help every child - but I could change how I responded to my child.

3. Our area Head Start sent me to Orlando, FL for a week-long Conscious Discipline® training.  Yes – Orlando.  Feel free to be jealous.  They didn’t send me to help with my daughter, but it did.  It helped in every aspect of my life and I am still grateful.

That is a lot of changes.  But sometimes it takes a lot of work to remember the beauty in someone – including ourselves.  

What I learned the most is to be mindful about the choices I make as a parent and as a helper.

Prior to attending the week-long training I had a long list of ways I could get down on myself: You think you can help others when you can’t even help your own child?  You deserve what you’re getting.  You think you know everything.  You are wasting your time and their time.  You’re a terrible parent.  The list could go on and on, but I won’t bore you with my inner thoughts. 

After the training I started to take a long look at what would trigger me into frustration.  I started to notice what my daughter was asking for.  I started asking my husband for help when I felt too overwhelmed to respond.  I gave myself a break from being a parent. 

The next step for me was to think about what I wanted to teach my daughter.  Did I want to teach her that her presence was frustrating? Or did I want to teach her that everything she said was of value? (with respect)  Did I want to tell her that her constant touch was too much for me?  Or did I want to fill her brain and heart with love? (everyone connects on a different level) Did I want to teach her to listen to me because I was the parent? Or did I want her to have a voice because everyone deserves a voice? (being hurtful through arguing is NOT a voice) Mindful.

I am not full of answers.  I don’t do it perfect everyday.  I’m just a mom who is trying to do right by her children and hoping that what I teach is important to others.

I hope you will join me as I share skills, tips, and funny stories for teaching children how to respond to discipline.    Let me know if you have some requests or specific tips you would like to hear about.

He knows you

11 Jan

I am feeling overwhelmed.  With love.  With gratitude.  With who I am.

After 25+ years, my pen-pal from childhood contacted me.  She found me through a blog-post on my old blog.

It was weird.  But the most amazing thing was it was confirming.  We are similar.  We have similar passions, degrees, hearts, and senses of humor.  We remember the littlest things about each other.  The types of things you didn’t ever think would matter. 

What’s more confirming is that God knew me.  He knew that I needed her as a friend when I was a child.  He knew what I would need in a husband and showed it to me at 17 years old.  He knew what I would need as a professional and set everything in place to do His work.  He knew what I would need as a mom and put the perfect children in my care.

He knew, when I was 9 years old, that when I am 41 years old I would need my pen pal back in my life.  He knows me. 

And He knows you too.

A scary scene

8 Jan

This is a story from October 29, 2010.  I haven’t shared it before because I have a hard time telling it without becoming too worked up. 

My husband and I were shopping for last-minute Halloween stuff (candy, glue, batteries, you know – stuff) in a local discount store.  Typically, in this specific store, I to go into stealth-mode and pretend I can’t hear children screaming, parents threatening, and grandparents condoning.  It is a coping strategy I developed to protect my own family from on-the-spot counseling sessions.  Let’s just say I could fill my caseload in 3 hours by standing at the door of this store. 

Where was I?  Oh yeah. . .

typically I can shut off my sensor.  This day was different.  From a few aisles away I could hear a baby screaming.  Not the I-am-hungry/tired/bored-screaming, but TERROR.  My insides started to get jumbled.  I started calmly glancing down each aisle to see where the baby was.  As we came to the aisle with the baby I witnessed two adults – one with a scary terrifying mask on – one laughing hysterically – standing in front of a baby (10-14 mos old.).  The baby was out-of-control screaming.   I could see the baby shaking as the two adults continued to scare the child with the mask.  Apparently I froze.  Both glanced up at me and my husband reached back for me.  I was crying and could only say, “Why would someone do that?”  He responded, “because they don’t know better yet.” (he’s a really smart guy) 

It took everything I had to leave the store without ripping into those people (helpful – I know).  And it took a few days of lecturing my husband on the effects of terror and the brain before I could move on. 

Here’s the deal.  Scaring a young child damages their brain.  Seriously.  The safety receptors in the brain are damaged and cannot be repaired.  The younger a child is, the less likely we (adults) can recognize what part of the brain was actually damaged until they are much older.  By that time we have forgotten what could have happened to make the child behave in  such a way. 

Here’s my best analogy – let’s say you have a friend who is a police officer.  He dresses like a police officer, he drives a police car, he carries a gun.  You feel safe knowing he is on duty.  But then one day he comes to your house wearing street clothes and pointing his gun at you and laughing.  The very thing that has kept you feeling safe all of these years, is now the enemy.  As an adult you might forgive him or laugh it off. But I’m guessing you would question his intentions and safety.  Later you may have physical reactions (sweat, flush, heart racing) when you see him or another officer.  As an adult I have had 496 months of experience in coping with stress and scary situations and I’m sure the officer would not be allowed back in my house. 

The baby I witnessed was young.  Very few months of coping with scary situations.  The baby doesn’t have the ability to choose whether those adults are around.  The baby doesn’t have any choice but to trust the very person who is in charge of keeping them safe.

I wonder.  How often do we use scary actions, voice-tones, words, or faces to get our point across to our children?  Are we putting on a mask that we can easily remove, but will be engrained in our child’s mind forever?   Or are we simply scaring our children for our entertainment?

Thank you Mrs. Randall

2 Jan

Here’s what I was reading the other day, “only you have the set of qualities and abilities that allow you to be who you are”.  At first I started thinking, “really? this is it? this is all I’ve got?”  Then I started understanding what that simple statement was saying to me.  I have ABILITIES! I have QUALITIES!  Sure, sure, we all have certain abilities but not everyone thinks about what their abilities are, or how some of the very same behaviors we may have gotten in trouble over as a child, might very well be one of our best qualities. 



I get paid to talk now!

Let’s go back to when I was 8 years old, sitting in Mrs. Randall’s third-grade classroom.  One student, let’s call him *Davie*, was hiding behind the bookshelf picking his nose and eating it (I hope he grew out of that ‘ability’).  Mrs. Randall was attempting to teach us something – but I was too busy focusing on *Davie*.  I leaned over and told my neighbor to look at *Davie*- we laughed and laughed - Mrs. Randall said, “Shana! Be quiet!”  I felt sad.  I waited until Mrs. Randall was focused on her teaching again before I said something else to my neighbor.  “Shana! Do you want to sit in the hall!?!?”  My gut reaction? “YES!”  You see, in the hall every single class had to pass by the third-grad classroom on their way out to and back in for recess.  For someone who LOVES to talk, sitting in the hall was a dream (missing out on math or reading didn’t hurt). 

My dad used to say things such as “Shut up!”  and “Do you ever stop talking??”  (i don’t recommend these strategies)

Every teacher I had sent me to the Principal’s office at least one time for talking during class.

When I was in college I remember a professor actually moving me to an assigned position in front of the entire class.  Seriously.  In college.   Not a proud moment, but true. 

As an adult I have embraced who I am.  I’m a talker.  I will talk to anyone.  I will talk about any subject.  But I will also listen.  I believe each of the adults who attempted to quiet me were not only trying to get me to shut-up, but they were also trying to teach me to recognize others’ needs. 

As a parent I believe it is important to embrace who our child(ren) is/are.   Does your daughter talk non-stop?  Does your son play his guitar loudly?  Does your family laugh at inappropriate noises?  Does your child follow two-step instruction better than multiple-step instruction?  Does your significant other need quiet time in order to focus later?

Once we genuinely know the person we are talking to, it becomes much easier to be heard.

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