Family Health Kids Running

Happiness, Thy Name is Viv

L.T., my 14 year old son, flew in yesterday from his dad’s house for his summer visit. My oldest son, Naughty Bear, offered to go with me and we also picked up my 14 year old nephew, codenamed Roboto Dude. Because of my overly excited self, NB ended up having to drive because of a migraine and mild dizziness.

A few rough patches later and my baby boy strolled off the plane with his deep voice saying “Hello, Mother.” It’s always hard to remain upright when I see my babies after such long spans, but to see my youngest biological child approach in the guise of a man-sized human? Nearly impossible to reconcile with the mental image I carry between visits.

Add to that the text messages I got from him on Saturday night, and I was completely twitterpated at his arrival. His excitement at getting here, down to knowing how many hours remained, had me over the moon. After that, a full migraine hit and NB had to drive home, as well. We met my dad for dinner to celebrate his 75th birthday and had a wonderful time. He and I were quiet at times, just watching them. I finally asked him where our babies went, as we were faced with three young men. Each one is taller than us and have deep voices and facial hair. He shrugged and looked as confused as I at the passage of time.

I sometimes wish that Chooch and I had a child together, and that it was a girl. It has more to do with wanting to selfishly have a tangible symbol of our love than any real desire to have another child, which is why we won’t have one. Besides, and I say this without hesitation, I never want to mess with the relationship we have with our boys. To have another child would mean we’d have to turn our eyes from the three loves of our lives. Our bonds are extremely strong, unbreakable by distance of any kind.

LT, NB and RD all want to go with me to the track for a run later today, my sons insisting that they want to lose weight. LT, already fit butwanting to get healthier said, “Who better to ask how than you?”  Instantly, the exercise rut I’ve been in since Balticon is over. Maternal need to set a good example has pushed me out of it. Today I run. With my sons.

It’s the morning I’ve been waiting all year for: my boys sleeping in after staying up all night gaming, laughing, and playing music too loud.

Pure bliss.

Chooch Exercise Friends No Whining Running

Stupid Irony is Stupid

I’ve been on the fence about this weekend. There is hubby’s Ditched by Kate band practice, which is non-negotiable with a hot show coming up at IOTA on Saturday, June 18th.

Then there are two book events for dear friends on Saturday and a party I truly hate to miss on Saturday night. All are in different states, naturally. Then there is the 10k that I had been training for months for on Sunday morning. And an alleged get-together with far-flung members of my Mom’s family. There has been no information on that for two months, so I’ve no idea if it’s even happening, or when.

This does not count the other things on my to-do list: the 2 month procrastinated yard sale, writing the submission guidelines for the breast cancer anthology, scrubbing the house down, continuing work on launching both a record label and publishing house, and recording and editing for our own projects and planning future projects.

So, as we’ve just decided that we cannot afford the time or funds to travel to three states in one day and I’ve re-dedicated myself to the 10k, I of course catch Chooch’s cooties. He’s on anti-biotics, with the usual catch of the doctor not being sure if it’s viral or bacterial. I loathe taking them unless they’re absolutely necessary. If and when I create a super bug capable of ending life as we know it, it will be on purpose. Still, my lung capacity will frak up my hopes of success at the 10k.

I definitely won’t be running the entire 10k, but I’m hoping to be strong enough to go anyways. Not having run for 3 weeks means my knees and shins feel entirely healed, but it’s my endurance and breathing I’m now concerned about. Luckily, there is a half-marathon at the same time, so no matter how crappy my pace, I’ve been assured by race organizers not to sweat it.

I wish we could bag it and go to our friends’ stuff instead, but sadly, I’m not coughing up gold coins to pay for the gas, food, hotel  and kennel fees. Nor has a time turner cleared my esophagus to make it possible to actually travel to all these places in a very short time. At least not yet.

*It is irony, right? Feel free to correct me.