Parallels

I had to parallel park my car last night. I hadn't parallel parked since 2001.* You can get by just fine in this metropolis without ever having to parallel park. You don't even have to do it to pass your driving test for a license. I chose to take that parking spot because it was right outside the garage that would have charged me $2 an hour to park. It was the only available, free-of-charge spot.

I had to rack by brain for a few moments before I attempted. Is it ease in front ways from the back, or is it back in from the front? Oh yeah, it must be back in from the front, which is why I avoid parallel parking like the plague. I really suck at backing in. Oh well, here goes nothing.

I pulled up next to the car in front of the empty spot, threw the car into reverse, and started backing in. Piece of cake, right? Oh GOD this is why I NEVER, EVER parallel park. Because I can never just ease right into the spot. I know I have room. I saw the space. I know how big my car is. I can do this. No I can't. Put it in park. Let me just get out and double check how much room I have in front and behind me. Okay, I'm definitely good. I'll scoot right in there, no problem. Wait. Didn't that car just drive past a moment ago? Did he turn around? Is he waiting for me to FAIL in my attempt to park the car? OMG! He is circling and waiting for me to give up so he can get my spot! OH NO HE IS NOT GOING TO GET THIS SPOT!

So yeah, it took me about 20 minutes of back and forth easing, getting out of the car more than once to visualize my position to finally get it, but I parallel parked my car last night. And I am sure that another 8 years will have to pass for me to do it again. But I'm almost certain I heard applause as I walked away from the car clicking it locked with the remote. What do you know? My circling vulture turned into a cheerleader.

This post was going to be meaningful, like about how parallel parking is some sort of metaphor for my life, or motherhood, or whatever it is I'm doing here. How it is this constant seemingly futile inching back and forth while gaining no ground with vultures circling, waiting for me to fail so they can say, "I told you so!" And in the end I somehow pull it off. Small little victories every day that someone, or no one, may notice, but that give me a tiny glimpse of insight into the fact that I might just be doing something okay. But take from it what you want. Maybe it is just a silly story about how I am afraid to attempt things that are difficult for me, like parallel parking, so I wait 8 years to try again and miss out on all that satisfaction that comes with accomplishing a small, simple task that should be easy but somehow isn't. Hmmm...

*My 2001 story is pretty similar, except I had a friend in the car with me "coaching" me through it. I ended up with a bruise on my arm from when she suddenly remembered the proper car positioning for a successful parallel park and punched me. And there was no applause that time, just angry, screeching tires. But how I remember it was 2001 is because the Diamondbacks had just won the world series and we headed to the ballpark after work to buy official MLB merchandise. You do kinda have to know how to parallel park to get anywhere in downtown Phoenix where the ballpark is. Which is why I avoid the area unless my husband is driving. And why it has been eight years. Just one more reason to hail the advent of the light rail route through the city!

What a Croc

My kids have long been fans of the Croc. I have long been a fan of the Crocs for my kids. (Well, not actual Crocs, just the knock-offs that Target sells. Because I am NOT gonna spend $29.99 for a pair of foam rubber, made in China shoes that my kids'll outgrow in 2 months.) They are easy to get on and off and eliminate a huge part of the getting-dressed-and-out-of-the-house battle every day.

I have lingered on the idea of getting some for myself, but just can't get over that I don't like the way they look on my feet. And that they are so trendy. I haven't let myself think about how comfy they might be because I didn't want to actually have a pair to claim as my own.

And then I discovered the Croc outlet and all my will power to resist is gone. Because ohmygodbuttheyaresofreakingcomfyIneverwanttotakethemoff. Ever. And it's the outlet. Most pairs are $14.99, and they are all buy-one-get-one 50% off. Which makes them only $7.50. Cheaper than the knock-offs at Target. So this weekend I replaced Dylan's worn out fakes with an actual pair, Sadie got a pair of flower-printed light blue maryjanes to add to her stash (Grandma and Poppa sent the pink pair for her birthday). And yes, I even got a pair for myself. It was all I could do to pry them off of my feet to take this picture. I'm afraid that I am ruined for real shoes for the rest of my life. My poor kids never stood a chance. They have so young been corrupted by a mom who easily succumbs to peer pressure and buys them trendy (but comfy!) shoes. At least their feet will feel really, really good.

My guilt runneth over

I recently (meaning within the past 2 weeks) went back to work after being a SAHM since Dylan was born. The situation could not be more ideal... I am working right where Dylan goes to preschool. I (supposedly) work 5-6 hours a day. I am not paying for daycare. I am absolutely head over heels in love with the care providers charged with my children and they are happy there.

All that being said, it hasn't been an easy adjustment for any of us. I have never in my entire life before last Monday had to be anywhere on any sort of time schedule with two kids in tow. Out the door with some semblance of put togetherness and lunches for the kids and me packed. Out the door and on time every day. My kids have never been in daycare and the days seem endless to them. They weren't napping very well and bedtimes have been just short of disastrous.

I am trying to keep it together for all of us. I have gotten myself up early to get ready and pack lunches so that by the time the kids get up I can devote all my energy to getting them ready and (hopefully) prevent losing my patience. They have never seen me cry as I leave them at the door of their daycare rooms. We do fun mommy and kid stuff together when my workday is done. I tell them that I am so proud of what grown up kids they are to go to daycare because mommy needs to work. All the while I am so close to tears I can hardly keep them at bay in front of the kids any more. But I'm keeping it together.

So how my precious Dylan had the insight to say what he said to me this morning as we were driving to daycare is beyond me. Like he knew it's been hard on me even though I am trying not to let it show. Like he knew I needed him to tell me that everything is okay and I am being a good mom anyway. Like he's just a great kid, a great brother yet such a typical little boy. He said, "Mommy? Know what the best part of my day at daycare is? After nap cause we go outside and Sadie's out there too and I get to see her. That makes me really happy. Also when you put spicy chips (Doritos) in my lunch."

So I will continue to wage war with my guilt and I know that eventually we will find the right balance for us. My house needs to be cleaned, I haven't vacuumed for two (eeeww!!) weeks, there are dishes in the sink, and clean laundry is scarce around here these days. I am not doing what needs to be done, but I am doing what I need to do. I am holding my kids more, playing with them more, reading to them more, really talking with them, and making sure that they KNOW they are the most important thing to me, even though we aren't spending as much time together. So yeah, we'll figure it all out, just as long as I never run out of Doritos.

(And yeah, I'm crying right now. Cried through composing this whole post. It's okay. They're asleep so they will never know.)

(And also yeah? I know I am blogging right now instead of doing what needs to be done.)

You know your parenting skills may be lacking when...

the minimum wage paid Target employee tells you that you should really make sure that your children are properly secured into the cart. The minimum wage paid, pimply faced, cocky teenage red shirt khaki pants wearing, scanner thingy toting, young enough to be my cocky teenager. Yes, he did.

*ahem*

I guess he told me. Moments after my encounter with said employee, I rounded the corner where I failed to heed the warning of the yellow "slippery when wet" sign. That sucker WAS slippery... butt planting on the ground and nearly toppling my cart in the process slippery. Yes I did. It's a darn good thing my improperly buckled children were holding on for dear life to their Icees. (It's how we get things done around here. They get a treat and slurp away happily in the cart while I get to shop. Everyone leaves the store happy, if just a tad sticky, over-sugared and sometimes possibly overdrawn.)

I wonder if pimple-face has stopped laughing yet.

I need to find a new Target.

On Becoming Two

Every cherished moment lived and loved,

as we watch you grow and become your own little person

we stop to look, to take a breath, and can't help but gasp

in awe of the precious baby you once were

and wonder at the amazing child you are.

Happy, happy birthday sweet, beautiful girl.

You are so Sadie, our Sadie.

We can hardly wait to see

what the next year of your life has in store!

Photo finishes and other things I learned about racing

So I ran the P.F. Chang's Rock and Roll Half Marathon on Sunday. I finished! I am not a very fast runner and never will be. I came in under my goal of three hours, at 2:53. Considering I wasted about 25 minutes waiting to use every port-a-john on the course between miles 1 and 7 (too much coffee at the start?), I am very happy with my time. And hey, I got the same exact medal as the guy that came in first.

After crossing the finish line, there was a runner-secure area. Someone handed me a medal, someone else water and then I was shuffled here and there to get an official finish line photo taken. Everything was all a little blurred through the euphoria of finishing the run and the anxiety of searching the crowd for my friends and family. I was a somewhat dazed, to say the least. Anyway, the finish photos were posed in front of a logo'd backdrop right before exiting the racers-only area. Apparently, the race number must show in the pics so that they can identify the runners and market them online later. I had my number pinned on my back. The photog asked me to turn around and strike a pose. I thought he would just snap the number and then take a real shot, so that my picture could later be identified because it would be next in the cue to the one with my number. That made sense to me. So I turned around with my backside to the camera and I heard, "Click. Next, please." But wait, that's not my real photo, is it? You're gonna let me do it again, aren't you? "Nope, next please." Needless to say, I will not be purchasing my finish line photos! Next time, I guess I will pin my number to the front of my shirt. I may never purchase the official race sanctioned photos, but at least I won't make a complete ass of myself in the photo area.

*

I discovered why live blogging by runners during events will never really catch on. Here is a sampling of the texts I was sending during my run:

mile 1 have stopps to pee

peing agaan

again

stopps to pi agin

jsut passed h alfway peeng againslc.

at galvin and priestf (in response to the question where was I? There is no such intersection!)

less tladjfna 2 lflsdkjft

And now my cell phone seems to be shorting out. I wonder if the dried, salty sweat stains all over it have anything to do with that.

*

My kids were darn cute rockin' out and cheering me on between miles 11 and 12.

*

The race was four days ago now and it still hurts to stand up. But I ran 13.1 miles. Yes I did! And next year I'm going for the full 26.2.

Yeah, I taught her that.

The other day, I was driving with Sadie in the car. We were nearly in an accident, although it would have only ended up being a small fender-bender.

I had just entered the left-hand turn lane (completely within my right-of-way) and a jerk in front of me to the right decided to swing on over. I had to slam on the brakes and swerve left (potentially into oncoming traffic) to avoid being hit. I laid on the horn as I felt the surge of adrenaline.

You know that moment when you are in the midst of protecting yourself and your loved ones from perceived danger and you feel that rush of energy? When your heart starts racing and every ounce of your good sense and judgement are thrust into getting out of danger? That moment when you are just starting to realize that the situation has been averted and you are desperately trying to regain your composure so that you can appropriately answer the "whys" coming from the almost two year old in the back seat? Do you know which moment I am talking about? It was in that moment that Sadie and I had the following conversation:

SADIE: What, Mommy, what?

ME: That guy was driving like an ASSHOLE! That's what!

S: Asshole, Mommy? Asshole?

ME: Um, yeah, baby, that's what I said.

S: (proudly) Oh, asshole!

(Repeatedly bangs head against steering wheel in defeat.)