For those that are wondering, yes I do actually remember that this blog is supposed to be loosely based on my running escapades. And yes, I am training for a half marathon coming up in a week or so. Well, at least as much as I "train" for anything...
Running to me isn't about training for a big event. It's about, well, running. So when I was sitting in a staff meeting a couple of weeks ago, and my boss says to me, "why don't you run the Tough Mudder?" and one of our hygienists says, "or the Warrior Dash?" I have no problem saying "NO."
You see, those races combine "running" and an obstacle course. I have running in quotes there, because I would challenge the fact that these races are for "runners." These are races for people who like a challenge, sure. But...not true runners. Please note that I am not saying that you can't be a true runner and participate in these events. No, no...I am saying that IF you ARE a true runner and you participate in these events, you clearly realize that you are NOT doing this as a running event. You are doing this as an obstacle course. And that is very, very different from true running.
In my opinion, when true runners want to run a race, they don't want obstacles to distract them from the actual joy of running. They don't want to leave the ground to scale a rickety wooden A-frame. They don't need to prove how tough they are by jumping into ice water. And they've got plenty of mud on their shoes without having to artificially create a mud-pit to fling themselves into.
I don't even listen to music while I run. I don't need someone's voice in my ear, I need to listen to my own thoughts. Plan my own dreams. Pay attention to the road or maybe study the other people going by. I don't want to be distracted from my run, I just want to breathe deep and enjoy it.
I think this is part of the reason that the horrible events at the Boston Marathon shook me to my core. Running is my safe place. It's where I go to get away from the terrible things in this world. To just complete such a small "challenge" as a run so I know that I can complete the bigger challenges of this life. And to think that someone would attack others that were enjoying my beloved sport just makes me very sad and very angry all at the same time.
So next Saturday, I will stand at the start line and begin another half marathon (I have seriously lost count of what number this will be...even Patrick couldn't remember). I will get about two hours and 10 minutes (give or take) of solitude amongst 16,000 other true runners. I will reflect on those in Boston and count myself blessed. I will compose a grocery list, ask myself why I do this, and make up a back-story for the person in front of me. But trust me when I say that after I finish, there will be no part of me that thinks, "I wish
I could have crawled under some barbed wire about half-way through that
run..."
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
IT JUST TASTES LIKE A HOT DOG, OKAY?!?!?
Every week as I compose my grocery list, I ask Patrick what he would like for our upcoming dinners. And for the first four years of our marriage, every week he would invariably say one of the following items:
Meatloaf
Spaghetti
Fish
Please do not suppose that this is because I lack creativity in the kitchen. I enjoy cooking (mostly because I enjoy eating) and I am not afraid to tackle new recipes. And Patrick is most certainly not afraid to tackle new foods. In fact, he likes to order items off restaurant menus that he has no idea what they are just to be surprised when they show up at the table (swiss cheese, ham, powdered sugar, and grape jelly on pumpernickel bread anyone?)
Last June, I asked him the same old question expecting the same old answer. But this time, I got this response:
Hot Dogs
Now, I am not a food snob, but I have some standards. And eating hot dogs for dinner is below them. But he followed his response up with this:
...and I'll make them.
And that, my friends, is all it took for hot dogs to no longer be below my standards for dinner in our household. Bring on the frankfurters.
So over the past 10 months, we have periodically had hot dogs for dinner. But Patrick cannot just bring himself to slap together a hot dog, bun, ketchup, and mustard and call it dinner. No, no, we must become hot dog connoisseurs. We must not just eat the hot dog, we must experience it. And (like all things the Esbers do) we must make hot dogs unnecessarily complicated.
Our running list of "hot dogs we have tried" is written on the back of a sample ballot for the 2012 election. A ballot which a friend asked to borrow and make a copy of, and I said, "uhhh, not to be difficult, but our hot dog list is on the back of that...so can I email you the website I got it from instead?" Aforementioned friend's look was priceless. A mix between "what the heck are you talking about?!?!?" and "why am I somehow not surprised that the Esbers think their hot dogs are more important than the presidential election?" Like I said, priceless.
The list goes as followed:
So over the past 10 months, we have periodically had hot dogs for dinner. But Patrick cannot just bring himself to slap together a hot dog, bun, ketchup, and mustard and call it dinner. No, no, we must become hot dog connoisseurs. We must not just eat the hot dog, we must experience it. And (like all things the Esbers do) we must make hot dogs unnecessarily complicated.
Our running list of "hot dogs we have tried" is written on the back of a sample ballot for the 2012 election. A ballot which a friend asked to borrow and make a copy of, and I said, "uhhh, not to be difficult, but our hot dog list is on the back of that...so can I email you the website I got it from instead?" Aforementioned friend's look was priceless. A mix between "what the heck are you talking about?!?!?" and "why am I somehow not surprised that the Esbers think their hot dogs are more important than the presidential election?" Like I said, priceless.
The list goes as followed:
- Cuban Dog - ham, Swiss cheese, pickles
- Seattle Dog - onions, cream cheese, brown mustard, sauerkraut
- Hawaiian Dog - mango, pineapple, jalapeño peppers
- Parisian Dog - pears, Brie cheese, Dijon mustard
- Chicago Dog - tomato, pickle relish, yellow peppers, onions
- Pizza Dog - marinara sauce, mushrooms, fresh mozzerella cheese, basil leaves
- Banh Mi Dog - mayo, Sriracha sauce, sugar, cucumber, carrot, mint leaves
Not exactly a health food list. But overall, they were good; some better than others (mint + hot dogs = bad choice) but as long as Patrick is willing to fix them, I suppose we will be adding new recipes to the list. But for a woman who prides herself on her "personalized" grocery coupons always being for carrots, apples, and whole wheat bread, I will admit to being a tad appalled when our last flyer arrived in the mail. You guessed it: $1.00 off your choice of hot dogs...
Monday, March 4, 2013
Stranger Danger
For several years, Patrick and I have called New Life our church home. And we loved it; we loved that the church's focus was on Christ, we loved our small groups, we loved the nursery for our son, and we loved our friends. What we did not love however, was that it is located in Gahanna. Which was not convenient when we lived in Clintonville, became very inconvenient when we moved to Delaware, and super-duper massively inconvenient when we had a child. It was not unusual for us to walk in 20 minutes late (and yet we never seemed to miss the "everybody turn around and greet each other" segment. I think the pastor held off on that every week until he saw us walk in.)
So this fall, we embarked on a search for a new church home...this time in Delaware. After a few visits, Patrick announced on the way home from Delaware Grace Brethren that he liked it and thought we could regularly attend there. Patrick doesn't typically make such bold announcements, so I figured that either A) he liked it or B) he was as sick of being unsettled as I was.
And so we started attending Delaware Grace, and (due in part to the small size of the nursery, as well as in part to the fact that he is awesome) our son quickly became known to the nursery workers. And he met a friend, who is very close to his age and has about the same amount of hair (that is, not much). So the little Mister was settling in nicely. For Patrick and I however, the service size is approximately 200 times the size of the nursery and we are not nearly as awesome as we'd like to think...so meeting new people is more difficult.
Here is a little known fact about me: I hate telling new people about myself. Please note that this has nothing to do with the other person. This is because the number one question that people ask a stranger is....
After I make the above statement, the conversation can go one of many ways:
1) I hate the dentist.
-Now, I am well aware that it is not a fun place to visit. I work there for goodness sakes. Heck, I don't just work there, I AM THE FREAKING DENTIST!!!! Didn't your mama ever teach you that it's totally rude to tell a person that you just met that you hate them?!?!? Apparently this rule does not apply to dentists, as we are sub-human.
2) Oh. (uncomfortable silence) Well, I'd best be going. *abrupt end to conversation*
-I think this is typically the reaction of someone who feels like I am looking at their teeth and judging them. Trust me, when I am not at work, I don't care about your dental sins. But I can sympathize with this group of people...it's the same way I feel when someone says, "I'm a personal trainer" and I suck in my stomach and suddenly regret that pint of Ben & Jerry's I just inhaled.
3) I got this tooth that's giving me trouble if you wouldn't mind taking a look...
So this fall, we embarked on a search for a new church home...this time in Delaware. After a few visits, Patrick announced on the way home from Delaware Grace Brethren that he liked it and thought we could regularly attend there. Patrick doesn't typically make such bold announcements, so I figured that either A) he liked it or B) he was as sick of being unsettled as I was.
And so we started attending Delaware Grace, and (due in part to the small size of the nursery, as well as in part to the fact that he is awesome) our son quickly became known to the nursery workers. And he met a friend, who is very close to his age and has about the same amount of hair (that is, not much). So the little Mister was settling in nicely. For Patrick and I however, the service size is approximately 200 times the size of the nursery and we are not nearly as awesome as we'd like to think...so meeting new people is more difficult.
Here is a little known fact about me: I hate telling new people about myself. Please note that this has nothing to do with the other person. This is because the number one question that people ask a stranger is....
What do you do for a living?
And my answer is:
I'm a dentist
After I make the above statement, the conversation can go one of many ways:
1) I hate the dentist.
-Now, I am well aware that it is not a fun place to visit. I work there for goodness sakes. Heck, I don't just work there, I AM THE FREAKING DENTIST!!!! Didn't your mama ever teach you that it's totally rude to tell a person that you just met that you hate them?!?!? Apparently this rule does not apply to dentists, as we are sub-human.
2) Oh. (uncomfortable silence) Well, I'd best be going. *abrupt end to conversation*
-I think this is typically the reaction of someone who feels like I am looking at their teeth and judging them. Trust me, when I am not at work, I don't care about your dental sins. But I can sympathize with this group of people...it's the same way I feel when someone says, "I'm a personal trainer" and I suck in my stomach and suddenly regret that pint of Ben & Jerry's I just inhaled.
3) I got this tooth that's giving me trouble if you wouldn't mind taking a look...
-Yes, I would mind taking a look. You are a complete stranger, we are not in my office, you are not my patient, and (unless you are going to pay me for this advice) I am not at work. I mind very much.
4) My aunt's second cousin's husband is a dentist in Montana, Dr. Tom Smith. Do you know him?
- No, I don't actually. He must not have paid his yearly dues to the super-secret-all-dentists-know-each-other club. Alternatively, sometimes I like to mix it up a bit and say, "Oh yeah, Dr. Smith!! How is he doing these days???"
5) My dentist pulled a tooth once and his knee was up on my chest!!!
-This has never happened in the history of ever. Period. If you would like more of an explanation on WHY a dentist would never do this, feel free to leave a comment and I might get back to you.
6) You must make a lot of money
-This one, even if they are just thinking it, is THE WORST. I can honestly say that I hate that more than anything. I paid the dental school six figures for the pleasure of attending. So no, I do not take a money shower after work every night.
I have actually considered lying when I answer this question. Not because I am ashamed of my profession, I love being a dentist and we do serve a need in society (a need that people hate, but a need nonetheless). But I don't exactly know what I would say instead, so by default I always tell the truth...and brace myself for the other person's reaction.
So a couple of weeks after we started attending Delaware Grace, a very nice woman came up to us and introduced herself. We chatted a little bit, and the inevitable question came up. But when I answered, she very sweetly replied, "How nice! You must really enjoy that!" And I just stared at her...I didn't even know what to say. No judgement? No remarks about how you hate me? No random tooth issues that suddenly need resolved on a Sunday morning? Ummmm, yes, yes I do enjoy it...thank you.
Come to find out, that very nice lady is the pastor's wife. I think we might just fit in here after all...
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
How to Have a Girls' Night and Look Good Doing It
If you know me or my hubby at all, I'm sure it comes as no big surprise to you that we don't really "do" Valentine's Day. But it might come as a surprise to you that for the past 3 years we have "celebrated" this illustrious holiday with our good friends Katie and Dave. Nothing creepy, I promise. Well, as long as you don't think Katie and I referring to each other as "special friends" is creepy...
This year, Katie and I decided to go out without the guys or the kids. Some helpful background: Katie and I met shortly after her daughter was born, so to me, Katie has always been a mom. She knows things like not to give an 8 month old Honey Nut Cheerios and that kids aren't supposed to wear coats in car seats. These are things that I don't know. So to me, Katie is kinda like Dr. Spock...she is totally responsible and on top of everything at all times. Let's just say that she is the only person outside of the family that I have ever left my son with (the old ladies in the church nursery don't count) and that he was probably better off with her than he ever is with me.
Now, back to our date. So I told Katie that I thought we should go to a stage version of Pride and Prejudice that a small theater troupe was performing. She agreed, but I'm not exactly sure she knew what she was getting herself into (this would be a good place to go back and read my post about me not thinking things through or planning ahead). And I think Katie knows me well enough by now to suspect this irresponsible behavior. So this is how our pre-date conversation went:
Katie: what time should we get there?
Me: I dunno, maybe around 7?
Katie: where is it?
Me: I dunno, it's in the Riffe Center
Katie: where is that?
Me: downtown, it's one of those building that you'll know it when you see it.
Katie: is there a place to park?
Me: I assume so.
Katie: what should I be wearing? Is it dressy?
Me: uh, I'm wearing jeans.
Katie: okay, because at the Ohio Theater, you have to dress up.
Me: I'm still wearing jeans.
Despite my lack of planning, I was attempting to be conservative on the arrival time since tickets are purchased at the door. So, we got there way too early, we didn't skimp on the liberal "pay what you want" ticket prices (despite the fact that I have used my student ID for approximately 21 of my 29 years of life, so it is hard for me NOT to whip it out for a discount. I actually took it out of my wallet so I wouldn't be tempted to dishonestly save that dollar...) we were appropriately dressed for people of our age group, and the production was hilarious. All in all, we were a couple of responsible adults out for a night of culture. We talked about our kids, church, art / art museums, Europe, and crazy parenting theories. It was some of the most mature, mom-appropriate fun that I've ever had. And that's not sarcasm.
But I actually think the highlight of the night was when we were waiting to get out of the parking garage and the song Thrift Shop came on the radio. I crank it up and start singing along (omitting the foul language, of course) and Katie turns to me and says surprisingly, "you listen to country AND this???" Then she started to laugh and get into it...and we were laughing and talking so much that I turned into a loading dock by mistake. And I saw a different side of her; a non-mom side. It kinda felt like high school Kelsey and high school Katie were meeting for the first time. And you know, we got along pretty darn well...
This year, Katie and I decided to go out without the guys or the kids. Some helpful background: Katie and I met shortly after her daughter was born, so to me, Katie has always been a mom. She knows things like not to give an 8 month old Honey Nut Cheerios and that kids aren't supposed to wear coats in car seats. These are things that I don't know. So to me, Katie is kinda like Dr. Spock...she is totally responsible and on top of everything at all times. Let's just say that she is the only person outside of the family that I have ever left my son with (the old ladies in the church nursery don't count) and that he was probably better off with her than he ever is with me.
Now, back to our date. So I told Katie that I thought we should go to a stage version of Pride and Prejudice that a small theater troupe was performing. She agreed, but I'm not exactly sure she knew what she was getting herself into (this would be a good place to go back and read my post about me not thinking things through or planning ahead). And I think Katie knows me well enough by now to suspect this irresponsible behavior. So this is how our pre-date conversation went:
Katie: what time should we get there?
Me: I dunno, maybe around 7?
Katie: where is it?
Me: I dunno, it's in the Riffe Center
Katie: where is that?
Me: downtown, it's one of those building that you'll know it when you see it.
Katie: is there a place to park?
Me: I assume so.
Katie: what should I be wearing? Is it dressy?
Me: uh, I'm wearing jeans.
Katie: okay, because at the Ohio Theater, you have to dress up.
Me: I'm still wearing jeans.
Despite my lack of planning, I was attempting to be conservative on the arrival time since tickets are purchased at the door. So, we got there way too early, we didn't skimp on the liberal "pay what you want" ticket prices (despite the fact that I have used my student ID for approximately 21 of my 29 years of life, so it is hard for me NOT to whip it out for a discount. I actually took it out of my wallet so I wouldn't be tempted to dishonestly save that dollar...) we were appropriately dressed for people of our age group, and the production was hilarious. All in all, we were a couple of responsible adults out for a night of culture. We talked about our kids, church, art / art museums, Europe, and crazy parenting theories. It was some of the most mature, mom-appropriate fun that I've ever had. And that's not sarcasm.
But I actually think the highlight of the night was when we were waiting to get out of the parking garage and the song Thrift Shop came on the radio. I crank it up and start singing along (omitting the foul language, of course) and Katie turns to me and says surprisingly, "you listen to country AND this???" Then she started to laugh and get into it...and we were laughing and talking so much that I turned into a loading dock by mistake. And I saw a different side of her; a non-mom side. It kinda felt like high school Kelsey and high school Katie were meeting for the first time. And you know, we got along pretty darn well...
Saturday, February 2, 2013
Claire de Lune
Early last year, my brother's cats Otie and Claire came to live with us. That brought the list of "living things in my house that do not have a job" to 3 cats, 2 Vizslas, and a baby. I was not overjoyed at the prospect, but Otie had previously lived with us when my brother was displaced from his condo due to a fire...and Claire only weighed 5 pounds. How much trouble could she be?
Answer: a boatload. Within weeks Claire had eaten something without us knowing it and she began acting very sick. So, I rushed her to MedVet on a Friday night and sat there as they told me it would be thousands of dollars to have emergency surgery. I went out to the parking lot (in the dark, in the rain, on Claire's birthday...could this get sadder?) and called Patrick...and immediately started sobbing "I can't live with myself if we kill this cat!!!" (It wasn't so much the cat as the guilt...I have a conscience the size of South America that won't even let me live down things like not going back out to the car to get the reusable grocery bags I've forgotten). Patrick begrudgingly agreed; mostly I suspect so HE wouldn't have to live with ME thinking that I killed this cat. I sat up in our guest room the rest of the night, waiting for the surgeon to call with an update. And at 4 am, he called and I thought he said that she had eaten a baby bottle nipple. But surely I must have been dreaming or delirious. It WAS 4 am, after all.
And yet, when Patrick went to pick her up, he returned with not only Claire, but also the bottle nipple that had so expensively been surgically extracted from her. And from then on out, we realized that we had the cat equivalent to a crack addict on our hands.
Claire had to be caged whenever a bottle was out. But just when we would think we had everything safely stored, she would outsmart us. We discovered that with time and effort she could get the caps off the bottles. And chew through the hard plastic sippy cup tops. And open the closed upper kitchen cabinets. And sneak in while I was emptying the sterilizer. And jump into the playpen and snatch cups out of our son's hands as I watched.
And so this chess match continued. One mistake, and she would be all over it...and we would be rushing to MedVet for another appointment. And it wasn't just bottle nipples...it was our food, the dogs' food, anything that might have been edible, remotely edible, or ever touched by someone who has eaten food seemed too alluring for Claire to leave alone. She ate our son's bibs. She tore open too many bags of bread / crackers / chips to count. She spilled a gallon of milk all over me and a brand new pair of shoes. She ripped apart a box of Kraft mac & cheese and spread the powdered cheese all over my cabinet. She knocked an empty (borrowed) crockpot off the counter and broke the crock. She stole food off of our forks as they traveled in between the plate and our mouths. She submerged her entire head into a glass of milk. She stole Patrick's sandwiches out of his lunch bag. She took the lid off the trashcan we store the cat food in and ate herself sick. I am not exaggerating about it being parallel to living with a drug addict. You just wish that they would try to help themselves for once.
Claire was seemingly unable to do that, and this week she overdosed. We still don't know what she had recently eaten, or if perhaps it was just the accumulation of random things in her belly over time; but regardless, she became very sick and we made the difficult decision to stop her suffering and put her to sleep. I kinda feel like maybe that's what she wanted all along.
For all her many, many faults, Claire was our crack addict and she was a part of this family. As much as she frustrated the heck out of us, I admired her gumption and Patrick enjoyed seeing her bug me on a daily basis. In some ways life going forward will be easier and in some ways it will seem empty. But any way you look at it, life will definitely not be the same without Claire...
Answer: a boatload. Within weeks Claire had eaten something without us knowing it and she began acting very sick. So, I rushed her to MedVet on a Friday night and sat there as they told me it would be thousands of dollars to have emergency surgery. I went out to the parking lot (in the dark, in the rain, on Claire's birthday...could this get sadder?) and called Patrick...and immediately started sobbing "I can't live with myself if we kill this cat!!!" (It wasn't so much the cat as the guilt...I have a conscience the size of South America that won't even let me live down things like not going back out to the car to get the reusable grocery bags I've forgotten). Patrick begrudgingly agreed; mostly I suspect so HE wouldn't have to live with ME thinking that I killed this cat. I sat up in our guest room the rest of the night, waiting for the surgeon to call with an update. And at 4 am, he called and I thought he said that she had eaten a baby bottle nipple. But surely I must have been dreaming or delirious. It WAS 4 am, after all.
And yet, when Patrick went to pick her up, he returned with not only Claire, but also the bottle nipple that had so expensively been surgically extracted from her. And from then on out, we realized that we had the cat equivalent to a crack addict on our hands.
Claire had to be caged whenever a bottle was out. But just when we would think we had everything safely stored, she would outsmart us. We discovered that with time and effort she could get the caps off the bottles. And chew through the hard plastic sippy cup tops. And open the closed upper kitchen cabinets. And sneak in while I was emptying the sterilizer. And jump into the playpen and snatch cups out of our son's hands as I watched.
And so this chess match continued. One mistake, and she would be all over it...and we would be rushing to MedVet for another appointment. And it wasn't just bottle nipples...it was our food, the dogs' food, anything that might have been edible, remotely edible, or ever touched by someone who has eaten food seemed too alluring for Claire to leave alone. She ate our son's bibs. She tore open too many bags of bread / crackers / chips to count. She spilled a gallon of milk all over me and a brand new pair of shoes. She ripped apart a box of Kraft mac & cheese and spread the powdered cheese all over my cabinet. She knocked an empty (borrowed) crockpot off the counter and broke the crock. She stole food off of our forks as they traveled in between the plate and our mouths. She submerged her entire head into a glass of milk. She stole Patrick's sandwiches out of his lunch bag. She took the lid off the trashcan we store the cat food in and ate herself sick. I am not exaggerating about it being parallel to living with a drug addict. You just wish that they would try to help themselves for once.
Claire was seemingly unable to do that, and this week she overdosed. We still don't know what she had recently eaten, or if perhaps it was just the accumulation of random things in her belly over time; but regardless, she became very sick and we made the difficult decision to stop her suffering and put her to sleep. I kinda feel like maybe that's what she wanted all along.
For all her many, many faults, Claire was our crack addict and she was a part of this family. As much as she frustrated the heck out of us, I admired her gumption and Patrick enjoyed seeing her bug me on a daily basis. In some ways life going forward will be easier and in some ways it will seem empty. But any way you look at it, life will definitely not be the same without Claire...
Monday, January 21, 2013
Footloose and Fancyfree
A few months ago, Patrick and I decided to take a skiing trip to Breckenridge, Colorado to celebrate our 5 year anniversary. Yes, our anniversary is in December, but the cheap airfare was in January...so needless to say we went this past weekend.
This was to be my first time leaving our son overnight, and although I was sad about being apart from him, I eagerly pictured doing all those pre-baby activities that Patrick and I enjoyed so much. Things like eating sushi at a quiet table for two. Looking fashionable in my ski outfit without a trace of spit-up or snot anywhere on it. Going up and down the hill as many times as we wanted. Strolling hand-in-hand down the main street, stopping to shop for trendy items. Conversing for several days on an adult level. You know, all that fun stuff.
And we did get to do all of the aforementioned activities; but they didn't go as I pictured. You see, I was picturing the type of vacation that pre-baby Kelsey and Patrick would had have; but that is not who we are anymore. We are post-baby Kelsey and Patrick, and our world looks a little different. Everything we experience is seen through parent-colored glasses. With that in mind, the post-baby Kelsey and Patrick's vacation looked more like this:
We do sit at a quiet table for two and munch on sushi, but instead of being the snotty pre-baby couple who would have judged the mom across the room with the screaming child, we give her sympathetic looks and reassuring smiles.
I do get to wear my fashionable ski outfit, but in an effort to set a good future example for our son I insist that Patrick and I both wear helmets. Patrick is less than happy, but in a truly "dad" move agrees that we can't ask him to do something that we ourselves are not willing to do, and shouldn't we be a tad more careful anyway, since he depends on us? I tell myself the helmet looks good (you know, like mom-jeans.)
We do get to go up and down the hill as many times as we want, but I find myself wondering out-loud how old the little mister has to be before we can enroll him in ski school. Patrick wants to know whether the ski training leashes are exclusively for skiing or whether we can use them at, say, the grocery store.
We do stroll down the main street and shop, but the only thing we buy is a custom order superhero cape that will be embroidered with our son's initial. We are both exceptionally pleased with our purchase and spend the rest of the stroll coming up with potential superhero names for him.
We do converse on an adult level. When we walk past the Breckenridge Cannabis Club, we giggle a little, and then talk about how someday we will have to explain things like that to our son. We discuss what our next ski route is going to be, and then try to decide what he's doing right at that exact moment. We sit in the hotel's hot tub, and somehow end up telling the other couple sitting there all about how amazing we think he is and how fast the last year as flown.
We are those people. You know the type: those couples who can't stop talking / thinking / missing their kids. Yep, that's us. Please don't get me wrong, I am not saying that we didn't enjoy our trip. No, no, post-baby Patrick and I had a phenomenal time and I am sure at some point we will leave our son with his grandparents again (if they're willing!) so we can catch up as a couple. I mean, we would never know how much we miss him if we don't leave him once and a while, right? But at the end of that future trip, if the plane wanted to go just a tad faster so I could get home to my little mister, that would be all right by me...
This was to be my first time leaving our son overnight, and although I was sad about being apart from him, I eagerly pictured doing all those pre-baby activities that Patrick and I enjoyed so much. Things like eating sushi at a quiet table for two. Looking fashionable in my ski outfit without a trace of spit-up or snot anywhere on it. Going up and down the hill as many times as we wanted. Strolling hand-in-hand down the main street, stopping to shop for trendy items. Conversing for several days on an adult level. You know, all that fun stuff.
And we did get to do all of the aforementioned activities; but they didn't go as I pictured. You see, I was picturing the type of vacation that pre-baby Kelsey and Patrick would had have; but that is not who we are anymore. We are post-baby Kelsey and Patrick, and our world looks a little different. Everything we experience is seen through parent-colored glasses. With that in mind, the post-baby Kelsey and Patrick's vacation looked more like this:
We do sit at a quiet table for two and munch on sushi, but instead of being the snotty pre-baby couple who would have judged the mom across the room with the screaming child, we give her sympathetic looks and reassuring smiles.
I do get to wear my fashionable ski outfit, but in an effort to set a good future example for our son I insist that Patrick and I both wear helmets. Patrick is less than happy, but in a truly "dad" move agrees that we can't ask him to do something that we ourselves are not willing to do, and shouldn't we be a tad more careful anyway, since he depends on us? I tell myself the helmet looks good (you know, like mom-jeans.)
We do get to go up and down the hill as many times as we want, but I find myself wondering out-loud how old the little mister has to be before we can enroll him in ski school. Patrick wants to know whether the ski training leashes are exclusively for skiing or whether we can use them at, say, the grocery store.
We do stroll down the main street and shop, but the only thing we buy is a custom order superhero cape that will be embroidered with our son's initial. We are both exceptionally pleased with our purchase and spend the rest of the stroll coming up with potential superhero names for him.
We do converse on an adult level. When we walk past the Breckenridge Cannabis Club, we giggle a little, and then talk about how someday we will have to explain things like that to our son. We discuss what our next ski route is going to be, and then try to decide what he's doing right at that exact moment. We sit in the hotel's hot tub, and somehow end up telling the other couple sitting there all about how amazing we think he is and how fast the last year as flown.
We are those people. You know the type: those couples who can't stop talking / thinking / missing their kids. Yep, that's us. Please don't get me wrong, I am not saying that we didn't enjoy our trip. No, no, post-baby Patrick and I had a phenomenal time and I am sure at some point we will leave our son with his grandparents again (if they're willing!) so we can catch up as a couple. I mean, we would never know how much we miss him if we don't leave him once and a while, right? But at the end of that future trip, if the plane wanted to go just a tad faster so I could get home to my little mister, that would be all right by me...
Sunday, January 13, 2013
Everything I Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten
A couple of weeks ago, my mom mentioned that she was "still waiting" on the follow-up post to my American History K post where I talked about how I grew up wanting to run like my dad. This caught me totally off guard...what follow-up?? Um, you know, the follow-up? The one where you talk about how you want to be just like your mom?? Oh yeah, that one...
The reason I was caught off-guard is because I think it's obvious how much I want to be like my mom. She raised me, didn't she? And I'm freaking ah-ma-zing, right? ;) Seriously though, why wouldn't I want to be just like her? So on this, the week of my son's birthday, I would like to write that follow-up post by making a list of some of the things my mom taught me that I want to teach my son. Drumroll, please...
1. It is okay to get really, really, reeeeeeeeally messy. I will let you wash in my bathroom sink even if it is clean and put your clothes in the washer even though I have 16 other loads of laundry that need done. And we can always throw those muddy socks away and get new ones.
2. If you are doing something destructive toward yourself or others, I will be your worst nightmare. (That last part is an actual quote from my mom. At the time, I think I was scared. Come to think about it, I still am scared...)
3. On snow days, The Price is Right qualifies as educational television and bulls-eyes as a nutritious lunch.
4. Two dogs are better than one. Five dogs are better than two. And the sillier their names are, the better.
5. Your dad and I fight occasionally. It does not mean we are getting a divorce or that we don't love each other. When you are married, you will understand.
6. If you are an otherwise good kid, I will forgive a fault or two along the way. But could you at least get your smelly sports bra out from the middle of the family room?? (Hopefully I won't be saying that exact phrase to my son!)
7. "Your dad would love to buy you this" justifies any purchase.
8. If you want something done right, just do it yourself. Really.
9. I will always be your advocate when you need one, but that doesn't mean that you will never do anything wrong (even in my eyes!)
10. Don't drink from other people's water bottles. That's how oral herpes gets spread. (I don't think that was my mom's reasoning for why she didn't want us doing this, but ever since those oral pathology lectures in dental school, it will be mine!)
11. Sure, I would love to give up several hours of my evening to quiz you on questions you already know the answer to if it will make you feel like you will do better on the test. And yes, I will do this all the way through professional school if you want me to. Siiiiigh.
12. Don't question why I'm perfectly fine sending you to Europe but don't want you to go midnight bowling in Columbus. It's called "mother's intuition" and I don't have to explain it to you.
13. It's okay not to be perfect. You don't need to throw the paper where the teacher corrected you in the trash / walk down the hall with your speech therapy folder hidden inside your shirt / make me go to a parent-teacher conference because the art teacher gave you an A-. Especially that last one.
14. Being a Christian doesn't mean you can't read out of a purple Bible and coordinate your accessories accordingly.
15. I will listen to you and make you feel like you are the most interesting person in the world, even when you're not.
I feel like I could go on and on, and I'm sure that as my son grows I will remember more pearls of wisdom that my mom passed along to me during childhood. And I will start to say things like, "get your fingers out of your mouth!" and "stop bugging the dogs!" and I will truly be well on my way to becoming my mother. But you know, I think I might just be okay with that...
The reason I was caught off-guard is because I think it's obvious how much I want to be like my mom. She raised me, didn't she? And I'm freaking ah-ma-zing, right? ;) Seriously though, why wouldn't I want to be just like her? So on this, the week of my son's birthday, I would like to write that follow-up post by making a list of some of the things my mom taught me that I want to teach my son. Drumroll, please...
1. It is okay to get really, really, reeeeeeeeally messy. I will let you wash in my bathroom sink even if it is clean and put your clothes in the washer even though I have 16 other loads of laundry that need done. And we can always throw those muddy socks away and get new ones.
2. If you are doing something destructive toward yourself or others, I will be your worst nightmare. (That last part is an actual quote from my mom. At the time, I think I was scared. Come to think about it, I still am scared...)
3. On snow days, The Price is Right qualifies as educational television and bulls-eyes as a nutritious lunch.
4. Two dogs are better than one. Five dogs are better than two. And the sillier their names are, the better.
5. Your dad and I fight occasionally. It does not mean we are getting a divorce or that we don't love each other. When you are married, you will understand.
6. If you are an otherwise good kid, I will forgive a fault or two along the way. But could you at least get your smelly sports bra out from the middle of the family room?? (Hopefully I won't be saying that exact phrase to my son!)
7. "Your dad would love to buy you this" justifies any purchase.
8. If you want something done right, just do it yourself. Really.
9. I will always be your advocate when you need one, but that doesn't mean that you will never do anything wrong (even in my eyes!)
10. Don't drink from other people's water bottles. That's how oral herpes gets spread. (I don't think that was my mom's reasoning for why she didn't want us doing this, but ever since those oral pathology lectures in dental school, it will be mine!)
11. Sure, I would love to give up several hours of my evening to quiz you on questions you already know the answer to if it will make you feel like you will do better on the test. And yes, I will do this all the way through professional school if you want me to. Siiiiigh.
12. Don't question why I'm perfectly fine sending you to Europe but don't want you to go midnight bowling in Columbus. It's called "mother's intuition" and I don't have to explain it to you.
13. It's okay not to be perfect. You don't need to throw the paper where the teacher corrected you in the trash / walk down the hall with your speech therapy folder hidden inside your shirt / make me go to a parent-teacher conference because the art teacher gave you an A-. Especially that last one.
14. Being a Christian doesn't mean you can't read out of a purple Bible and coordinate your accessories accordingly.
15. I will listen to you and make you feel like you are the most interesting person in the world, even when you're not.
I feel like I could go on and on, and I'm sure that as my son grows I will remember more pearls of wisdom that my mom passed along to me during childhood. And I will start to say things like, "get your fingers out of your mouth!" and "stop bugging the dogs!" and I will truly be well on my way to becoming my mother. But you know, I think I might just be okay with that...
 |
| Don't we look just alike?? We DO have the same teeth, but I bet I'm the only one that noticed that... |
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)