The 3 Day Walk

Well, I think we can all agree that I failed the blog-a-thon month.

I have good reason, though. November also happens to be the month that I embarked on one of the greatest challenges of my life.

I took on the Susan G. Komen 3 Day Walk for a Cure and attempted to walk 60 miles in 3 days.

I confess, my walking partner, Shawna, and I did not do all 60. We did more like 45. But still, that's more walking than I've done in awhile.

If you haven't done the 3 Day Walk, then in your wildest imagination you can't imagine what it's like. It's beyond amazing.

For 3 Days, I answered not one email from work. I didn't even take my computer to San Diego.

For 3 Days my only responsibility was to take care of myself, to take care of my walking partner, and to walk and walk and walk and walk. Oh, and to have fun doing it. And to ignore the pain. To yell, "Limping is still walking!" when I felt like I couldn't walk anymore.

On Day 1, I wore the worst shoes I could have possibly worn. I wore these "easy tone" shoes and by mile 4, my feet felt like they were on fire. I had to redo the moleskin bandages on my feet at every pit stop. There were times I thought to myself, "I am so not going to make it. I can't do this. I'm already in pain."

But then a breast cancer survivor would walk by me. Or a van full of moms dressed in pink boas would drive by cheering us on and playing music full blast. Or someone would give me candy. Or a little girl's sign would say, "The life you are saving might be my own." So I kept walking. And walking.

We walked 18.5 miles on Day 1. Some of those miles included the killer hill up to Torrey Pines Lodge in San Diego. If you want to know how awful that hill was, picture a walker on the side of the road throwing up. Thank God it wasn't me, but it could have been.

On Day 2, I changed to different shoes and the bottoms of my feet felt better, but the tops of my toes started to get blisters. My back started to ache. There were longer stretches of time between people who cheered, which allowed us to enjoy the beauty around us. Then, right when we would need it, a huge group of people would be there with signs and candy and smiles and 'thank you's' and it would propel us forward to the next pit stop, where I would wrap my toes. Toward the end of the day, when I really wanted to quit, some guy was passing out little tequila shots (it was awesome) and then we met this woman who was dancing around and we come to find out she's just one year off her treatment for breast cancer and she did the San Francisco 3 Day Walk just recently, and she raised $12,000 in fundraising money. I loved her. And her colorful friend (I don't remember his name) played Abba on his stereo for us so we could dance our way to the end. We did 15.5 miles that day.

At the end of the day, my husband's cousin Susie picked us up at "camp" and took us back to her house. Camp is full of pink tents where lots of walkers stay. They also have this tent set up called "In Remembrance" and when you walk into this large tent, there is a smaller tent in the middle with all these notes on it from walkers who have written the names of people they have lost to breast cancer. Around the sides of the tent are pictures of women who had done the walk, and then passed away from breast cancer. All these courageous, amazing women. I felt so thankful that my mother was one of the blessed ones- a ten year survivor.

Susie and her husband fed us smoked tri tip and salad and garlic bread. Then we went for a soak in their hot tub outside and Susie brought us a glass of wine. I slept like a baby that night.

The morning of Day 3, I realized my feet wouldn't fit in any of my shoes. I put on one shoe and my foot screamed for me to take it off. I couldn't even get the other shoe on. "What will I do?" I asked my husband. All I could think about was finishing. I had to finish.

We figured out that cousin Susie wears one size bigger than me. I put her shoes on and they fit perfectly and felt fantastic.

We walked only 12 miles on Day 3. We were late getting started (Starbucks run) and then we stopped to have lunch with Shawna's boyfriend in Old Town. It was a blast. People gave us mimosas in the morning (don't worry, they were small, and we were told to 'drink your water' all the time) and candy and kleenex and stickers and music and anything else they could think of. We took pictures. We laughed and made up funny words. We stretched at every stop light. And in the end...we cried.

Closing Ceremonies were incredible. Picture 3,600 people who walked. Picture $9 million raised for breast cancer. Picture a party of music and screaming and laughing. Picture "thank you" being told to you by almost every member in the community. And picture the survivors. So many women. They paraded in between us during the closing ceremony while we all held up one shoe and shouted to them "You're beautiful! You're courageous! Thank you for walking!" and tears poured down all of our faces.

I didn't even mention the times when my husband showed up with my kids to cheer me on. Or the San Diego Police Department who dressed in pink and rode beside us on bikes and were so amazingly nice. Or the sorority team who wore T-Shirts that said, "Whoever says winning isn't everything, isn't fighting breast cancer."

I woke up this morning feeling sore and tired. And sort of sad. Kind of like the let down you have after camp. The "What do I do now?" feeling. The sensation that I should be putting on my tennis shoes and I should start walking. Only they don't fit me right now.

And I gained 5 pounds. Can you believe it? My husband says it has to be water weight because I'm swollen. Whatever. I know I didn't have 5 pounds of electrolytes and candy.

I'm doing this again in 2013 if anyone wants to be part of a team.

Let's go for a walk.

Remembering the attention span of a baby is important.

Remembering the attention span of a baby is important.

And even if you do, that doesn't mean everyone else around you will.

And so you'll end up feeding chocolate cheesecake to your 15 month old to appease him.

Today we went out to brunch at some golf/country club in Beaumont.

We went after church, so at least we were dressed okay. But because neither my husband or my Mother-In-Law knew exactly where we were going, we ended up driving around in circles for awhile. My daughter contributed her two cents to the argument my husband and his mother were having up front about where we were going. I was in the very back of the van and my job was to keep my body from falling off the seat everytime my mother-in-law suddenly slammed on the brakes, while correcting my daughter in proper back seat manners. The baby slept peacefully through the whole thing.

I always carry a "bag of stuff" anytime I have my children with me. I don't call it a diaper bag, because diaper bag would indicate some sort of organizational thinking and I ceased that a long time ago, so now I just have this "bag of stuff". It usually does include a diaper and a baggie of wipes. It also includes various food items intended on distracting my children. I also may throw in a toy or two, but I can't testify as to whether the toy is always in good condition or not.

Today's "bag of stuff" contained 1 diaper, 1 baggie of wipes, 1 baggie of crunchy veggie sticks, and one baby yogurt. Oh, and I made my husband go back to the car after we got in the restaurant, for this new strawberry milk thing Gerber has made. It's like a juice box, only it's strawberry milk for toddlers.

My husband going back to the car delayed us some.

My mother-in-law going back to the car delayed us some.

By the time we had sat down to eat, the baby had worked his way through half of his veggie sticks and 5 of the 10 minutes he can tolerate a high chair.

So far my children were the models of good restaurant behavior. If you know the attention span of a baby, you know this won't last long.

The 15 month old sucked down that strawberry milk quicker than I can say, "Slow down, little buddy."

So with a full plate in front of me, I had half a baggie of veggie sticks (3 minutes eating time) and a baby yogurt (2 minutes eating time)to distract the toddler. My daughter started to whine, so we distracted her with bacon and some kind of strawberry tart.

She likes bacon.

I did finish my biscuits (and gravy!) before the squirming in the high chair started.
I was able to finish my little omlette because the two Simon and Garfunkel sound alike guitarists took the stage and held the children's fascination for about 3 extra minutes. Then my husband took the baby out for a walk.

Then I took the baby out for a walk.

Then my husband took the baby out for a walk again.

Then I got a piece of cheesecake. Right when my husband brought the baby back.

How is it children know the sight and smell of chocolate so well? How is it they know they will like it?

This baby, who is only 15 months old and can only say "sock" and "up" and "uh-oh" and "mama", reached as far across the table as he could and grabbed my cheesecake fork with the intention of bringing it to his mouth.

Baby likes chocolate cheesecake.

A lot.

In Protest

There has been a lot of news lately about the OWS people (Occupy Wall Street- for those of you out of the "know"). I won't comment whether I agree or disagree with the movement-okay, I will.

I feel very diplomatic about it. I agree with some. Not all. I agree to the right to protest. As long as it's not my children doing the protesting against me. I'm slightly jealous in the fact that I wish I could take a drum set down to the street and hang out singing and drumming. However, when I think about how people are probably starting to smell, I decide it doesn't seem so fun. And I would be the only conservative there saying "yeah, you have some valid reasons for being here-but I'm here for the drums."

However, it has got me thinking about the act of protesting and what would be appropriate to protest in the eyes of a child. My children - to be exact.

So if my kids were professional protesters-these are what they would deem "protestable". They have already tested the waters on these. All they need are drums and signs.

I call it "Occupy Ross House".

Things that are worthy of a protest:

1) Getting out of the tub before "prune skin" has set in

2) Any vegetable

3) Turning off 'Little Einsteins' before it's over

4) Putting away toys

5) Throwing trash away

6) Going to bed at a decent hour

7) Not getting a bedtime story

8) Where's my juice?

9) Eating squash with mixed cereal-again

10) Being denied more Halloween candy


Things I wish I could protest about:

1) Not being able to finish a hot cup of coffee

2) Little hands pounding on the bathroom door when I'm trying to pee

3) Eating lunch standing up so the baby doesn't grab it

4) Being woken up in the middle of the night

5) Being "snobbered" (see previous blogs) on

6) Whining

I'm counting this blog toward tomorrow. This blog-a-thon thing has me so confused.

What day am I on?

While at a work meeting, my asthmatic hyper-on-medicine daughter kept my husband very busy.

They made pipe cleaner crafts.

One such craft was two pipe cleaners forming an "X" with some glitter glue in the middle holding them together.

"What is it?" I asked her. (It's always good to ask)

"It's an 'X'", she told me.

Some of the pipe cleaner creations were very cute. A pipe cleaner shaped like a star on top of another pipe cleaner was my favorite.

"Nice wand," I said.

"That's a Christmas Star!"

I picked up a pipe cleaner that was all scrunched up off the table and went to go throw it in the trash, thinking it was the discards of their activity.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?" She yelled.

"Don't yell. I'm throwing the trash away."

"That's not trash! That's a snowball."

See? I should have asked.

What shall we do with the drunken sailor?

I noticed that I ended my blog yesterday in mid-sentence. That's because I was very tired. I don't even remember writing that partial sentence.

Why was I tired? Well, for one thing I guess I was fighting off a cold because I woke up this morning with one.

For another thing, I was writing the blog from Urgent Care. We had to take my daughter to Urgent Care because she caught some kind of viral thing and her asthma kicked in. After three nebulizer treatments at our house without any success, we decided to take her to Urgent Care.

I hate asthma. I have asthma, but I haven't had a full on attack in years. My daughter was having a full on attack and she was terrified. She was also very hyper from the medicine. It's not a good combination.

"I need medicine!" She yelled at me.

"I don't look happy!" She cried.

It was awful.

Thankfully, the good nurses and doctors at Urgent Care accepted her right away and rushed her into a room where they gave her a double dose of albuterol and some other medicine we don't have at home. Then they gave her steroids.

She was breathing much better afterward. And if she wasn't hyper before, well, this did it for sure.

While we waited for her prescription of a new inhaler and more steroids, my daughter danced in circles singing, "The pharmacy! The pharmacy! Oh, I love the pharmacy!"

I should have waited to blog about how children can change subjects on you quickly until after last night. Today was a whirlwind of changing subjects.

ME: You have to stay home from preschool today.

HER: NOOOOO!! I'll never see my friend Emily again! Can I do a craft?

ME: What would you like to do?

HER: I want to color a picture. No, I want to make Christmas decorations. I want some juice.

Perhaps putting scissors in the hands of a child on steroids and asthma medicine is a bad idea.

HER: I'm hungry.

ME: Would you like something to eat.

HER: No. Not now. I'm busy. Can I watch 'The Incredibles'?

ME: Okay, I'll be waayyy over here in case you need me. Please put the scissors down.


Another thing I noticed with this round of medicine is that she walks a little crooked. Kind of like a drunken sailor who's trying really hard not to show he's been drinking.

I asked her if she was okay, but she just sang a song about ocean animals in return and asked where the glitter was.

I think this is payback. My mother tells stories about me with asthma when I was little. Apparently after a hefty shot of adrenaline, I told one doctor I had six brothers and sisters. Then I proceeded to recite their names. I gave them names like "Mary Margaret".

Another time after a shot of adrenaline, I dragged my toy box into my mother's bedroom at 2am and said, "play."

When I was two years old, I had to be hospitalized for asthma. While in the hospital, I was so full of adrenaline that I pulled down the oxygen tent the doctors had put up over my bed and stomped on it like a gorilla.

It's going to take me a week to clean all of this up.

And I have 2 more days of this at least.

Yesterday was quite noisy in the car.

Have you ever noticed how children can change subjects on you without any kind of segue what-so-ever?

One moment my daughter was telling me something about something. I would be more specific, but I can't because I couldn't hear her over the talk radio show I had on and the noises my toddler was making.

Then she stopped mid-sentence and said all of a sudden, "Ian is merming."

I said, "What? He's squirming?"

"No. He's merming."

"He's murmuring?"

"No! He's merming!"

"What in the world does that mean?"

My daughter sighed indignantly as if to say to some unknown companion ,"Do you see what I have to put up with?"

Then she said, "Mama! He's going 'merrrr....merrrrr...'merrrr."

And indeed, that's exactly how the sound he was making could be described.

I imagine that all children have their own vocabulary for things. My daughter comes up with new words all the time. One time her brother wiped his nose and drooled on her all at the same time. She said, "Aahhh! Ian snobbered on me!"

Snobbering is a pretty common occurence in our house.

And I have no doubt that until a new term comes along, merming will be a frequent noise heard in the backseat of the car.

I think my son learned how to merm from my husband. I think he merms in his sleep.

I bet I merm in my sleep and I

The Noisy Hawaiian Fishermen

Sometimes, not very often nowadays, but sometimes people ask me what it was like to live in Hawaii.

I lived in Hawaii (Maui to be exact) for 18 months while I was in 6th and 7th grade, but I think Maui was a part of my life way before that.

You see, my Grandpa worked for American Airlines and back in the day it was easier to fly stand by, and we used to fly stand by to Maui almost every year from the time I was little.

My mother would probably tell you that it was never easy to fly stand by, I was just little, so everything was an adventure to me.

Eventually, my grandparents bought a condo on Maui in Kahana and that's where we would stay whenever we went to the island.

My grandparents condo was located on the end of this condo/hotel complex. The opposite end from the swimming pool, which is just unjust to a child who feels like it takes forever to trek down the stairs and across the property to get to the pool.
Especially when I would forget to wear my zori's (flipflops) and would try and run from the shade of one palm tree to the next to make it to the pool.

In my little world, I owned that condo/hotel complex and everyone else was just visitors from the mainland. I was sure no one else knew all the nooks and crannies of that place. No one else knew the names of the secretaries in the main office, how to get to the roof (eventually they figured out that a few of us "locals" knew how to get to the roof and one summer they built a gate with a lock going up to the roof-so unfair), and which elevator buttons would stick. It was like a Hawaiian version of Eloise at the Plaza Hotel, only I was at the Kahana Reef.

Anyway, when my grandparents retired, they moved to their condo on Maui and a few years later, my mom married my step-dad and we followed suit and moved to Maui too. (My parents and I lived on the opposite side of the island, which I think was a ploy by my step dad to at least keep some distance between him and his new mother-in-law).

There are so many things that I remember about Maui and feel some sort of kinship or tie to, that I could probably spend the whole month of November blogging about the island, but I won't.

However, I will become nostalgic for a bit and describe one aspect that speaks to what Maui really is.

And no, it's not the Maui Car story. That's for the next day.

For this to make sense, I should specify that the Kahana Reef was right on the beach, so one could conceivably drink their coffee while sitting on the white sand and watching the waves roll in.

Next to the Kahana Reef, on the side where my grandparents lived, was a little grass shack and a very noisy family of Hawaiians.

To this day, I have no idea how big that family was.

Here was my routine when I would stay with my grandparents.

Each night, my grandparents would pull out their sofa bed which was located right next to the lanai (patio) that faced the beach. They would kiss me goodnight, I would open the patio door and lay down on the sofa bed to let the ocean breeze wash over me and listen to the waves. I would peek out to see the moonlight on the ocean. I would watch the gekkos crawl across my grandparents living room wall (it's okay-they look like lizards, but they are cuter and eat mosquitos). I never felt safer and more at peace than I did in those moments. I could hear the family of noisy Hawaiians next door "talking story" around the fire pit they had built. I would fall asleep to the sound of waves and distant laughter.

Each morning, right at sunrise, I would be awakened by the noisy Hawaiians.

You see, this family made their living as fishermen. Which meant fishing at sunrise.
Every once in awhile they would take a break and not go fishing, but it was pretty much a given that those noisy Hawaiians would be talking up a storm, piling in their little boats with their nets, and rowing out to sea to go catch some fish.

They were the most mysterious people in the world to me.

Sometimes I would get up and go sit on the beach and watch them row out to sea.

Most of the time I would groan and roll over and hope they got out to sea quick enough for me to fall back asleep.

I would pull myself together enough to exchange my jammies for a bathing suit and go walk on the beach in the mornings. I would always walk slowly by the grass shack, trying to see what it looked like on the inside. Trying to catch a glimpse at one of those Hawaiians. If I was lucky enough, I would get to wave at some small child in the family, and they would wave back.

It's been a decade since I've been to Maui. It's been way longer than that since we, and then my grandparents moved off the island. When I went back ten years ago, I actually stayed at the Kahana Reef. One story up from my grandparents old condo.

The little grass shack wasn't there. It's been replaced by some other hotel. I felt like crying when I realized it was gone. I had no ownership of the hotel or the little grass shack, but I still felt as if someone had bulldozed over part of my childhood without asking me if it was okay.

I hope wherever that family went to, they're still fishing at sunrise.

Gravy...not just for breakfast anymore

I was just looking at a website of ideas of things to do with kids for Thanksgiving.

Most of them involve food.

Hallelujah. I love food.

Here's my blog for today in honor of my favorite meal of the year. Thanksgiving.

The Top Ten Things To Put Gravy On:
(notice how sometimes I have to throw in comments because gravy is so wonderful)

1) Biscuits
*I first discovered biscuits and gravy while traveling across country with my good friend, Jenny. We went to this restaurant called 'Happy Chef'. It's this great restaurant all across the mid-west. It's worth going to the mid-west for. Well, that and "Wall Drugstore" -but that's another blog.

2) Mashed Potatoes
*It's a given

3) Turkey
*Also a given

4) Country fried potatoes
*Let's just assume by now that if you put gravy on a potato, it's good

5) Pork Chops
*Oh, I have the best recipe for a pork chop sauce/gravy

6) Steak
*Okay, it's more of a portabella mushroom sauce, but I'm calling it gravy for now

7) Stuffing
*Is that drool on my computer?

8) Scrambled Eggs
*This is my blog. I can put what I want.

9) Pop Overs
*Ask Paula Dean or Bobby Flay. They both have a great recipe. Or have your Aunt take you to Neiman Marcus in Newport Beach for lunch. You can't have my Aunt. She takes me to Neiman Marcus for lunch. Get your own rich Aunt with money. And then call me. We'll do lunch.

10) Anything you can put in a tortilla.
*That's for my husband. If you can fit it in a tortilla, he'll eat it. And if you have leftover gravy in the fridge-he'll throw that on top.

Nemo, Nemo, and Spot

November is blog-a-thon month.

Some crazy blogger out there decided to challenge all bloggers to blog something every day during the month of November. And some crazy parent of a few of my students decided to mention it.

I don't think I can blog every day for a month-so I'm going to take it one day at a time.

When we moved in to our house, one of the selling points for me was this gorgeous garden surrounding a little fountain in the backyard.

Because we have children, the garden is now a forest. And for the past two years, the fountain had 2 (maybe 3) goldfish in it.

Up until yesterday.

Isn't it crazy that the fish disappeared on Halloween?

Anyway, about 2 and a half years ago, I decided to purchase a few goldfish for my then 2 year old daughter because she was so in love with the movie "Finding Nemo." I don't know what I was thinking. I like aquariums in other peoples houses, but I can't stand the smell of dirty fish water and fish food. But I also counted on the fact that every goldfish I ever owned only lasted about 6 weeks. I could be inconvenienced for six weeks.

My husband agreed to the purchase with the promise that I would take care of the aquarium and fish. "No problem," I told him.

We had a small aquarium already. It was given as a gift to me at my daughter's baby shower with the explanation that fish were "calming" to little kids.

I let my daughter pick out the fish. She picked 3 and named them "Nemo", "Nemo", and "Spot". (One goldfish had a black spot). The fish lasted in the aquarium for 6 months, which is longer then I had expected them to last. I said to my husband, "Aren't they supposed to be dead by now?"

My husband suggested that we put them in the fountain to eat the mosquito eggs forming on the top of the water. ("It's not a koi pond," I said).He also suggested that they might die, but he wasn't wishing death on them. (read: like his spouse). I threw the fish in the fountain.

The fish thrived in fountain. Okay, that's not entirely true. We lost Spot early on and we couldn't figure out what had happened to him. We had all sorts of theories about possible cats or birds in the area, but no real proof of any mischeif. (or do you spell that mischief?)

A few weeks later, a new fish appeared.

"Spot is back," my husband said.

"That's not Spot," I said, looking at the new fish. "Where's it's spot on it's back? Where has it been? It's not like it can hide for weeks in this fountain."

We thought maybe Nemo and Nemo had a baby, but then the new fish was too big to be a baby. And it didn't look like Spot.


Nemo and Nemo (and the fish that may or may not have been Spot)lasted for two years. Well, Nemo and Nemo did. The fish that may have been Spot disappeared again. Every once in awhile I would throw out, "Haven't those fish died yet?"

My husband took over the feeding and care of the fish. I think he was afraid I might kill them on purpose. I wouldn't have. But I would have claimed innocent if they had met with an untimely "accident".

All our fish are gone as of Halloween. I didn't do it. In fact, I was kind of sad that the fish are gone. Not as sad as my husband was, because I think he had grown attached to those little orange creatures, but still.

My daughter hasn't put it together that the fish are gone. I thought it not right to tell her on Halloween.

We are still trying to figure out what happened to them. My husband whispered, "I think it may have been a cat."

Trick on the fish. Treat for the cat, I guess. Poor fish.

A Can Of Tuna

Halloween is over.

I think by now Halloween and I have an understanding with each other.
I let it create havoc with my children and do strange things to my husband with his obsession of making the perfect scary black cape and in turn...

I get to dress up my small children in adorable little costumes and aim to get at least one decent picture of them before the the princess dress gets grass stains or the toddler tears his monkey suit off.

As an added bonus, I get to raid my daughter's candy stash.

It wasn't always so, this understanding. One year, less than a decade ago, I decided to boycott Halloween. I think Halloween plotted to get me back.

I had moved into my cute little condo at the beginning of that year, my first official stab at single homeownership, and I had noticed that aside from my next door neighbor's little boy, there weren't any kids in our condo complex.

I asked my neighbor, Jennifer, if there were any other kids in the complex besides her son.

She replied, "No. It's just us. Then there's single people, like you. Oh, and some seniors and Ron." (Ron later became "Denise", but when I asked this question, I think Ron was still Ron and not Denise. We had a very entertaining little area).

Jennifer went on to explain that she usually takes her son trick-or-treating around the better parts of the community (read: places where they dish out lots of candy) and that our neighborhood stayed basically dormant on Halloween.

It was then I had decided to boycott Halloween. I planned to turn my porch light off (just in case anyone thought of ringing my doorbell) and make some sort of comfort food and watch chick flicks all night. By myself. I was so excited planning my evening relaxing at home, that it never crossed my mind to buy any kind of candy. Mistake number one.

So there I was, watching chick flicks and eating macaroni and cheese out of the pan (Shut up. You know you've done it too.) when the doorbell rings.

I ignore it.

It rings again.

I get up and answer the door. Mistake number two. There stands Jennifer with her son. I had forgotten to tell my neighbor of my plan to stay in. I thought she went elsewhere for candy.

"Hi!" I say all friendly like with an added tone of, "What are you doing ringing my doorbell, don't you know I'm watching chick flicks and eating macaroni and cheese out of a pan?"

"Trick or treat!" says Jennifer's son.

"Trick. Seriously. I don't have any candy."(If this were a movie this is where the camera would pan to the very sad face of the son. Kind of like in 'Oliver' with the 'Please, sir, I want some more' look).

"I'm so sorry. Really. I have nothing. I have a couple of cans of tuna fish in my pantry, but that's it."

"Okay!" says the boy, like he's hit the jack pot.

"Um...okay." I rushed to my pantry, grabbed the one can of tuna I actually had, and put it in his candy bag.

"Happy Halloween!" I say.

The boy is all smiles as he turns to go. My neighbor is giggling. Halloween somewhere is smirking.

I never boycotted Halloween again.