From Whence it Comes

This morning was a challenging one.   I woke up at three-somethign and decided it was too early to take Lyrica in preparation for a run at six.  I then managed to not sleep well through the four o'clock hour in when I did take the Lyrica, only to make it to the five o'clock hour when my neighbor and I decided to cancel our run because it had started raining.   I was't able to go back to sleep well at that point because I was in too much pain so I spent the time tossing and turning, trying to identify the primary cause of the pain.

This morning isn't typical.   I do have pain, but for the most part it doesn't pile up like it did today.   I realized this morning that I regularly have to determine what the source of the pain is, and then determine what, if anything, I'm going to do about it.

First, there is "workout pain" that comes from exercising.   This pain is expected and a normal response to a good workout.   Perhaps an ibuprofen would help, but it's normally not necessary.   The second type of pain is inflamed muscles and pain surrounding issues with subluxations in my spine.   I can have months where my back is great and then other times, like this past week, where I've had significant pain that may take weeks to really get back to normal.   The final type of pain is pure neurological.   It's neuropathy or radiculopathy or myopathy related to damage to my spinal cord and nerves.  

Mornings are the worst times, pain-wise, which is why I set my alarm an hour before I plan on starting to exercise, so I can take Lyrica.   It makes a huge difference.    I had a follow-up with my doctor about my spine and the Lyrica this week.  I told him I'm fighting taking the medicine because I don't really want to be on it.   I'm taking what I need, but I'm not taking more than I need if I can help it.    I've found a good balance at a lower dose than we thought I might need.   The medicine does help and I'm glad to have it as an option, but that does't mean I like having to take it.

The Big Boy Update:  My son likes smoothies.  He specifically likes the Chocolaka type.   He told me, "Chocolaka makes me strong enough to hold up a barn."  Then he told me, "you have a long neck that's really a tree."

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  My daughter came downstairs today, looked at my husband's computer screen and said, "I didn't paint that."   And she was right.   My husband has taken paintings she's done twice before, scanned them in and made them his desktop background.   My son has recently taken up painting at school and this past week, his artwork became dad's new screen background.  My daughter was right in that it wasn't her painting.

Remedial Cursive

My children are learning cursive in school for their first letters (or sounds as they think of them at this point.)   As we became more aware of what happens in a Montessori classroom, we've grown to respect the overall process of how the children learn particular skills.    Of late though, I've been thinking a lot about cursive personally.

I learned cursive and block letters, but I believe I learned block letters first.   Cursive is designed to help you write more quickly and with less stress on the hand and I remember finding cursive both interesting and frustrating.   I remember being confused at how some letters connected to others.   I was able to write a lowercase 'b' relatively the same every time in block letters, but when it had different letters before and after it in a word, there was no telling how it would turn out.

Today as an adult, I write in a combination of block and cursive.  I hadn't really paid much attention to this other than to say I had terrible penmanship, until my children began to come home with new sounds.   They're taught "sounds" and those sounds are the sound the particular letter makes, such as, "luh" for the letter L.    The name of the letter isn't actually important in learning how to recognize the letter, know how the letter sounds in words and write the letter.  

So we're learning cursive lowercase letters together.   I have a chalk board at home and a set of the sandpaper letters they use at school.   When letters come up, we go to the chalk board, write them out, trace them and then discuss what words start with that sound.    A favorite game now is the, "I spy with my little eye" game.   They play this game in school all the time with the added phrase of, "and I spy something that starts with the sound, 'buh, buh, buh."   We play on the way to school a lot.

I digress though because this post was meant to be about cursive writing and my terrible penmanship.    So with all the focus on cursive letters, I decided I'd better find out if I even remembered how to write in full, non-broken cursive.    Was it faster or slower than my cobbled together mash-up of writing styles?  And could I improve my writing by going to full-cursive handwriting.  

I'm still in the early stages but I can tell you the first stage was uncomfortable.  I had to look up things several times.  I wasn't sure how to do the capital of some letters and there were connections that eluded me.    I think I'm past that now.   Then, there's the writing speed.   I'm still slower at writing cursive, but I think my writing is more consistent and looks better.  

I'm going to keep at it and see if maybe by the time my children are writing sentences, I might even like the way I write.

The Big Boy Update:  My son got sent to his room today.   He didn't want to go to his room and ended up getting additional time in his room.   This is unusual, usually he is sent until he is ready to do or stop doing the thing there's an issue with.   This works, because if he leaves the room before he's ready, he always gets sent back up.   Today unexpectedly in the car he said, "mommy, you are so stupid."   When we got home he had to go to his room and yelled back at us that we were bad guys multiple times.   Later, when he'd calmed down, I talked to him and asked where he had heard such unkind words (at school) and would he like it if someone told him he was so stupid? (No.)   We'll see what comes home next.

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  My daughter said, "is it Saturday or Wednesday?"  I told her it was Wednesday.   She said, "oh, I thought it was Saturday."

Fitness Update:   Our trainer had us go outside to do something with a ball, lunges, running at someone and going to one of the streets that was a block or two away.    We never really got what he was talking about so we did something we thought was close for ten minutes and then went back in.  

The Bus Stop Escort

I was going to originally title this blog, "Nothing to Complain About" so that I would be mindful every day as I posted that this wasn't a place to complain, gripe and moan about anything and everything.   Negativism never subtracts, it only multiplies.  

For the most part, I think I do a reasonable job of reminiscing, expounding and rambling on about things without the overall tone being negative (although I'm sure I've had my moments.)  Tonight's post though is going to be a complaint, so my apologies in advance.  

My neighbor and I run around the neighborhood early in the mornings from time to time.   Commonly, it's in the dark, even now after daylight savings time.   There are some people up at the hours we're running, but not a lot.    We noticed a car or two sitting, parked and idling with people in it on the side of the street and wondered what was happening.  We didn't figure out what was happening until we were running through that part of the neighborhood at the right time.  

It wasn't someone not from our neighborhood, we thought, because of the type and age of car.   It didn't look like someone staking out surrounding houses, but it was hard to tell much in the dark with their car dark inside it.    Then, one day we saw a school bus come into the neighborhood.    A child got out—older than elementary school—and headed for the bus.    When the bus was gone, the car turned around and headed back down the street to return to their house.

It wasn't just once and it wasn't in very cold weather either.  The bus stop for that street must be at the intersection where the car was sitting.   That street is only one block long after the intersection.   I don't know what it was like when you were young and if you had to ride the bus, but I didn't get an escort to the bus stop.

I've seen stopped cars at the entrance to our neighborhood on the curb with people in them in the afternoons as well.   Then I'd see a child get off a bus, walk to the car and ride off for the three blocks distance to their house.

I'm realize the media highlights all the awful and terrible things that can happen to children.   Is it fear from the parents for their child's safety?   I don't know the reason, but rest assured, I won't be driving my children to the bus stop when they're older—they can walk the two blocks and stand in the cold and rain just like I did.  

As much as I hated standing at the bus stop as a child, I had a good time with my friends.   It was a bonding experience and some of my best friends were my bus stop-mates.

The Big Boy Update:  My son was mad at me yesterday.  He told me, "walk away, I want you to move to a new house."

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  Itchy.   My son has spent most of his life being itchy while my daughter has had friendly, easy to manage skin.   However, for the last week, her legs and arms have been itching her quite a lot.   We've been putting lotion on her to mitigate the symptoms.  We can't see anything specific causing the trouble; perhaps it's seasonal and related to all this messy pollen we're dealing with.

Fitness Update:  I ran five miles this morning and then walked two this afternoon while I waited for my car to be cleaned.   Walking isn't nearly as fun as running.

I Am The Tortoise

I think I figured it out.   I think I'm okay with it.   I think I've discovered something about myself that was bothering me for some time now that I've decided maybe I shouldn't be bothered by at all.    I am the tortoise.  

I'm not the hare, I don't plan on getting there quickly.   I'm not talking about every day things like cleaning up or talking or getting errands run or many other things I can think of that fit into my daily life, because I do seem to have a lot of energy and I do move quickly.   But when it comes to exercise, I'm not the speedy one.

I don't run the fastest; in fact, I'm the slowest one of all my running friends.   I've apologized many, many times to my friends because I believe I'm holding them back speed-wise.   My neighbor is consistently a few steps ahead of me while we run.   But I get there.   I get there and I don't stop.

I was biking with my husband the other day and he was getting tired.   He hasn't been training for a marathon and there's nothing quite like running for five hours straight to get one's cardiovascular system into serious shape.    I just don't get tired.   I might be breathing more heavily because I'm exercising, but I'm fine to keep exercising.    I told him we'd have to bike for another couple of hours for me to get tired.    But the thing is, I wasn't biking aggressively.   I didn't feel like proving anything to anyone about how I could bike up that hill with my son on the back and beat everyone else on the block.   I just don't care about that stuff.

We were doing "Sugar Bush Sprints" this morning at the gym.   This happens every spring when our trainer decides to send us outside to the street on which there is a steep block of sidewalk pavement.   We sprint up and come back down a certain number of times.   I sprinted up with the rest of the group and I wasn't the fastest sprinter in the pack.   But I wasn't tired, so I just jogged back down the hill because, heck, my cardio was warmed up.

I get there with the workouts too, but I don't get as many pushups or burpees or squat thrusts or plank jacks in as the other people, but I'm still there and I make it to the end.

I think I've decided I don't mind being the tortoise.

The Big Boy Update:  My son found a branched stick yesterday.   He told Papa it was a blood pressure machine.   He brought it inside and at the end of the day we put it in their cabinet after he went to bed.   This afternoon he found it again.   He went over to Uncle Jonathan, who was sitting on the couch, did some work with the stick and told him his blood pressure was sixty-nine.   Then my son headed outside.   Seconds later he returned and placed the stick on the table saying, "I'm leaving it here to keep it away from the beaver."

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  Sometimes as I'm sure many other children do, my daughter eats lunch, gets in the car and upon arrival at home fifteen minutes later says, "can I have a snack?"

Fitness Update:  Sugar Bush Sprints this morning.   It's been about a year since our trainer had us leave the gym in the dark and run up and down the sidewalk hill.   I'm just glad he didn't have us do it with t pounds of weights on our backs like he did last year.

10:07PM

We have something strange happening in our house.   It happens every night at 10:07PM and we don't know why.    My husband heard about it because I was around when it happened, but he didn't see it in action until one night he came upstairs right at the right time.

Our Jacuzzi tub turns on the blower fan every night for thirty seconds right at 10:07PM.   It sounds strange, but here's how it works to give some background:  When you use the bubble jets in the tub, a twenty-minute timer is set once the bubbles are turned off.    The estimation is, twenty minutes later you're likely out of the tub and it's been drained.   The bubble jet turns back on and blows out all the remaining water in the tubes so there won't be standing water remaining in the unit.

The system has worked fine for four-and-a-half years now, but then something went strange.  I started noticing the blower cycle coming on at a time much later than my children's pre-bedtime bath.    I also noticed it would come on on days they either didn't have a bath or days they didn't turn on the bubbles.    Then, I noticed it was at the exact same time every day: 10:07PM.

There is a timer in the unit, because it's able to calculate the twenty-minute wait cycle.   The unit knows how to turn on at a later point as well, but this twenty-four hour blow-out has me baffled.  

I have the original manual for the unit, but that doesn't help.   It's also one of those manuals that covers functionality for a whole slew of model types.   I've tried looking online to find information.   Try looking up Jacuzzi, timer, twenty-four hours, blower and any other words in the above paragraphs in Google and you'll get all sorts of helpful information on hot tubs and not bath tubs.    My husband gave it a try and we're still no closer to solving the mystery.

The Big Boy Update:  My son told me he wanted his "farmonica" today.   I didn't realize what he wanted and why he was climbing up on the book shelf until I realized he was looking for the harmonica my husband had put away on a high shelf, the day before.

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  My daughter drew some recognizable artwork today.   She's mostly scribbles still, because we're not judging her drawing on accuracy and we don't put any expectations on what she should be drawing at this age.   She drew a hand today on Nana's birthday card.   She most likely traced her own hand, but she put fingernails on it and was very proud of her work.   My mother taught her how to draw hands some time back.

The Stamp Roll

I used to write a lot of checks.   Years ago, I mean.   I remember getting my first check book and then later, moving into my first place in college and having bills come in the mail I had to pay.    It was exciting, having all that responsibility myself to manage my finances.

Back then credit cards existed, but weren't the main method of payment like they are today.   Bills couldn't be paid online and at the grocery store, paying by check was one of the most popular ways people settled their bills.     So I had a lot of checks and a checking account and a lot of bills that needed to be paid.

Those bills needed stamps put on the envelopes.    I got books of stamps but they were used up quickly so I moved to a roll of stamps.   My mother gave me a small, lucite stamp roll holder that I could put a full roll into.   I could pull out one stamp at a time, lick it—remember how stamps had to be licked?—and put it onto the envelope.    I loved my little stamp roll.

Over the years, other methods of payment became more popular, such as auto draft for bills.   I started using less stamps.   About that same time, we had a series of stamp increases that would happen annoyingly before I had used up the current-valued stamp roll.    So I stopped buying rolls of stamps and went back to the stamp booklets.

Most recently, we have the new "Forever" stamp.   It doesn't matter if you buy it today and use it thirty years from now, it will still get your letter or bill there.  I looked in my drawer where the lucite stamp roll holder had been sitting for years, empty and thought, "now I can use you again."  

I got a roll of stamps, prepared to put it in my roll holder and ran into a problem: the new sticker-type of stamps is a physically larger roll.    Never fear, I rolled it tighter and tighter until I could wedge it in.  

Every time I use a stamp from my stamp dispenser it makes me feel a little bit happier.

The Big Boy Update:  I didn't hear the start of the conversation, but I had to stifle a laugh when I heard my husband telling my son, "your butt doesn't get spicy, it gets itchy."

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  My daughter said, "look at me, mom" this morning.  I looked over to see her arched back on the seat of a chair.   She kicked her legs over, put her hands on the floor and did a perfect back-walkover.    She figured that one out on her own.

Fitness Update:  Ten miles today.   I fell badly at mile nine-and-a-half, tearing my pants at the knee.   I saved my hands because I was wearing the running gloves Uncle Bob and Uncle Brian gave me for Christmas.    I had turned my ankle, which caused the fall.   Any time I turn an ankle I automatically drop to the ground, catching my body with my hands.   I'm not sure how I got out of it with only a little knee scrape, but I'm fine otherwise.

Double Baskets

With young children there is a lot of laundry.   It builds up quickly and there are things on the laundry you don't really want to let sit around—things that come out from your child in all directions that smell bad when left to stew.

When it was time to do laundry I'd take the basket into the laundry room to start the load.   The basket would remain in the area for it's return, hours later, with clean clothes.  But there was a problem: what to do with the laundry that piled up in the mean time?   I could take the basket back into the bedroom, but when the load was done in the dryer, I had a pile of tiny items that didn't transport easily without the basket.  

We stop-gaped the situation for a while by putting the temporary dirty laundry on a plastic bag or some other handy thing so the laundry didn't sit on the floor or furniture (remember, it's messy business, that dirty laundry.)  Then, one day it hit me.    Go and buy a second basket.  

This may be obvious to some people, but it wasn't something I'd had a need for in my life as an adult. When it was time for me to do my laundry I took the basket into the laundry room, did the load and brought it back before accumulating much, if any, additional laundry.   Any that I did have, I could just place on the floor because it wasn't covered in poo (then) or sand, mud and mulch (now.)

Two baskets.   How simple.   How obvious a solution.    At regular times, there are two baskets stacked one on top of another, with laundry accumulating in the top one.    When it's time to do laundry, take the top basket and proceed with the normal laundering process.    During that time, additional laundry builds up in the second basket.    When the clean laundry is folded and put away, take the now empty basket and put it underneath the basket with the most recently massacred clothes by my children.   Problem solved.

That one extra laundry basket has made something that was mildly frustrating to something that works well without us even thinking about it anymore.     

Oh, and while I'm at it, I have another thing we do with the laundry basket.   I'm all about visual queues and messages that are easy to notice and easy to implement.   When we do laundry. the machine is kind enough to play a little tune to let us know the load is complete in the washing machine.   Only we're not always waiting around for this little audio message.   Sometimes one of starts the load and the other person doesn't know if it's in the "finished washing" or "finished drying" stage.    Wouldn't it be nice if there were a little message to let the other person (or your forgetful self) know?

Our laundry room is around the corner too, so even knowing the other person has kicked off a laundry cycle is something we would miss unless we have a queue.   So, we use the basket.    We take that basket and place it at the bench and pegs area, right outside the laundry room and just inside the garage door to remind us.   If the load has been put in the washer, the basket is placed on the short side, standing tall.   That's the simple message.   If you see a laundry basket standing on it's end and don't hear the machine running, go in and shift the load to the dryer.  "Thanks, hon, I appreciate you moving my clothes over earlier."   "Sure, any time." 

The Big Boy Update:  Fortune.   My husband has these fortunes on the counter from cookies that hadn't been thrown away for a few days.   I asked him about them and he said my son loved to re-read them and even had one memorized.   I asked my son today what his fortune said, showing him the piece of paper and he said, "smile, it'll make the world brighter."

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  Tough girl.   My daughter cries when she's hurt, but she is so good at recovering quickly and moving on.   I'm always proud of her and people consistently comment on it that don't know her and see her get hurt and then go right back to playing.

Fitness Update:  Trainer today.   I think I forgot how to do pull-ups.   I lost the muscles.   I'm going to have to get back on it.