Life's a beach

My girlfriend invited the boys and me to visit, so, in the spirit of our hap-hap-happiest summer, another girlfriend and I took our 4 boys out there the other day.  My friend lives near the lake, in a summer-vacation-spot kind of area and we planned to spend the day at the beach.

Woohoo!  Day at beach!  Sand in every orifice!  Playing in water that fish have peed in (among other things) (not that it's much different from the water small children have peed in that we're used to)!  Water snakes!  Dead fish washing up on shore!

Wait.  Is that fish dead?

Yes.  Yes, it is.

Dead!  Fish!

It was an awesome time.  While we were 3 adults trying to corral 7 children in deadly waters, we were drinking delicious fruity beverages.  Alcoholic beverages, people.  Don'ttellmymother.







Look at these things!   They're like Capri Sun juice pouches for adults!  Love!

Anyway, after a few hours watching the kids scamper and cavort in the waves ripples, we decided it was time to go.  We packed up our stuff and drove back to my girlfriend's for dinner.

On the drive to the house, I realized I didn't have my wedding rings.

Sonofa.

I remembered I had taken them off to slather sunscreen on the boys (who wants dirty rings?) and had put them in my cover-up's pocket.  And, I could only assume, lost the rings at the beach when I put my cover-up back on.

So, while my one friend took all the kids home (and showered them - yay!), my other friend and I went back to the beach. 

My thoughts:  They'll be pretty easy to find.  All I have to do is find 2 shiny things on top of the sand where we had been sitting.  Easy peasy.

...And then we saw the family that had been next to us all day had built a mammoth sand animal in the 5 minutes we had been gone.

Of course.

My thoughts:  Forget it.  They're insured.  Let's go eat.

But my wonderful friend would not give up so easily.  She's a doer.  She's who I want to be like when I grow up.  After asking for permission to destroy the family's sand monster, my friend and I sifted through the sand.

Have you ever noticed how sparkly sand is?  Every time I saw something glimmer out of the corner of my eye, I got excited.  But, alas, it was just sand.  Stupid, stupid sand.  Everywhere.

Finally, I had to go talk to the clubhouse manager to see if a) they had a metal detector (no) and b) I could leave my name and number in case someone turned them in (fat chance).  Then went back to look some more.

When I got back to the scene of the crime, my girlfriend told me she, in fact, found one ring!  They WERE there!  I had been half hoping I had put them in a smarter place and would find them later when I got home.

But no.  I really am that stupid.

45 minutes (sifting through blazing hot sand) later, she found the other ring.  My friend saved the day!  And a phone call to the insurance agent (and the husband)!     
 
2 days later, I still can't believe she found them.  She's one of those lucky people.  I think I need her to buy a lottery ticket or something. 

We'll be sticking to the pool for the next few days.  Leaving the rings at home.

I'm becoming obsolete

I knew this day would happen.  Really, I did.  We even planned for it (sorta), finishing a room (twice) so they'd have a place to go without being too far.  I just didn't think they'd use it so soon.

I've lost my children to the basement.

You think I'd be happy.  I have the TV back!  No more Disney XD!  No more Jessie!  No more daggone Dog with a Blog!  No more Phineas and Ferb (I actually not-so-secretly enjoy Phineas and Ferb - more than the boys do, probably).

But, the boys are starting to not need me.  They can get their own breakfasts now.  And then they retreat to the basement.  Or, as my mother called it when we were children "the dungeon".  I spent time in my room (or, "the tower"), my brothers spent time in the dungeon.  We saw each other at the dinner table.  Or, possibly, on the way to the bathroom.

Is this the natural order of things?  Am I doomed to see my kids only when they have to pee?  Because that?  Is a real treat.

To add to that, the 4th of July has passed, which means our Summer of Fun is pretty much over.  And, while it's been the hap hap happiest summer they've ever had (of course), it has rained every.  single.  damday.  And we haven't had the chance to make wonderfully long-lasting warm-and-fuzzy family memories so I don't end up in a dilapidated nursing home.  Well, any memories other than the basement. 

Yay, basement!  The basement is awesome!  (Please don't put me in a home!)

Of course, because it's the Summer of Fun, we don't have true bedtimes.  Plus, it's hard to explain to the boys that they have to go to bed when it's daylight.

"No, it's not a nap.  It's bedtime.  Go.  To.  BED."

No concept of bedtime means lots more yelling at them (in the basement) to go up to bed.  (Please don't put me in a home!  Remember Summer of Fun!)

So, tonight, to help ensure at least one of them will take care of me when I'm old, we're having a slumber party in my room.  It's fun for them and they remember I exist.  And it helps with the "it's daylight" argument.  Plus, they enjoy all of us sleeping together.  I do, too.          

While I'm needed less, they still need me.  I'll take that for now.

Be careful what you wish for

So, remember when I signed up for a 5K?  Me neither.  But, I did.

For those who forget math conversions (read:  me), a Kilometer is .62 Miles.  Which means, a 5K is (5 times .62 equals) 3.1 Miles. 

My first 5K race took place over a month ago.  It was one of those color runs – a super fun event, even for not-real-runners (read:  me).  Looking back, it was kind of funny that I was so intent preparing for it.  Of course, training is always a good idea, but, well, we didn’t run.  So, there’s that.  In the end, I was glad we did it anyway.  It’s always fun to spend time with my college roommate and her family. 

And, more importantly, drink beer with her that night.  Woot woot!

A week after that race, my roommate and I planned to run another 5K.  This was going to be serious.  We were going to RUN.  And then, 2 days before the run, I had a suspicious mole removed from an area… that is sorta used in running, but, as far as I know, has never seen the sun.  Weird. 

Doctor:  Don’t do any lunges for the next week or so, until the stitches come out.
Me:  Um, I am running a 5K on Saturday.
Her:  Yeah, no, you’re not.

Okay then.  My roommate came to town to run the race anyway.  I cheered her on from the sidelines.  She did really well, too. 

Races:  2, Me:  0

I signed up for another race.  Damit, I’m going to run a 5K this year! 

From the beginning, my goal has been to run the whole damthing.  I’ve been running once or twice regularly to build up endurance.  (In my defense, we’ve had crappy weather in this area.  Rain + humidity [who knew today would have so many math lessons?] = a runner’s nightmare.  Or, a not-real-runner’s [read:  me] nightmare.)  And, I’m the queen of excuses, so if the dew point was above 50, I was sitting inside with the air-conditioning, a fruity beverage, and a good book  having the hap hap happiest summer the kids and I have ever had.    

But, yesterday was the race, so I had to do something beforehand to not die be ready.  2 days before the race, I completed a short run, a little over 2 miles in 22 minutes.  I thought a 10-minute-mile (okay, 10-minute-mile average, you math freaks.  Play along with me.) was pretty decent.  For me, anyway.

And I went into the race, stupidly confident.  If I can run 2 miles, I can run 3.1.  Right?  My SIL always says the first 2 miles are the hardest.  Once you get those in, you can run FOREVER.

Ugh.  Did I mention I’m an idiot?  So’s my SIL (love you, SIL!).

Honestly, the first 2 miles were okay – after the first 5 minutes (they’re always the hardest for me).  Would I much rather be on my couch, watching the Real World/Road Rules Challenge marathon?  You bet.  But, I paid the money and, deep down, I really wanted to do this.  I felt strong.  I had a good playlist going on my iPod.  I was going to rock this bitch.

Then came the 2 mile sign.  Good grief, wasn’t I done yet?  And (this is where it got bad) I got all in my head.  For those who run, you know what this is.  You’re thinking about which body parts hurt.  You’re thinking about how you still have 1.1… 1.0… .995 miles to go.  You’re thinking, “Man, it’s damhot out here.”  You’re thinking, “You know, it would be so. (gasp) easy.  (gasp) to.  (gasp) stop.  (gasp) running.  and… walk.  Just for a minute.”  You're thinking, "Your kids still need a mother."  And  "(Billy) Don't be a hero."

I’m disappointed to say I gave in.  Sometimes, I am strong enough to push through.  I’ll have days where I don’t think about it at all and can just go.  I wanted a day like that.

(shaking head sadly) Yesterday was not that day.

I finished the 5K in 34:00.  Now, I realize it’s not such a bad time to have for my first real race.  And?  It was 4 minutes faster than the last time I ran (read:  ran/walked) 3.1 miles.  (This is what “real runners” call a PR!)  But, I’m disappointed anyway.  Although, a runner friend of mine said I’m a real runner now because runners are never satisfied with their times.

Woohoo!  I’m a real runner!  (Fist pump!) 

Where’s the next half marathon?!