Back to School {A Three Things Thursday post}

A photo posted by Kimberly (@foot.notes) on May 20, 2016 at 10:40am PDT

1. My baby starts school on Monday. My teeny-tiny once 5-pounds, 12 ounces stick of dynamite is going to kindergarten. While he went to full-day Pre-K last year, it seems surreal that we have reached this milestone.

He's ready, though. Or, at least as ready as he's going to be. He's charming, kind and curious. He likes to read, to learn, to ask questions. Lots of questions. Just the other night, he asked me what a disciple was ... because that's a logical question after reading "Marvel 5-Minute Stories." I answered him and from there the conversation spiraled toward who wrote the Bible and why and whether Miles could be a Christian because he couldn't write the Bible.

I swear, I need to get every available PhD to be a parent.

2. Miles is a bit nervous about Kindergarten. He says he is shy and is worried about not knowing the other kids. He's also attending a Spanish immersion program, and he frets that he doesn't already know Spanish, We've tried our best to reassure him that all of the other kids are in the same boat but when we went to open house, he was curled up in my lap the whole time.

A photo posted by Kimberly (@foot.notes) on Jul 30, 2016 at 12:41pm PDT

I was a bit taken aback by it all. Miles is always very enthusiastic when it comes to a learning situation. At swim lessons, he's the first to volunteer to try a new skill – even if it means jumping into the deeper water. When he played on a summer soccer league, he jumped at the chance to kick the ball and head into the goal.

3. I realized, though, that as much as I wanted him to be social, I had to be a good example. And, like, willingly talk to other parents. I felt like the meet-and-greet was just as much for me to meet new faces as it was for him.

Here's a tidbit about me: I'm not really good with that sort of thing. I like to slink in a corner, sip on my coffee and wonder when things are over. I am not the outgoing mom who introduces herself to other moms and trades cell numbers and arranges carpool. Unless you want to carpool and then go for a run, that is.

Regardless, this year will be exciting for everyone and I'm looking forward to seeing Miles blossom into a bigger boy.

#tear

Fall Fun

Do you want to hear something amazing? And by amazing, I mean sort of surprising and really not that big of a deal.

OK. I understand. But I'll tell you anyway.

I did not run a race last weekend and I don't have one on the calendar this weekend either. (Disclosure: I did briefly consider running a local points race that benefits Riley Children's Hospital but decided that the money would be most needed next week at the Bourbon Chase.)

So how does one spend her time when I'm not running all the miles?

Check out those ProCompression socks!

Well, running all the miles wither her friends. Duh.

Two of my good running pals are training for the Indianapolis Monumental Marathon, which is the first weekend in November. When they registered, I had hoped that I'd be in shape enough to do some of their long runs with them. I knew that I wouldn't be doing 20-milers with them (nor would I want to) but I've been happy that I've been able to log double digits with them.

Last weekend, I did 12 13 seriously windy miles (we detoured for real bathrooms) with them as part of their 20-miler and I'll join them for all of their run this weekend as it's a cutback.

Don't worry - I've done other things, too.

I mourned the end of summer with one last trip to the ice cream stand. Sunday was the last day of operation, and it's a tradition for us to visit the last weekend with my in-laws. I've been mostly sugar free for the better part of six weeks, so it was quite the treat. I went with a banana split because bananas are fruit, ice cream is dairy and pecans are protein. Thus, banana split = health food. Duh.

We also took the boys apple picking for the second year in a row. I can say both boys, right? I was pregnant with Si when Miles and I went last year.

Miles absolutely loves going. The trees are dwarf size, and he is able to pick apples easily. I was less than enthused when I saw it was just Ida Reds and Red Delicious available but it didn't phase M. He picked about a quarter bushel, which we will turn into pie for my father-in-law and applesauce for my Bug. After all, he's six months on Saturday and can officially have real food.

Note: We've introduced a few things over the past two weeks because I was tired of eating dinner topless. 

There was also some cider because, well, it's fresh cider. And fresh cider goes really well with bourbon. And I need to start doing some other training for the Bourbon Chase.

Just kidding.

Maybe.

Wednesday confessions

Blueberry cinnamon coffeecake is the devil. It's the only explanation that I can come up with as to why my grandma and I were able to polish one off in four days. And it's her fault - she bought it in honor of my visit.

Sometimes playing cards with your grandma is more important than going to the gym. I had front-loaded my workouts last week so I could take Sunday as a rest day, and I planned to go to a late-night YMCA class on Monday. When my brother came down with a bug and couldn't sit with Miles, I used it as the perfect excuse to stay home. Grandma and I played cards and ate coffeecake. She won. I ate more coffeecake.

Trader Joe's might be overrated. Grandma, Miles and I trekked out to the Cincinnati Trader Joe's to explore and pick up Chewy Chocolate Chip Cookies for Mark. They no longer carry the cookies, and I was underwhelmed with the lack of impulse purchases. I had set aside a big chunk of my grocery budget to have fun and could barely spend $20. Next visit, we're going to Jungle Jim's.

I'm tired of eating out. Part of the fun of visiting my family is going to my hometown favorites. This trip included the low-key Price Hill Chili, Bier Haus and Ron's Roost. Even when trying to make the best choices, I know my calorie count those days was higher than it would be at home.

I don't always fight the good fight. Sometimes, it's easier (and more) fun to let your uncle treat your son to cake and french fries for lunch. Plus, a place called Bier Haus isn't expected to be known for its kid's menu.

Traveling with a toilet-training toddler is annoying. You work hard to get your child to go to the bathroom in the actual bathroom but having to stop four times in 150 miles is less than optimal. Good thing I drink enough coffee and Vitamin Water Zero to make best use of the stops.

Sometimes you just have to laugh. Like, when you say that your son got to stand on the wing of your uncle's World War II fighter plane because, obviously, everyone's uncle has a fighter plane. Or not. My uncle just happens to collect odd things, and he found the {not really a} beauty on Craigslist and bought it. It now serves as a very expensive lawn ornament at his office and a great way to entertain toddlers. The  bonus: He also has a lot of heavy equipment for his business, and Miles got to sit in a real bulldozer and see a dump truck.

Family - it is it. This trip was one of the longest Miles and I have had in Cincinnati, and I couldn't stop smiling. Even as he swung a foam battle axe at me, thanks to my brother's encouragment. It was so nice to see him enjoy his uncles and Grammy, and to see them enjoy him.

Scenes from the weekend

I nearly flopped on the couch Sunday night as Mark queued up the second episode of the new season of "House of Cards." I was tired, exhausted maybe, and I wanted more than to sit on my backside.

After all, it had been one of those weekends. It wasn't jam-packed with adventures but rather full of family and memories, going and coming. Standing and running. Fun ... delicious, delicious fun.

SATURDAY | A trip to the mall and carousel. Miles has been making big gains toward becoming a "big boy," and we rewarded (read: bribed) him with a trip to the carousel. A $2 ride is worth days on days in underpants. And this look on his face. He loved it.

Side note: When we try to explain to Miles why we have to work, he replies that we are making money for the carousel.

SUNDAY | Hockey adventures. I scored some free tickets to the Komets game at work, and I thought we might able to take Miles to a Sunday afternoon game. It would not interfere with his sleep schedule and, if he freaked out, we were not out too much.

Miles was really excited, especially when he split some yogurt with Dad, but it ended with the first goal for the Komets. They blare the horn and the fans are quite enthusiastic, thoroughly freaking him out. We managed to stay through the first period and intermission but couldn't deny repeated requests to leave. On the way home, he kept telling us that he was going to share that he went to the game and it was "scary" with friends at daycare.

ALL DAY, EVERY DAY | ALL THE BREAD. A few weeks ago, I began a sourdough starter. I'm not sure why but it's something I've always wanted to do. It's a fun and dangerous thing as you are making something once a week (or throwing out some starter). I've made traditional bread and sourdough waffles, and this weekend I made this sourdough oatmeal bread. Oh. My. So. Good. I gave one loaf to my neighbors who are always very thoughtful, and I kept one for us. I'm trying not to eat it all but it tasted far too good right out of the oven , with butter after my 12-mile run.

And speaking of that 12-mile run, while there is no "scene," it was quite noteworthy. It was the first long run since early January where conditions were conducive to clocking my normal long run pace and there were sections with actual pavement. I almost didn't know what to do with myself and neither did my legs. I swear they felt slow and heavy without resistance.

How was your weekend?

WINNER! I compiled all of the comments, numbered them and selected a winner for the Core Values challenge. Echowoman, send an email to hlthystrides at gmail dot com, and I'll get you squared away.

Burden of proof

The warning signs flashed brightly.

Intensely.

Incessantly.

There were the most obvious - excess weight and sedentary lifestyle - but also the mention of constant thirst and a family history. And while relatively young, I couldn't help but fear that someone whom I love and care for deeply could be living with a life-changing yet manageable condition.

Type II diabetes.

While my trip home this past weekend was filled with many good things, I feel haunted by the connections I made about this person. They are connections I didn't dare make out loud, not to that person, but quietly and fearfully. First, on a quiet morning run with Mark and, later, with my grandma.

"You were facing the same things," she said. "Until you got some sense."

Sense I did get, which is where the problem (so to speak) lies. The changes I have made, the life I lead, the things I eat have helped me to avoid some of the bad things I thought I was destined to carry. Type II diabetes. High blood pressure. Heart disease. High cholesterol. In doing so, though, I'm now able to sit in a place with a different perspective on a situation like my loved one's ... a place where it feels easy to judge and feel less tolerant. I can look at that person and, with experience, say, "You can do better, be better. Just like me."

And, I know, that's not fair. Change is hard, and everyone has to do it in her own way and in her time. Looking back, there's part of me that thinks that it was a stroke of luck or divine intervention that allowed everything to click the way it did. I know I worked and worked hard but finding how to do it for me is a key I have yet to copy. Without it, to pass around, I can't expect anyone to unlock the door to change. No matter how badly and genuinely I wish I could.

It's a tough spot to be in, and it almost makes me feel guilty. It probably sounds ludicrous but in a way it's like coming into money while your family is still poor. You can do the best to help them but you can only do so much. You can desire to influence the things beyond your control but you can't. You have to accept it and live your life, your best life, regardless. You can't do it for them.

I can set a good example. I can bring healthy dishes to gatherings. I can send out a group invitation to run a family race. But I can't get a person to follow it. I can't make a person eat carrots and hummus. I can't get a person to cross the starting line.

No matter how much I want to. And I do want to.

Some might say that I should talk to this person, to share my hopes and dreams for a life without a diagnosis. It's not an easy thing, though - to open up like that or to hear such concerns. A person could get angry or upset rather than feeling motivated and inspired. A person could feel judged and jaded rather than hopeful and cared for. Worse, a person might not be receptive at all ... because they don't see it as a problem.

This I know, because I've been on the receiving end. It might be the only thing worse than wanting change for the person I love.

Summer Saturdays

Gone are the weekend mornings of going to the library or walking the mall. The anxious anticipation for lunch  and, let's be honest, nap time as we play blocks has disappeared.

The sun is out, the days are warmer and everything about nature screams, "Be outside." Summer, it seems, has finally arrived.

Mark, Miles and I are finding a new rhythm to our days, a rhythm that's measured in cadence and steps. We visit the zoo, packing a lunch to enjoy in Australia. Other days, we walk purposefully around the garden center before heading home to plant flowers and vegetables. Digging in the flower beds is always a must as we are on the constant lookout for worms.

But the days we enjoy most are the ones where we pump ourselves up and put the pedal to the pavement.

Mark and I recently bit the proverbial bullet, buying the Burley Bee bike trailer that we've been eyeing for two years now. We had been hesitant, wondering whether we'd get enough miles to make such a pricey purchase worthwhile. However, in the month that we've had it, it's proven to be a valuable part of our active family.

On Saturdays, I come home from teaching BODYPUMP and as I grab a bite to eat, Mark will pump up the tires. As he brings out the bikes, I make a snack for Miles - usually a combination of Goldfish, raisins and peanuts - and get a couple bottles of nuun.

Our rides are never very long, in the six-mile range, and we always make it a point to include a playground along the route. We stop and let Miles run free. From the comfort of a nearby bench, we've seen our precocious toddler blossom into an independent boy. One who has mastered the steps and ladder rungs. One who has no time for the swing as he finds it too confining. One who likes to "flide" over and over again.

We were quite amazed today at his prowess and lack of fear, taking on the big boy slide. Not just once but a good five times. (Note: We were not sitting on the bench for that one!)

After Miles is sufficiently wore out and our bellies not-so-sufficiently full, we head home for lunch on the patio. They are never anything extravagant - a plate with cottage cheese, baby carrots and grapes or sandwiches - but sitting in the sun as we eat seems to make the meals that much better.

Summer can often be filled with parties and trips, all fun in their own right, but these days, these quiet mornings are the ones I like best.

Cookie monster: A family post

Miles has pooped on the potty about four times int he past six weeks. Pretty awesome for a kid who's not even 20 months but not awesome because it's just a tease. Like, "Hey, mom, great job noticing that I was making my poop face. I am going to let you think that one day you won't need to buy diapers and can get regular pedicures but, really, I plan to wear Pull-Ups to prom."

Anyway, one of those four times this weekend. Miles has been all like, "Potty. Potty!" but really wants to grunt on the toilet for a cookie. Because he thinks it will work, obviously. After one of these incidents, I saw the poop face, threw him on a potty and saw success. Miles saw a cookie in his hand.

I tell you this because I'm pretty sure he remembered the poop + cookie thing this morning. And I want to tell you about this morning, if only to tell someone.

I had to change a dirty diaper - no catching of the poop face for me as I was trying to drown my sorrows and sweat in the tub.

"Poop. Diaper. Change," Miles said.

"Yes. Miles pooped in his diaper."

"Cookie?"

"No. We only get cookies when Miles poops in the toilet."

Cue toddler tantrum. For a good two minutes, he screamed "cookie" with tears streaming down his feet and stomped his feet.

And then he stopped. Caught his breath. Looked at me.

"Cookie? Grammy?" Because, obviously, if we call Grammy (my grandma) in Cincinnati, he is going to plead his case and she will force me to give him a cookie.

Not.

I highly doubt that my grandma is going to sympathize with his plight. The woman goes to dialysis three times a week and has the most rigorous diet restrictions outside of the Biggest Loser Ranch - no sugar, no salt, no liquid, no flavor. So to even associate the woman with cookies, much less at 8 a.m., is astounding. But that's not the point. The point is: Where the hell did he learn that kind of manipulation? If I wasn't so tired and easily agitated by the tantrum, I would have been applauding his genius.

Instead? Instead, I was sweeping up sesame seeds off the floor.

I had the pantry open as I was making homemade barbecue sauce for slow cooker pulled pork and wanted easy access to the chili powder, paprika and whatever else the recipe called for. Miles reached in and managed to find the sesame seeds - sesame seeds I haven't been able to find for months. He opened the jar and promptly dumped them on the ground.

"Uh oh," Miles says.

Uh oh is right. I guess that's what I get for refusing him a cookie. And, yes, I'm fairly certain that a 19-month-old is capable of retaliation.

I was none to pleased I began to vacuum 1,920,201,937,355 sesame seeds out of the crevices of my tile floor. I mean, have you ever tried to clean up sesame seeds? It's a bitch - they hide in corners, the crevices between my tiles and the dog doesn't care to eat them. It doesn't improve the situation when Miles wants to help, pushing a broom three times his size around the kitchen. Sesame seeds aren't particularly cheap, either. The most irritating thing about it, though, was I had been looking for those same sesame seeds last month and couldn't find them yet my munchkin could in 0.019 second. Next time, I'll know to ask for his help.

Actually, next time, I'll have some kind of pseudo cookie so I can avoid the entire shenanigan. Yes, cookies for the win.

Note: My grandma, aka Grammy, in all her wisdom said it was my fault as I should have never given Miles the cookie as a reward. Just lots of "Good boy!"

Family, it's what's for dinner

Ladies, it's time to gather round. I have a story to tell you. A story about the time I ate lemon meringue pie off the dining room floor. It's probably a story that would be far funnier had you actually been there but it does trump the time my cousin made me applesauce from a dog bowl while he was baby-sitting.

So make yourselves a cup of gingerbread tea from the depths of your desk drawer (or something that equally smells better than it tastes) and grab a piece of dark chocolate. You'll want refreshments for this.

◊ ◊ ◊

Dinner time was never anything special in my house. I say that not because my mom didn't go to the effort but because it was the time before food television and blogging and when people wrote down recipes while watching "Regis & Kathie Lee." With a pen and paper. Getting creative for my mom was opening the Betty Crocker cookbook and making something that required a) more than five ingredients; b) more than 30 minutes; and c) a trip to the big grocery store. Read: Chicken Cacciatore.

But this story isn't really about Chicken Cacciatore though my mom did make it once, and we all used the same facial expressions as we did in the story about why I ate lemon meringue pie off the dining room floor.

Dinners, basic though they were, were always served and, save for the stretches when my mom worked two jobs or my dad was on second, they were served as a family. We would eat the meal at our table in the solarium, a glorious room that had three walls of windows and was the only space to feature hardwood floors. My mom tried to make balance meals, especially after my stick-thin dad was diagnosed with high cholesterol. There was meat (half ground turkey-half beef), a starch and a vegetable (from a can, with butter). And let me tell you, canned green beans with 2 tablespoons of butter are the jam.

The one thing we never had was dessert. You know, because Dad had high cholesterol. Sucker. Not so much because he was the reason I was deprived of baked goods (which I really wasn't, as evidenced by my size 14 eighth-grade graduation dress) but because he made the mistake of telling (read: whining to) my mom that we never had dessert.

So one weekend, after she had cleared the plates from the table, she came back into the solarium. Carrying a lemon meringue pie. Rather than be grateful, my dad made a joke. Or at least that's what we'll call it, as my mom didn't think it was that funny. And so she threw the pie. At my dad. Good or bad, she missed and it hit the floor. Mom and Dad went to the kitchen to fight, and my brother and I, sitting on the floor, ate the pie.

◊ ◊ ◊

There are two lessons to be learned from this story: Lemon meringue pie tastes good, even off the floor, and even the most volatile of families can eat together.

And eating together is important.

Three or more family meals together has myriad benefits, including:  improved language skills for preschoolers, thinking skills and linguistic development and school performance/better grades; decreased chances of children being overweight, eating unhealthy foods and drinking soda; and lower rates of tobacco, alcohol, and marijuana use.

As a parent, I'm obviously not worried about the last part but I do strive to make family dinners at the table (not TV trays) a regular part of our week. Not only do Mark and I get the chance to model healthy eating but it gives us a chance to connect as a couple. It can sometimes be a pain during the week but the one time I like to really go to the effort is Sundays.

To me, there's just nothing that beats a Sunday night dinner.

It's the one meal that I have a bit more time to cook (45 minutes rather than 30), and it's a chance to do something heartier, especially on these cold winter days.  Dare I say, Sunday night dinners are the chance to do something fancy.

 

And nothing says fancy to me like steak. I picked up a Laura's Lean Beef sirloin on a visit to the fancy Kroger (the big store, just like my mom did) and decided to try the company's recipe for Filet with Balsamic Onions and Gorgonzola. Obviously, I used the sirloin instead of filets.

I served it with homemmade sweet potato hashbrowns and broccoli, from the freezer and without butter, for a heart-healthy meal to do February proud. The steak was tender and delicious, and Mark and I loved the combination of the onions and blue cheese.

 

The best part, though, was sitting down as a family and enjoying a meal together. Or the five minutes we had together before Miles decided he wanted to play on the potty and throw steak to Denali.

And, according to Denali, steak tastes just fine off the floor.

Do you eat dinner with your family? Any tips to get through toddlerhood?

Disclosure: Laura's Lean Beef provided me with product vouchers but all opinions are my own. To learn more about the company, visit its website.

What a Ball

It might have been the lamest Easter on record.


We missed Mass because Miles decided to dump an entire water dish on his outfit just as we were walking out the door late. My last long run before the Martian was cut to 4 miles because Saturday's circuit class left me too sore to move.

 I couldn't get a crisp picture of Miles and his unremarkable Easter basket, which was full of plastic eggs with Cheerios, an Elmo DVD, a $2 bunny and a book. We spent the afternoon watching "Schindler's List" and swinging at the park. It was Lamb and Barley Stew for dinner. Dinner for us three.

But for as uneventful as Easter was, Mark, Miles and I did our celebrating on Saturday.

 
We met my brother, his wife and Grandma in Muncie for lunch at the Indian buffet and then headed to Minnetrista.

Minnetrista is the compound, if I can call it that, of the Ball family. As in the Ball family of Ball jars.

There is a museum, several houses and beautiful gardens on the property. Since we were visiting just to get more time as a family together, we stuck to touring the free natural areas.

We had an absolute gorgeous day for it - mid-60s, sun and a slight breeze.

And the early spring made for a colorful and alive walk ... that most of us enjoyed.

Miles napped for a good portion of our tour and woke up full of our energy ... for the car ride home. Yay for us!

This was the first trip that we made where Lil Man didn't sleep a wink during the travel portion. For 1 hour, 15 minutes down to Muncie and 1 hour, 15 minutes back to Fort Wayne, he was awake, chatty and in dire need of entertainment. Thank goodness that I finally realized that he could eat Cheerios. Those little O's provided plenty of distraction as I sat with him in the back seat.

Note to self: Plan all future trips around bed/nap time.

How was your Easter? More memorable than ours?